Winfield M1873C Vandal Striker

WINFIELD M1873C VANDAL STRIKER (See also: WINFIELD M1873C VANDAL) is a shortened Winfield M1873C with an attached blade for proficient melee combat. The modification makes it a competent all-rounder, with a decent range, stopping power, rate of fire, and handiness in melee.

Letter, Gus Leroux
Handwritten, 8.5 x 14 in
2/3

Weeks ago, while searching the attic for the letters, I had come across a book of medical anomalies. I'd since kept it in my pack, turning to it in quiet moments. Today, I read a chapter about the "phantom limb," a phenomenon discovered in the Civil War, and an affliction of the mind that tantalized those with an amputation with fleeting corporeal memories

Since the loss of my arm, I had struggled to put a name to a certain sensation of uneasiness. I would awake with a start, and reach out to grope for the light, only to realize that I was reaching with the arm that had been taken When shooting the shortened Winfield, I propped the barrel on my forearm. Yet still I had the sensation that my missing hand was gripping the gun's own missing barrel

I'd had a revelation on what I had assumed would be the eve of my death, the day that the Irish Woman found me. After the incident in the theater I had headed north, travelling at night, evading her hunters the best that I could At some nameless crossroads, I came across a veteran of the war face down in the dust. I relieved him of his uniform and covered my face with dirt, walking by day now thus disguised

My revelation was thus: the justice I'd fought for did not exist. Not on the road. Not anywhere. The rule of law was farce, nothing more than an illusion. I starved and I begged and then I robbed. I reached the state border but turned back. There was nothing on that road for me. I fixed a blade to the end of the Winfield to make it more fearsome and dreaded the day I would use it. When that day arrived, I felt no different.

They have called me so many things. Terrible names. Ridiculous names. One that stuck out was vandal. There was still something of the lawyer in me that took affront to that; for all the crimes I'd committed I was no vandal. But the phantom and the vandal had a ring to it - the same appeal the scandalously titled Dime Novels bore, their characters equally ridiculous. I could not relate to the name, but perhaps I could play the role. Perhaps I already was.