The End...

Utah, 1893



Their celebration echoed out in to the night. The uplifting twang of a banjo punctuated by the rhythm of a bison skin drum and the whistle of a flute. They sang and they drank whiskey straight from the bottle, while beer glasses littered the parched ground. Above, a crescent moon watched over them from it's sea of stars and despite the chill that came with late night desert air, Alexander Kilgrave's men basked in the warmth of their own glory.

The camp was makeshift at best. A holding place only as they made their way back toward their home base, tucked away somewhere near the shores of Rio Bravo, overlooked by Fort Mercer. It would be a few days ride, but their trip would have been worthwhile. Returning to those they left behind, richer, boasting of yet another triumph. A train. Ransacked and relieved of it's payload. Money that would keep them going for a handful of months at least. That would purchase new horses for those in need of them, keep them comfortable a while longer.

It had come at a price, of course. But not one any of the gathered men cared about. Tonight, while they celebrated, families would mourn the losses of husbands and fathers, brothers and sisters, maybe even wives and daughters. Alexander Kilgrave didn't believe in leaving witnesses. When his men swooped down upon you, nobody left alive.

They sat in a crooked circle, perched on boxes or cross legged on sandy ground. They picked clean the barbecued corpse of a boar and washed it down with liquor and beer. It was a good night, each man patting himself on the back for a job well done.

Alexander watched over them intently. Sat at the 'head' of his circle of soldiers, his expression as passive as it ever was. To look at him, you wouldn't know they had scored big that day, he never gave anything away.

To his right hand sat Jake Torres. A half empty beer bottle beside his boot on the cracked dirt ground, his elbows resting upon his knees and an easy smile on his face as he watches the boys and their celebrations. He glances to Alexander and the way he sat, leaning, casual with his chin resting upon leather gloved knuckles and a kind of purse to his lips that told Jake the man was deep in thought. His iron straight black hair framed chiseled, carved from bone features. He was gazing at someone in particular.

Jake follows the line of sight toward the man lifting his whiskey glass high and bellowing out some awful song along with the others. His name was James, a youngster they'd picked up several months ago as they moved through Oregon. He'd proven himself a good shot on a couple of jobs and had been picked by Alexander to come on this venture, as the man hand picked every one of his crews.

The job had gone smoothly for the most part, until James had hesitated on the train. He'd questioned Alexanders authority, not wanting to execute a young woman pleading to be left alive. Kilgrave got his way in the end, but that moment of doubt was likely not something James would hear the end of so easily.

"Somethin' wrong?" Jake asks quietly, barely above the din of singing.

Alexanders brow arches, the only part of him that moves. Still as a gargoyle surveying his realm.

"Why would anything be wrong?" He rumbles, his lips barely parting to respond. His voice was cold gravel scraped over earth.

Hitching a shoulder, Jake gestures to the untouched glass of whiskey on the table beside him. "You ain't celebratin'."

A smile slithers from one corner of Kilgrave's mouth to the other and after a moment he finally moves, drawing in a breath and sitting up straight he draws his gun from it's holster. Jake watches him with a small frown furrowing his brow. Snapping open the cylinder, Alexander empties the weapon of bullets. They clink and clatter in to his lap and he sets the empty revolver on his thigh. His leather gloved hand creaks as he plucks up a single, silver tipped bullet. Holding it in front of his eyes for a moment.

"I find it hard to celebrate when my own men don't believe in me." He rumbles, sliding the bullet in to the chamber.

Jake swallows, his face falling a little. "Hey, he's a kid.. his first big job."

The cylinder closes with a snap and Alexander spins it, the twist of his lips menacing. Then he rises to his feet and instantly a silence befalls their party. When Alexander Kilgrave stood, you paid attention. The banjo twangs it's last and is set aside, for a moment the only sound among them was the sound of the crackling fire. Soon, it's a sound that becomes deafening.

"Today was a good day boys!" Alexander suddenly announces, lifting his hands and prompting a cheer. Glasses raised. Behind him, Jake watches, quiet as a prickle crawls it's way up his spine. "You know how a job well done put's a big ole smile on my face. We can return with our heads held high, look the others in the eye. The women.. children.." He bows his head a moment, that mane of jet black hair shimmering by fire and moonlight. "I deliver on my promises. Every one of them." He rumbles, his gravelly voice deep and commanding. "What is the one promise I made each of you when you joined, hm?"

Each man in the circle glances to the next.

Alexander drops the gun at James' feet and the twenty year old flinches, looking at it and then wide eyed up to Kilgrave.

"What did I promise?"

Stammering, James swiftly recalls. "That you'd take care of us if we.."

"If we what?"

"If we.. take care of you."

"Which means what, do you think?" Alexander crouches before him, meeting him at eye level.

"That.. we do as you say."

Kilgrave smiles, lifting a gloved hand and touching the tip of James' nose. "That you do as I say."

The youngster pales, nodding and hanging his head.

"Pick up the gun."

"Sir, I.."

"Are you questioning me?"

"No."

"Then pick up the gun."

With a shaking hand, young James does as he's told and plucks up the revolver from the dirt. The hush all around them was palpable, only heartbeats of men relieved that it wasn't them that had stoked Kilgrave's ire.

"There's a single bullet in that chamber, James. I want you to put it to your head and pull the trigger."

The kid looks back at him, stunned.

"You vowed to me on the day I took you in that you would do whatever I told you, whenever I told you to do it. Today on that train, you defied me.."

"No, sir, I did it.. I.." James defends himself desperately.

"You hesitated. Which makes me question your loyalty. To me, to this family of ours. How can I trust you if you won't follow through on a simple request?"

Like there was anything simple about taking a young womans life. Jake grits his teeth, cracking his knuckles where he sat, watching.

A tear streaks it's way down the young mans cheek. "I did as you asked."

"Put the gun to your head and pull the trigger." Alexander commands.

"Please. I did it, she was just.."

"What happens the next time you're confronted by a pretty face? I need to know my men are loyal. Unquestioning. Unflinching. PUT the god damned GUN to your HEAD.." Alexander barks, standing and looming over Jame's like the Reaper himself. "It's a one in six chance, boy. Or are you too much of a pussy?"

The iron shivers in the boys hand as he raises it to his temple.

"Or maybe I should just kill you right now." Alexander muses, drawing a blade from a sheath at his thigh. "I'm not sure I want cowards in my family."

"You don't have to do this." Jake pipes up quietly and Kilgrave's snake eyes meet his in a heartbeat.

"Stay out of this." He sneers.

"He's a kid."

"He's a man, and he's a coward." Alexander insists. "Pull the trigger."

James's tear filled eyes flick between Jake and their menacing leader. Jake jaw tenses under the weight of the pleading gaze, but this time he stays quiet.

"Do it or I'll do it for you." Alexander growls. "DO IT NOW!"

There's a moment, a silence where all the breath seemed to leave the lungs of every gathered man in their circle. The kid scrunches his eyes shut and Jake stares a hole through his own boot and a moment later in place of the tell tale boom of a revolver firing a round, there's nothing but an empty 'click'.

There's a collective exhale and tears spill from James's eyes as he opens them, his quivering hand taken in Alexanders, who plucks the revolver from his sweaty grasp and hangs it to his side. He sets his other hand on the boys head and forces him to look up to him.

"We'll call that a second chance. The next time you question me, there'll only be one empty chamber in this gun."

"Yes... sir.." James stammers.

Having seen enough, Jake gets to his feet in disgust. Picking up his beer intent on retiring for the night, he barely turns away from the group when Alexander calls after him.

"Where do you think you're going?" He rumbles.

Jake glances back at him, eyes narrowing. "Ain't in much of a party mood no more." He explains quietly.

Alexander takes a few measured steps toward him, that gun still hanging to his side. "Well before you put your head down, I need you to do something for me."

"What?" Jake grunts, eyeing his mentor and father figure.

"What kind of example would we be setting if I just let you question me and walk away?" Alexander asks, as behind him James sits drying his eyes, looking every bit the youngster he'd been when they'd found him.

Gritting his teeth, Jake's eyes flick down to the gun and back to Kilgrave's eyes. He snorts, sneering a little. "Now you're questioning my loyalty?"

"Perhaps." Alexander lifts his hand, offering Jake the gun. "Never hurts to put it to the t.."

Before Alexander can finish his pontification, Jake strides toward him and snatches the revolver from his hand. Looking him dead in the eye he lifts the gun to his temple and without hesitating, he pulls the trigger.

Click.

Jake's teeth grind. Alexander breaks in to an amused smile. A sliver of laughter slipping from him.

"Y'see that, boys? That's unquestioning loyalty." He looks back to Jake, eyes locking once again on each other. "You always were a fearless son of a bitch."

Jake simply grunts, turning away he tosses the gun on to the nearby table with a clatter and stalks away from the celebratory party, retreating to his tent. Alexander watches him go, rolling his thoughts around on the tip of his tongue for a moment or two before addressing the rest of the men.

"Well, are we having a party or what?" He barks.



Present Day




Today was the day. His last. He'd seen in the last sunrise with Ripley, eaten his last breakfast with Mia and Isabella, saddled his horse one final time. Today, they robbed a train. His debts all finally coming due.

He's eerily calm.

In the few snatches of sleep he'd managed in the night, he'd dreamed of the past. Seen himself as he was, the monster he used to be. The barbarian that stole fathers from families and daughters from mothers. He'd been as loyal as any man could ever be, and it had poisoned his soul and tainted him a legacy. Lawmen would remember him as nothing but a vicious killer. The unflinching gun of Alexander Kilgrave. It was how he would forever be known.

Not as Father or friend or lover. But executioner. Destroyer.

He dreamed of Sara. She waited for him on the other side. He saw her there, sat on the sand of the shore beside the home they'd built together, just waiting for him to come home.

It had been a strange life, full of many regrets. But if he could do one right thing, if he could get this family he'd somehow cobbled together to safety.. if he could secure the life of his daughter.. he would rest easy.

Plucking the old, scratched up metal mask up from a rock, he releases the tie in his hair and settles the fearsome looking thing over his face. It slips in to place like a glove, comfortable and familiar. Seeing the world through the eyes of the devil he used to be. It smells of blood and sweat and the metallic tang of gunpowder.

He slips his machete in to it's sheath and shoulders his rifle. Flexing his shoulders and cracking his neck, he steps up to the rocky outcrop overlooking the rail track.

The sun was high in the sky.

Pretty soon the train would arrive.

Pretty soon all this would end.