The moment they walked into West Town, Roy felt as though he’d stepped into a cowboy movie. There was the iconic main street: wooden buildings with raised signs standing on either side of the wide road, jutting up from the roofs to make them look bigger. All the expected period flavour was there. A general store, and a specific store, whatever that meant. A gunsmith, a bank, a tailor.

  There was a well near the entrance, and a bell in a Spanish revival tower on the other side. Horseshoe prints ran along the muddy ground, and tracks in the center—all pretty standard Wild West stuff, as far as Roy was concerned.

  He noticed other details, though. Another layer that suggested something else about this place

  Some of the buildings were just facades with painted-on windows. Further along the street, there was a pair of automatons facing off for a gun duel.

  When Roy looked down the well, he saw a crash mat at the bottom instead of water. The vending machines outside a few of the stores were the final clue he needed to put it all together. This was a tourist attraction, a 20th-century imitation of the 19th.

  It made sense, really. He’d read some of the real history. Most frontier towns hadn’t been like this at all. They were plain, rough places, built to keep the weather out and the animals in, with no resources to spare on looking impressive. Gunfights were rare, and cowboys spent more time fixing fences, counting cattle, and arguing about pay than staring each other down in the street.

  The Wild West had really been wild in people’s imaginations. First dime novels, then films, had created a land of endless duels and fearless outlaws. This town was an attempt to make all of that real.

  He was eager to find out all the ways the Warp had doubled down on that.

  They took to walking in the tracks, where the mud had been compacted down enough to be less slippery underfoot. Trudging along, they stopped to admire the biggest, most impressive building in town.

  Three stories high, and as wide as four of the other buildings put together, the West Town Saloon announced itself in letters so bold there almost wasn’t space for them on the sign.

  The top floor had a balcony with sections of balustrade missing, lining up with large crash pads below.

  “Looks like a stage for a stunt show,” said Roy. “I’d really like to see that.”

  “I don’t think this place is for tourists anymore,” said Bastion.

  “Not unless you like adventure travel. That was a thing before the warp, right?”

  “Not this adventurous. They climbed mountains, but they didn’t fight any monsters on their way to them.”

  Bastion gestured to the hitching posts by the saloon, where a few treasure hunters in cowboy costumes were saddling up their horses.

  “Looks like it’s a place for adventurers now, which is exactly what we need. We can resupply, rest up, and find out if anyone knows where the thief went with all of our stuff.”

  “Yeah,” said Roy. “And maybe we can see about that stunt show while we’re here.” He looked up at a banner hanging high and crooked across the street. West Town Stunt Spectacular.

  A loud clattering noise pinged at the edge of his awareness.

  “Roy, look out!”

  Bastion slammed into him, shoving Roy off his feet. They both tumbled into the mud. Pushing himself up, Roy looked back and saw a small carriage racing down the street.

  “Hey, watch where you're going,” shouted Bastion.

  When the carriage reached the town’s entrance, it abruptly stopped and began slowly accelerating back the other way. They peered through the dusty windows as it passed. There was nobody inside.

  “Weird bit of magic there,” said Bastion. “What do you think would cause that?”

  “Maybe someone used to drive it into town so regularly it became a part of the town’s theme.”

  “I prefer theme magic when it does nice things.”

  “Nah, it’s always fun to see. No matter what it does. Watch this.”

  Roy swung open the saloon doors with maximum force and ran through before the spring-loaded hunks of wood could snap back into place. “I always wanted to do that.”

  Bastion followed, with only slightly less enthusiasm. “I got a good resonance boost from that. Goes with my costume.”

  The interior was all wood panelling and plastic ferns. Leather booths lined the walls while round tables covered with green felt filled the center. A counter ran the length of the back wall, with bottles of multicolored, syrupy concoctions hanging behind it.

  The patrons were an eclectic mix, as Bay Town had taught Roy to expect of places that attracted costumed explorers. More men than women, typical of treasure hunters. A variety of costumes, some better than others.

  At least a dozen wore gunslinger getup, though none were as well-made as Bastion’s and more than half looked downright tacky, with ill-fitting polyester shirts and plastic cowboy hats.

  There was a lot of blunt weaponry that implied they’d gone up against Gator-men, but also edged weapons more fit for fighting humans.

  A few individuals stood out to Roy, both for their costumes and their demeanour.

  One was so old he looked like a ghoul from the graveyard. With wispy white hair covering dark skin that had turned almost grey with age. He had the best cowboy hat in the place, though: wide brim, and fine materials.

  Another looked middle-aged, with mid-length brown hair stuck down with grease, and a tangled beard covered in bits of rotten meat. He sat alone, with a ring of empty tables around him. When Roy stepped past, he understood why; the smell was overpowering. He wanted to gag, but held himself back out of politeness.

  At the far end of the bar was a younger woman wearing a cheerleader outfit and a bored expression. She’d draped herself over a chair, which reminded him of Bastion, who he’d never seen sit in a normal way in all the time he’d known him.

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  Finally, there was a young man, dressed casually in a white tank top and blue jeans, chugging a soda by the bar. This one Roy noticed because he made himself noticeable, speaking very loudly and very fast. Trying to keep the attention of the woman behind the bar.

  “Hey, so I heard you used to be part of a treasure hunting team and all, and I just wanted to say that it’d be, you know, really chill if you wanted to join mine.”

  “Oh, so you have a team then?” The bar woman wore a red trucker hat, with can-loops on either side and tubes running down from them, along with stands of blonde hair.

  “No, but like, I will soon. Once the word gets out that you’re with me, folks will know they can get healed up from any gnarly injuries out there, and they’ll be begging to go with us.”

  “And what would you bring to the table?”

  “I’ve got action hero theming. It’s seriously awesome the things I can do now. I held a lighter next to a bottle of normal light beer, and it blew up like a petrol bomb, and get this, the explosion didn’t blow me up because I wasn’t looking at it. Around the same time as that, I got shot by Star Republic troopers and didn’t die! I just said, ‘It’s a flesh wound,’ and barely even bled from it. I didn’t have to dig any bullets out or anything. They just vanished. I’ve always thought about this stuff, and people always said it was dumb, but now it all actually works. I feel like I can do anything now. It’s so cool, and we could be cool together. I know it.”

  “You know my boyfriend’s the sheriff, right? The guy who got injured so badly doing exactly the kind of reckless things you were just talking about that no amount of magic soda could put him right? The whole reason we’re in this town hosting adventurers instead of out there having our own adventures?”

  “Oh. You have a boyfriend…”

  “That’s what you took from all that?”

  “Well, it’s just that like…people don’t usually listen to me for as long as you have. They say I talk too much, or too fast, or that what I say sounds dumb, and I just thought there was a chance here.”

  “Well, keep trying. There are always new prospectors in town. Look, here come two now. What can I get for ya, newcomers?”

  As Roy walked closer, he noticed her t-shirt had the elixir logo on it, and her necklace was made from ring pulls.

  “I guess you sell soda here?” Roy asked, with a grin.

  “You guess right. We’ve also got a stockpile of whiskey from the souvenir shop. The types that spend so much time out with the monsters and raiders need a strong drink, but yeah, soda’s my main thing, as you can see. Name’s Casey Miller.”

  “I’m Roy, and this is Bastion.”

  “I’ve got all the standard Elixir flavours, but I also make my own custom sodas the traditional way, mixing different syrups. I call my theme ‘Sodaster.’ Came up with it myself. People really like the rarer magic effects they can have, but you guys just wandered it from the Bay road, so I get it if you’re thirsty enough to want something standard instead of listening to me yap about the history of soda.”

  “Actually,” said Roy. “I’d really like to hear that. We just drank standard Elixir a few minutes ago anyway.”

  “Really. OK. So, soda was the drink of American culture. A core part of the experience for movies, birthday parties, and extra value meals. Carbonated water is a naturally occurring substance. Did you guys know that?”

  Roy, Bastion, and the young action hero shook their heads.

  “Molten magma emits carbon dioxide, deep beneath the earth, which mixes with underground water. Sometimes, this wonderful mixture bubbles up to the surface in carbonated springs. People used to think these springs had magical healing powers. My person theory is that’s why Elixirs work so well, even beyond the magic potion branding.”

  “So the soda water didn’t actually heal them?” asked Roy.

  “It probably did, sort of,” said Bastion. “It would be clean water, high in minerals.”

  “Yup,” said Casey. “And after that, in the late 19th century, there was a popular brand of French wine called Vin Mariana. Popular because it was full of cocaine.”

  “Sounds like a good time,” said the young man. “I’m Kyle, by the way.”

  Roy returned Kyle’s fist bump and continued listening.

  “In a part of the country where alcohol was banned, John David Pemberry made a soda version of it instead. Later on, they took the cocaine out and upped the caffeine and sugar content, and that was how Elixir was invented. All the rest came after.”

  “We’re already healed up,” Roy said. “Can you make us something for energy? Kind of like Mystic Mana Blue Brew.”

  “Sure thing. Two Orange Power Surges coming up.”

  “I’ll have a whiskey to go with that,” said Bastion.

  Casey handed him the bottle and poured out a small glass, then began mixing syrups into a tumbler behind the bar.

  “So,” said Bastion, taking a sip. “I know bartenders hear all the rumours first. Anything notable happen in town recently that you can tell us about?”

  “It’s the same thing over and over around here. This is mostly a trading post for treasure hunters. Prospectors, they call themselves around these parts.”

  “Any thieves around here?” Bastion asked.

  “Some attacked us and stole all our stuff. Valuable stuff,” said Roy.

  “Yeah, there’s been a lot of that around here lately. Football helmet or pointy hat?”

  “Neither,” said Bastion. “A top hat.”

  “I haven’t heard of that group. What’s the theme? Twisted aristocrats?”

  “Fancy thief. With a femme fatale.” Roy added.

  “If there’s a new group, you can ask the sheriff. I get the gossip, but he gets the scouting reports. When I see him later, I can set up a meeting for you in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” said Roy.

  “No problem. You two can go over to your table, and I’ll bring your Power Surges over. I want to take my time to get them just right.”

  They sat at a booth table, mostly because Roy had a great affection for any movie scene set in a diner. They were always these 24-hour places, with their own special ambience, especially late at night. Two characters would come in, usually after a whole night of adventures, and it would feel as though they were outside of reality for as long as they were there. Inside a booth, the rest of the world just didn’t exist.

  These booths took that even further, because they had video games built into the tables.

  “Ooh,” said Roy. “We have to play.”

  “OK,” said Bastion. “I’m kind of exhausted after the three different fights we’ve had today, but Casey said she has the cure for that, so why the hell not?”

  The game was a Western shoot-out, where you worked together against waves of enemies pouring in from both ends of an old west main street. Roy liked the way health items were food in this game; it was something he hadn’t seen before, and he was so used to associating healing with drinks that he appreciated the novelty every time his character instantly absorbed a giant hamburger and stopped flashing red.

  “Hey Bastion, did they have hamburgers in the old west?”

  “Maybe, if you classify a hamburger as just beef between bread. They definitely didn’t have french fries and milkshakes. This game is just as riddled with anachronisms as this town is.”

  The game was pretty fun. They cleared the first two waves easily enough, then it switched to a level where one player had to drive a carriage full of nitroglycerine while the other shot coyotes.

  “Now this reminds me of my hometown,” said Roy.

  For Roy, driving the cart was even more fun than the shootout had been. The next level was harder, though. They had to assault a fortress full of bandits that threw explosive barrels down on them, and they just didn’t let up for a second. Soon, both their avatars were flashing red, and there were no burgers or fries around to save them.

  Bastion went down first, instantly turning into a pile of crumbling bones, followed shortly after by Roy.

  “Good game,” Roy said.

  “I don’t see how we were supposed to win that one,” said Bastion. “The explosives are just too powerful when they’re in a fortified position like that, and—”

  Bastion fell silent along with the rest of the saloon, as the doors swung open and five men in red football armor entered. Roy squinted at the logo, and what he saw there made him reach for his sword belt. Crossed knives with a single word over them. “Raiders.”