Prototype....?

Prologue

Creak.

The squeaky sound of an old rusty weathercock was ringing through the town's streets. It seemed as though all life had disappeared from the town long ago. The shacks that were half-decayed looked as if they were never homes to families, places to host happy gatherings and singing songs about the Wild West. And there, in the very center of the seemingly abandoned city stood the source of an another, very similar, squeaky sound..

Squeak.

It was an old gallows, fragile like everything in the old desert town. And on the gallows hung a corpse, the corpse of the very last sheriff. It was swinging slowly and eerily in the strong desert wind. The laws were no longer valid in this cursed town. The only law that has remained was the law of the strongest. How could such a tough rule allow a fragile teen boy to survive in those abandoned dangerous streets? The poor thing doesn't look anything like a strong survivor. The case may be, everything is not what it seems...

Creak.

The corpse swung again, heavily. And this time it seemed that its weight will break the rusty hook it hung on anytime and it will hit the dry ground with a loud thump. And then, out of nowhere, the silhouette of a rider appeared on the horizon. He wore a long cape and a strange looking hat. Is he coming through the town? No, he would have to be out of his mind. Every one that dared come through this ghost town had to have a fair amount of courage and the aim of a sniper.

One mysterious man, one vulnerable boy, a ghost town and more enemies than you can count. Is that a sure end or an unexpected beginning of something new?