1885 - Somewhere in the Wild West
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the dusty streets of a small, worn-down town. The sound of hooves broke the quiet as a lone rider approached. The townspeople barely looked up as the stranger passed by, his figure dark against the evening sky.
Josiah Joestar, a bounty hunter known in these parts, pulled his horse to a stop at the edge of town. His sharp eyes scanned the area, taking in the boarded-up windows and faded signs. Life in the Wild West was tough, and this town looked like it had seen its fair share of hard times.
Josiah climbed off his horse, dusted off his coat, and tied the reins to a post outside the saloon. This town was just another stop for him—another place where justice needed to be served.
As he walked through the swinging doors of the saloon, the chatter inside quieted. The usual creaks and clinks of the place filled the silence. Eyes turned his way, some curious, others wary. Josiah was used to it; his reputation had spread even to towns like this.
He made his way to the bar, nodding at the barkeep, an older man who had seen better days. "Whiskey," Josiah said, his voice calm.
The barkeep poured a shot and slid it over. Josiah drank it in one go, enjoying the burn as it went down. He placed a few coins on the bar and leaned back, scanning the room.
Before long, a man approached, dressed in clothes too fine for a place like this. His eyes were sharp, and his smile didn't quite reach them.
"Josiah Joestar?" the man asked, his voice smooth.
Josiah studied the man—his expensive clothes, the way he carried himself like someone who expected to be in charge.
"Depends on who's asking," Josiah replied, keeping his tone neutral.
The man chuckled, a sound that didn't fit the quiet room. "Name's Mayor Thorne. I run this town, and I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Joestar. You've made quite a name for yourself."
Josiah didn't trust politicians, especially not ones who held power in the Wild West. "What do you want, Mayor?"
Thorne leaned in, his smile fading. "There's something happening in this town, something big. I need someone with your skills to help me deal with it. There's a bounty in it for you—more than you've ever seen."
Josiah's eyes narrowed. Nothing in the West came without a price, especially not from men like Thorne. But the promise of a big bounty was tempting, and this town felt like it was hiding something.
"Tell me more," Josiah said, keeping his voice steady.
The mayor's smile returned. "Come to my office at sundown. We'll talk more then."
With that, Thorne tipped his hat and walked out, his boots tapping on the wooden floor. Josiah watched him leave, the whiskey forgotten as he thought about what was coming.
The room slowly returned to its earlier state, but there was a tension in the air that hadn't been there before. The other patrons exchanged uneasy glances, and the low murmur of conversation picked up again, though it was more subdued now. Josiah could feel eyes on him, but he ignored them. He had long since grown accustomed to the wary and curious stares of strangers.
Just as he was about to finish his drink, the creak of a chair scraping against the wooden floor drew his attention. A man, tall and rugged, stood up from a table in the far corner of the room. His face was shadowed by the brim of his hat, but his eyes burned with a mix of anger and desperation. He walked toward Josiah, his boots heavy on the floorboards, and the saloon fell silent once more.
Josiah didn't turn to look at him, but he could feel the man's presence approaching. He could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch as the man stopped just a few feet away. The bartender, sensing trouble, took a step back, his hand drifting toward the rifle under the counter.
"You," the man hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "You're Josiah Joestar, aren't you?"
Josiah took a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. He finally turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the man's reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
"I might be," Josiah said, his tone calm and measured. "Depends on why you're asking."
The man's hand twitched, and before anyone could react, he drew a revolver and aimed it squarely at the back of Josiah's head. The barrel of the gun gleamed in the dim light, and the tension in the room became palpable.
"You killed my brother," the man growled, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "You shot him in cold blood and left him to die out in the desert like a dog."
Josiah didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He knew this type—desperate, grief-stricken, and dangerous. He'd encountered plenty of them in his line of work. "Your brother was an outlaw. A killer. He got what was coming to him."
"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" the man shouted, his voice cracking. "He was my blood! And now I'm gonna make sure you pay for what you did."
The room was deathly quiet. No one dared to move, not even to breathe, as the man tightened his grip on the revolver. Josiah could feel the weight of the barrel against his head, cold and unyielding. The air was thick with tension, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Then, in one smooth motion, Josiah stood up from his stool. The sudden movement startled the man, who took a step back, but he didn't lower his gun. Josiah didn't acknowledge the gun pointed at him, didn't even look at the man as he turned and began walking slowly toward the saloon's exit.
"Don't you walk away from me!" the man barked, his voice cracking with fear and anger. "I'm not finished with you!"
Josiah's hand reached for the door. He pushed it open, letting the fading light of the setting sun spill into the room. He paused for just a moment, his back still to the man.
"Shoot to Thrill," Josiah said softly, almost as if to himself.
As the words left his lips, the air around the man seemed to shimmer. Dozens of bullets appeared out of thin air, surrounding him in a deadly halo. They hung in the air for a heartbeat, suspended in time, before slowly, agonizingly, moving toward him.
The man's eyes widened in horror as the bullets closed in, their slow, deliberate approach like the ticking of a clock counting down his final moments. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. All he could do was watch as his fate inched closer, one bullet at a time.
Josiah stepped out into the street, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft creak. The sun had nearly set, casting long shadows across the town. He didn't look back.
To Be Continued