As Marston's shout echoed in the night birds burst from their nests in fright and his stallion set off straight into a gallop, with Marston atop clutching his rifle in one hand and the reins in the other. The horse galloped as if it were a demon possessed, hungry for the impending battle. The empty roads of Bricktown were getting hammered by its heavy hooves, until finally they came to a halt by a knoll. The journey was a short one, and they had arrived at the vantage point Marston had identified while carrying out reconnaissance on the mansion.

He jumped down from his horse and ascended the little hill. When he got close to the top he began to crawl, then went firm in the prone position, aiming his rifle over at the mansion. He looked through his sight and could see the unprofessional looking security team patrolling around the grounds, and tried to pick an important looking target for his first round. As he searched he heard the sound of approaching footsteps from behind, so quickly rolled over and drew his pistols.

“WHOA! WHOA! WHOA!”

Balls and Murderstang held their hands up to show Marston they were friendly, before crawling up next to him with their own rifles.

“You were gonna get this party started without us?” Murderstang asked with a grin on his face.

“You’ve got some balls kid, that's for sure…” Joked Balls as he took aim with his rifle.

“You guys were late, so that means I’ve got dibs on these guys at the front of the house, Balls take the two on the left side, ‘Stang take the stragglers on the right…”

All three men looked through their sights and found their first targets, Marston slowly breathed out, then gently squeezed the trigger until his rifle released its shot with a boom that echoed in the night. The flurry of shots that followed left bodies strewn all over the lawn of the mansion, dozens of suited men lay lifeless on the lawn and not a single shot was fired back.

Marston scanned the grounds for anyone making a stand, but it appeared to be clear for him to conduct his break-in.

“Stang… You’ll cover us from here, Balls… we’re gonna clear the mansion”

Both men nodded, understanding what was required of them, then Marston and Balls got to their feet and jogged slowly towards the entrance to the building. They were no more than fifteen metres from the door when suddenly an armed man jumped out from the doorway.

There was a loud crack from behind them, and the man slumped to the ground clutching his throat as bright red blood squirted from between his fingers spraying claret over the grass and path in front of him. They both stepped over the body and stacked up at the doorway ready to enter.

Marston drew his revolver and gripped the door handle with the other hand, he looked over at Balls who nodded to indicate he was ready, but Marston looked at his rifle and shook his head. He opened his duster coat and unbuckled the second holstered revolver he was carrying then handed it to Balls. Balls nodded in appreciation as he fitted the holster, and once fitted he drew the mighty revolver with a confused look on his face. He appeared to be weighing it with his hand, then with a small flick it was spinning in his hand. Balls looked at his hand as if it didn't belong to him, then began to inspect the weapon, which he appeared to know as well as his own body. He looked closely at the grip, and the engraved initials upon it ‘L.R’.

“La.. La.. Lan… Landon? Landon Ricketts?! Landon Ricketts?!?!”

He looked over at Marston with a puzzled expression as splinters of memories flashed through his head.

“It’s time brother” Said Marston, as Balls began to compose himself. 

Balls took a firm grip of his shooting iron, got back into position and nodded back at Marston to indicate he was ready. Marston kicked open the door and burst into the mansion with his brother at his side. It was just like old times, back in the trenches, glorious gunfire being rained upon their enemies as they stormed the mansion like berserkers. Age may have had an effect on their appearance, but the fight inside them seemed stronger than ever as their skills in battle were put to the test once more.

They fought their way to the top of the stairs where a grand set of double doors stood, and behind them the leader of this mob they had been decimating.

“I’ll take care of things out here and hold them off, you need to finish this… Go now!”

Balls, leans over the rails and fires upon the bodyguards that are trying to ascend the stairs, as Marston enters the office.

Inside, the so-called godfather stands waiting in front of his desk. Marston feels déjà vu as he throws open his duster coat, exposing the grip of the fabled revolver that had ended so many lives, and the stare down begins. Marston’s stare does not falter, he does not blink, his focus unbreakable as ever...

A drop of sweat drips down the godfather's head... Marston remains calm.

The old man's hands shake... Marston remains still.

His sweat-glazed eyes glance down to locate his pistol... Marston knows exactly where his revolver is.

The godfather looks down as his hand finds the grip of his pistol... Marston's head does not move, his hand finds his revolver in the same place it always is. He does not rush his shot, his arm is locked out and steady, his aim true… His shot is released...

The old man looks up, but he does not see his foe in front of him, just blurs, flashes, memories... Then everything goes blank, and his lifeless body slumps to the floor…

Outside the office, the gunfight seemed to have come to a lull...

“ALL CLEAR OUT HERE!” Shouts Murderstang from somewhere near the entrance and

Balls tips his hat to Marston to let him know it is also clear inside.

Marston takes some rope from his belt and begins tying the corpse, before Balls heads inside to assist.

“Stiffler sent over a clean up crew from Philly, they’re probably a couple of hours behind us, so they should have this place looking good as new in no time”

Now bound, Marston lifted the top end of the body while Balls lifted the legs, and they carried it down the stairs and out of the entryway where Marston’s horse was waiting. With a count of three the two outlaws lifted the body and laid it across the horse. The old code of the west compelled Marston to bury his opponent, so he grabbed a spade, and began leading his horse to the grassy area behind the knoll he had used to launch his assault. He quickly found an ideal spot for the grave, under a small tree and began digging. He’d dug many a hole in his time, but there was no knack to it, no shortcuts, just hours of hard labour. Eventually the hole was dug, and Marston dragged the body from his horse, which landed with a thud as he guided its fall straight into the hole. He then removed his hat and cleared his throat.

“May patience replace hasty opportunism in generations to come”

He grabs his spade and fills the hole, then marks the grave by crossing two pieces of nearby lumber and resting them on top. He led his horse back over to the mansion to assist with the cleanup, which thanks to his friends in Philly, was already well underway.

The next evening Marston walked around the grounds of the Mansion which was barely recognisable from the bullet-stricken battleground it had been. The civilian caterers and decorators were blissfully unaware of the bloodshed that had occurred, and set about preparing for the upcoming celebrations. He looked down at the paving and grass by the entrance and not a morsel of blood was left, and Marston wondered if the cleanup crew employed some sort of expert in cleaning blood from grass. Then it dawned on him that this was Stiffler's clean up crew... They probably had more experience in cleaning up any and every bodily fluid, than any other organisation on the planet.

Inside tables were laid, stacked with drinks and finger food for the guests. Despite the doors and windows being left open Marston could still smell fresh paint in the air, but the decorators and carpenters had done an amazing job inside. All of the holes, marks, stains, splinters, burns and bodily fluids were gone, and had been replaced with immaculate modern decor, befitting the home of a godfather, a title that Marston now wore proudly.

Marston grabbed himself a glass of whiskey, and took a deep sip as his guests began to arrive to celebrate.

Balls’ head was a bit of a mess after the previous night’s revelations. Once the fighting was over he sank into a chair like a half-filled sack, and sat replaying old memories in his head until he drifted off to sleep.

He woke the next day and felt like a new man, as if the shadow that had been looming over him since he left that hospital had dissipated. He was pleased to see that preparations for a celebration were almost complete, and the mansion looked absolutely pristine.

As the guests arrived Balls felt it was his duty to announce his brother’s ascendancy to Godfather of Bricktown. He looked around for a glass but found an old looking bell that said ‘SHAME’ on the handle, and thought it would work better to get everyone’s attention.

DING DING DING!

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please! Tonight, we gather to celebrate a remarkable man, my brother, John Marston. Today, he assumes the mantle of leader and Godfather of Bricktown, Detroit."

The room erupts in applause and cheers as Marston smiles and tips his hat, acknowledging the crowd.

“He’s come a long way since his days on the frontier and proven himself time and time again, showing unwavering loyalty and unwavering strength.”

Balls snatches a glass from the person nearest to him, looks and realises it’s a glass of water but goes with it anyway and raises the glass high…

“To John Marston, my brother, my ally, and now the Godfather of Bricktown! May your reign be prosperous, may your enemies tremble, and may your legacy echo through the ages! Outlaw to the end!”

As the crowd cheers, shouts of “To Marston” and “Outlaws to the end!” can be heard all around. Balls’ eyes widen as he necks his drink and realises it’s straight tequila, and he looks around to see Stiffler laughing and shrugging his shoulders.

A blonde man pours warm blood from a glass pitcher into a cup, fashioned from one of the many skulls in Alucard's collection. "Sir, did you hear? Marston and his men removed the old bastard from Bricktown" The blonde man's hands begin to tremble as he knew not to speak unless spoken to. A single drop of blood spilled onto the hard wood floor.

"Of course I've heard you brain dead fool. If I didn't think you so ignorant, I'd have you flogged in the streets as an example." The thought of that made him smile his fangy smile. "Bring the car around front, now."

By the time Alucard arrived in Bricktown the celebration was already in full swing. Drunken outlaws and half naked women filled the room. Empty bottles and cans were piled up in the corner almost intentionally. To say the place was loud was the understatement of the century. The live band was nearly drowned out by the sheer amount of people talking. From telling stories to just shooting the shit. At least 3 arguments were at their tipping points. What else would you expect from this crowd?

He makes his way to the middle of the room and clears is throat as if he had something to say. It was like he didn't even exist. He lets out a sigh and under his breath says "Fine". Alucard pulls out one of his 50 calibre handguns and points it to the roof. He pulls the trigger once and proclaims "SHUT THE HELL UP, THE LOT OF YOU!"

A hush fell over the crowd, the band stopped playing, everyone turned to look at Alucard. "It's bad luck to toast with anything besides alcohol." He walks up to the first person he sees with a drink in his hand and snatches it for himself with lightning speed. He raises the glass above his head "To Marston, the hardest outlaw in here. Congratulations from myself and all of Bella Vista. May your Godfather run be long and filled with the blood of your enemies." He downs the drink as the band picks back up where they left off. "Whiskey? It's no blood, but I guess it'll have to do."

Colonel_Ives had a butcher shop in Detroit and Godfather Marston stopped by earlier to order pounds and pounds of the finest meat the shop had to offer. Fortunately the shop was well stacked, thanks to Tyler Durden family who supplied with their own corpses. Ives spent all afternoon working hard and commanding orders to his staff, while paying close attention to what everyone was doing, so no mistakes were made. The colonel never had such a large order for such an important event, so everything needed to be perfect!

After a while, the meats were ready for transportation, so they loaded a truck with it. It almost didn't fit.

The colonel cleaned himself and put some formal clothes on to deliver the meats for this auspicious ocasion. Upon reaching 300ft of the party, he already could hear the loud music and laughter. He arrived, told the driver and a worker to unload the truck and bring it around the back to the kitchen staff, while he made way through the front and found Godfather Marston talking with Balls. He addressed the man:

"Godfather Marston, it is a pleasure to be of service and i appreciate you chosing my humble shop. I wish to congratulate you and wish you success, sir! The meat is now being taken to your kitchen and i made sure myself that only the freshest, finest pieces were brought. I also brought some good venison as a gift and i hope we can do more business in the future!" He then grabbed a glass of whiskey that was near him and said:

"Long live Godfather Marston!"