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Go Shijima     After the budget cut, the SCD will have barely enough money to keep up the anonymous help app suggested by Tomari. A mysterious request for help arrives, with absolutely no meta-data. It's also in English, and poorly spelled to the point that a child likely wrote it. It reads:

Deer Masked Rider,

    My names Luke McCarthy and my momma says we live bout half way tween San Antonio and Ostin on the Chisom Trale and we have got bout five hunnard head of catle and a dog and som horses on are ranch. But the horses aint for just us cos we have some hands too and they ride the horses up the trale with daddy every few months.

    The sircut juj dont leave none of us on the trale alone cos hes meen as a ratler. He dont say nothing but what he figures you done and it aint never fare. My daddy told me not to look but I seen where the juj strung up Mister Ingram on the trale for waring blue. Mister Ingram kilt him day before but he dont stay ded.

    I rote you cause I herd my momma say the Rangers was too bisy but I been praying too so if you get this leter and Jesus is here when you show up then maybe you can still eat supper with us. If your not a tall tale like my friend says please come help us.


    Tracking down the source of this request involves Kyuu's net detective skills, Kiriko's resourcefulness, and even the Chief's old-fashioned thinking. Kyuu is able to determine that the Chisolm Trail was a major cattle drive route from Texas to Kansas, still in use today. Public records from a handful of Texas-es with a 'McCarthy ranch' date the deed somewhere in the 1870s.

     That still leaves the matter of how to figure out *which* Texas it is, however, because there's three or four possible hits. It's Kiriko who has the idea to narrow down the result by having the Chief speak with the Texas Rangers (with Go translating)--via the one means of technology both jurisdictions have access to.

WE KNOW ABOUT JUDGE STOP
ACTIVE ALONG CHISOLM STOP
ONE RANGER DEAD NEAREST THREE DAYS OUT STOP
HELP WELCOMED STOP
WOULDNT COUNT ON MASKED RIDER STOP
GATE IN AUSTIN STOP
DIRECTIONS TO FOLLOW


     "Why does the Ranger captain keep saying Tomari's name?" asks Go, looking up from the telegram after he finishes reading. "Have you guys met?"
Go Shijima TEXAS

    Anyway, it's about fifty miles, following the trail, from Austin to the ranch. The trail is more of a 'suggestion' than a formalized road, and in places, even with the thousands of cattle which pass over it each day, it's still just wild enough to be annoying to cross over.

    It isn't hard to know you're on the right track when you begin to see the rather gruesome trail markers. This judge has been busy, as the last ten miles or so have several victims strung up on poles, with the names of their 'crimes' written on their foreheads in blood. 'Whistling.' 'Sweeping.' 'Walking.' When you find 'wearing blue,' you've made it.

    The McCarthy ranch is signified as such by a hanging signpost. The lowing of cattle can be heard a ways off. Owing to its proximity to the San Marcos river, this ranch is plenty green, though it's the time of year where the heat and humidity start to pick up. The death of a Mr. Ingram has apparently not been received well, as there seems to be an absence of ranch hands compared to what would be necessary for this many cattle.

    The homestead isn't far from here. Presumably, that bearded, blond haired, suntanned fellow in the rawhide vest, standing on the porch with unease painted on his face, is Mr. McCarthy. The young man of about seven or eight years, running excitedly towards you from the cattle enclosure, shovel clanging against the ground, takes more after his mother, but the family resemblance is clear.

    "Can I help you folks?" asks Mr. McCarthy tiredly. A Schofeld revolver hangs at his hip, but he sees no need to reach for it in daylight hours. "More importantly, you need a place to stay? It gets unfriendly here, after dark." The orange tint of the early evening sun seems off, somehow, shadows too long, a dead tree near the homestead pointing almost accusingly at the sky.
Roxas     EARLIER...

Ordinarily, Roxas travels by suspiciously evil-looking portal. Today, when he pokes his head in quite early, he inspects the surroundings of his exit point and -- if anybody happens to be there an hour or more in advance -- disappears with a, "I'll be back in a while."

    EARLIER, BUT STILL CLOSER TO NOW...

What emerged out of the portal closer to the actual designated meeting time was a black Jeep Wrangler. You might be surprised to find that Roxas is driving it; and you would be right to be surprised. It's not that he's not well past driving age (he is), but it's reasonable to expect that he's not quite RENTAL age.

He doesn't explain this at all.

The rear of the vehicle is loaded with extra gasoline cans, water, and assorted Dollar Store quick-meals and snacks. Some of it is passably acceptable to consume this time instead of just pure garbage.

    NOW...

Roxas pulls his vehicle off to one side when they get within a reasonable walking distance of their destination, turning the ignition off and tossing the keys towards Xion.

He might have had to promise she gets to drive next. Or he might just trust her with the keys more. It's hard to say.

Climbing out of the vehicle, Roxas strides towards the homestead. All told, wearing a white t-shirt and black jeans with matching sneakers makes Roxas look out of place, but not particularly threatening.

He shrugs towards Mr. McCarthy, "Some friends of ours got a request for help at this location. I'm doing pretty good all on my own. It's weird to see all of these places undeveloped! Uh, no offense. There's just a lot less..."

He makes an expanding gesture with his hands, not explaining particularly well. Then he offers a light wave towards the boy running their way.

"I assume the call for help has to do with the... scarecrows, I'll call them," Roxas adds, his expression momentarily perturbed.
Shinnosuke Tomari Tridoron Wild is leading the show today. The black dune-buggy supercar drives through the gate and onto the trail, as Shinnosuke Tomari considers the message. They need a Masked Rider, huh? A judge is hurting people? That's no good. Anyone who wants a ride with Shinnosuke gets it, as he drives untransformed. He watches the bodies as he parks, grabbing Mr. Belt with a brief exchange. "This might be something more mundane, but it's still our responsibility to help them." "<Right on>, Shinnosuke!"

He's not dressed for Texas. His normal suit and tie, pistol at his hip, with Mr. Belt on his waist, as he approaches Mr. McCarthy. Fish out of water.

"You must be Mr. McCarthy, and that must be Luke." He gestures to the boy, drawing his badge. It's probably unrecognizable, being much more modern, but at least might give a feeling of 'authority' of some sort. "Shinnosuke Tomari, working with the Rangers. We're here to help with the Judge problem. Luke here told us about it from across the warpgate, so we stretched out the call to see if we could be of any help." Hopefully, McCarthy doesn't draw his gun. If he does, Shinnosuke's hands go up, in the all-encompassing 'we come in peace' gesture.

"Is it true? That he doesn't stay dead? What happens when he's killed?" Mr. Belt hmms, and then mutters. "Could he be...?"
Xion One of the fringe benefits of being an action superheroine is that no matter what weird world you go to, you always fit in. This hasn't been necessary for most of the worlds that people go to, because either they're expecting Xion to look like Xion, or, more likely...

People looking like a human in a hoodie isn't that non-normative. Not so here.

Texas has its own code of normalcy.

Xion, riding shotgun in the RIDER WRANGLER, leans out the side with white button-down shirt with collar open at the top button and a black bandanna with hollow star-shapes in white printed on it, jeans, and a black vest.

Reaching up a hand to catch the tossed keys, she rolls her legs over the side of the jeep, hopping down to the earth with a jangle of... keys, a keyring at her hip where a pistol would be jangling with at least a dozen different keychains in various states of color and vibrancy.

"Howdy!" She calls, a broad-brimmed hat materializing into her hand and settling on her dark-haired head casually. "We're here to help! Sorry it's taken so long. This place is great! Except, um..."

Her expression droops with her hat-brim. "All the murder. That's not great."
Strawberry Princess      The nature of the 'sircut juj' is one of several puzzle pieces rattling around in Strawberry's head, jostling with every bump the Jeep's suspension can't absorb. She's read the message on her phone a half-dozen times by now, forwarded straight from the SCD. Doesn't talk except to give a verdict; doesn't sentence but to death; won't even stay put in the grave. "He sounds- more like a creature, than anything else," she muses out loud. "Like an old story."

     Unlike the prior outings, she's dressed in her full magical girl regalia; her wand's laid across her lap, and her blonde hair flutters in the wind that comes through the rolled-down window. Whoever 'Luke McCarthy' is, he needs a proper hero, doesn't he? Not some scruffy girl wearing sneakers. At first she's enjoying the scenery, but as the first bodies come into view, her breath hitches in her throat and she abruptly looks away. The lower half of her face is the only thing visible under her helmet, but it's plenty telling: tight jaw, thin lips.

     When they disembark at the farm, Strawberry's pastel colors give her an otherworldly look against the area's predominating earthy tones. "I like your outfit," she offers to Xion as they hop out, like she's suddenly reminded to say so by the hat's summoning. "Shirts like that are great, aren't they?" It's spoken with a bit more casual warmth than she's actually feeling after seeing those strung-up corpses, but that just helps her ramp up for the next part.

     Others are already making contact with Mr. McCarthy. Strawberry's attention naturally gravitates to Lucas instead. She gives him a warm, brave smile as he approaches, takes a couple of steps forward to signal that she's interested in talking to him, and then crouches down to Child Eye Level as he covers the remaining distance.

     "Hey, Mr. Luke," she says in her very best voice, barely even hoarse. "My name's Strawberry. We got your letter. How've you been?" She's watching his eyes, searching his tone- how bad's his emotional state? Does he seem sad, frightened, lastingly traumatized?
Go Shijima      "The call for help?" Mr. McCarthy seems confused.

     "Y'all got my letter!" Luke is a blond haired, green eyed kid, his voice still pitched in the timbre of youth. He throws the shovel aside and jumps up and down. "The postman said he couldn't send no letter without an address but I knew you'd come! So which one of you's the Masked Rider?" He seems to be looking between Roxas and Xion.

     "*Kamen* Rider," says Go, stepping forward. The Ride Macher wasn't a pleasant drive, but it worked. "I'm Kamen Rider Mach, that's Kamen Rider Drive, and..." What is Xion going by, these days? "Something about a key..."

     "Anyway, that's Strawberry Princess, and that's Roxas."

     Luke doesn't seem discouraged in the slightest. "Well, three Common Riders, a Prin-cess and a Roxas oughta be enough for one bad ol judge," he concludes. Xion's apology is waved away. "Shucks, miss Key, it was you or Jesus."

     "Finer than a frog hair split four ways, now that you're here," he says brightly, when Strawberry asks after his well being. But she can tell that he's trying to put on a brave face. This is a kid that's realizing Adults Are Mortal much too soon.

     "Luke..." Mr. McCarthy sighs, evidently realizing this, and placing a hand on his son's head. There's a wan smile cast Strawberry's way--travelers who are good with kids (especially after long rides) are rare. The fact that Tomari has both a badge to show and an apparent connection to the Rangers does brighten his day considerably. "Is that right, Mister Tomari? Well... I guess you'd better come inside, then," he says, gesturing to the home.

     "Luke, go getcha momma, teller we got company."

     "Yes sir!" Luke rushes off towards the stables with a gleam in his eye. "Momma!" He calls excitedly.

     When you're all inside, Mr. McCarthy (John) has water and rolls ready for everyone. Dinner isn't on yet, but he wants to be hospitable. "Yeah," he says. "I think the Judge might be part of why we ain't seen much in the way of civilization out this way," notes the rancher with a nod towards Roxas. "Lord knows we're makin' some people real rich. But... yeap, it's true what my boy said. Course, he don't know the whole story. He woulda been a baby when it first started."

     Sitting in a chair with a creak, he grunts. "'Bout six years ago, they was a buncha judges that wanted the land 'round the trail. Thing is, they was crooked as a politician's back. Folk would be framed for hangin' offenses, land'd be remissed to the court, and then there ya go." He bites into a roll, as Luke and his mother (a blond-haired, green eyed woman in work clothes introducing herself as Marnie).

     "Y'might imagine people got tired of that," he says, finishing his roll. The small family has a kitchen connected to the living room, where the three of them work in tandem to prepare dinner. You're invited, but they'll understand if your trail snacks spoiled your appetite. "Yeah... some of the ranchers banded up and hung them judges, and we thought that was the end of it. Now this one's come back. Come back wrong."
Strawberry Princess      Strawberry answers John's wan look with a sort of pained, half-smiling grimace. It's impossible to convey all the emotions she wants to, but that expression comes close. It's 'I know he's hurting', and it's 'don't blame yourself', and it's maybe even 'I've felt that hurt too'. But as Luke runs off and she straightens back up to her full, gangly height, the only words she can push out of her too-tight throat are:

     "They're so brave these days."

     Inside, she gnaws on a roll for hospitality's sake, though it's painfully obvious she lost her appetite a few miles back. "Thank you, Mrs. McCarthy," she murmurs quietly, so as not to interrupt the ongoing storytelling. John's story answers the obvious questions, but there's still some nuances to be exhumed.

     "Is he still trying to kill people who own the land around here? Is he going after the people who killed him the first time? Or is it just anybody who'll get in his way?" Though it's not spoken out loud, Strawberry's implicit question is: does the Judge still retain his personality and goals from life, or is he just a rabid dog?
Roxas Roxas latches onto the naming scheme issues with Xion. He moves over towards her and drapes his arms over her shoulder for a moment, pointing with his other hand, "Nah, nah. This is Ranger X (pronounced Cross) Star."

He moves his arm loose and skirts around behind Xion to grab at her keychains with his left hand, easily finding the keychain that is representative of Starlight and holding it up illustratively. "See?"

He releases the keychain with a jangle and draws the name in the air with a fingertip, a trail of illumination hanging there where he leaves it. The name is simply Cross X (Star).

His gaze slides towards Strawberry Princess. "You doing okay? I know we didn't react much to the, um... things, but. You know. Muted feelings."

He seems more than passingly pleased at her handling of Luke, though he doesn't join in. Evidently, he decided that Strawberry did it better than he could if he got involved.

He gratefully takes a roll once they're inside. The water gets a dubious glance, but he either decides the hospitality is worth risking it for, or that his guts can take it either way. Roxas only sits once their host does, seeking out no particular place.

Once Strawberry has ask her question of John -- Roxas takes a moment to exchange introductions with Mrs. McCarty -- he asks, "And why just one of them? Usually when stuff like this happens, it's because of ghosts. But if it was ghosts in a traumatic situation like that, you don't get just one of them. You get a whole pack."
Go Shijima      "You're welcome, sweetie," says Marnie to Strawberry. Just having guests is a welcome distraction, even if they're not hungry. She and Mr. McCarthy are barely ten years her senior. Maybe living out here just forces you to grow up fast. "He's not picky, but he does come after Texans before anybody else," notes Marnie, as she begins setting the table with Luke. "Wouldn't be surprised if the ones that did him in were the first to get got. There's somethin' still upstairs, but it ain't kindly."

     They seem to finish each other's thoughts, in a way that's endearing even in the present grim situation. John, rather than Marnie, is the one who answers Roxas' question, just as she answered Strawberry's. Why only one? "Well... Judge Hanson was the worst out of all of 'em. Wasn't just greedy and crooked, but mean. Hateful, even. Dunno why he stayed dead for six years before now, but..."

     "Things have gotten powerful strange of late," finishes Marnie for him. "Seems like it's all the New Science can do to keep up with the ghosts and haints."

     Dinner otherwise passes uneventfully. There is talk about what things are like in the Multiverse at large. Some of the McCarthy's neighbors and ranch hands have tried killing this Judge--but it never seems to 'stick;' he always returns the next night, whispering his litanies of 'crimes' and relentlessly pursuing his victims.

     Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy aren't sure what will kill the Judge for good. A preacher from San Marcos, holy men from the two nearest tribes, and even (by their description) a Shaolin monk have come; faith scares it away but doesn't destroy it. Marnie, who seems more than just a woman of the land, opines that things like this usually have a 'catch.'

     Luke pensively mentions, in an attempt to be helpful, fighting through a frightening memory, that he doesn't think he heard the Judge reload.

     Night falls. The family takes shelter in a cellar, with the ranch hands there. As the moon rises, the wind begins to pick up. The limbs on that dead tree near the house shake and rattle as if in gleeful anticipation, the grass detailed in the moonlight like razors.

     "Unlawful gathering," whispers the wind outside. "Multi-thread clothing. Impersonating an officer. Flash photography. Two counts of civil impersonation." He's outside.

THE HANGIN' JUDGE

     Tattered black robes that stink of gravedirt billow in the wind, illuminated by the pale moonlight. Mouldering hands pierced through with spikes grip two bladed sixguns, arms bound in chains. Though a hood conceals his face, the rictus grin of a strangled corpses is hinted at in brief glimpses as the wind picks up into an outright howl. He raises his pistols, as everyone rushes out of the house, attempting to gun everyone down with blasts of light that reek of brimstone.

     His aim is thrown wide by the crack of a whip against his wrist. The whinny of a black stallion rings clear through the night air.

MASKED RIDER

     A rider in black, wearing a simple domino mask beneath a wide-brimmed black hat. His steed rears up, and his sixgun splits into six barrels, each one independtently articulated. "Clear leather! I'll cover you!" His accent is not from around here. Further west, maybe.

     As the Judge turns to fire on him, the horse takes off, and the strange sixgun's articulated barrels track the hellish energy orbs, blasting them from the air in dramatic implosions.
Roxas "Hmm... so the other ones might just not have had it in them to juice up that hard, huh..." Roxas speculates.

When the time comes he proceeds outside at an even pace, re-donning the quilted black-and-white jacket he'd retrieved in the interim from the Jeep.

It's hard to mistake Judge Hanson for anything but a ghost-- a spectre, a wraith, something along those lines. The specific subspecies doesn't matter. 'Creepy bastard brought back to life', whether by his own animating fury or someone else's, it makes little enough difference. He catches the blast of brimstone-y light on his Keyblade, pushing against it for a short while before bouncing it away with only light singing.

Fanning out a little so as not to put his back to the house, Roxas flips his Keyblade and points the flat of it towards the ghostly judge. Spinning spheres of light fire outwards with an ominous hum, arcing more like a piece of artillery than a direct fire weapon.

On contact with anything they send a singular column of light racing up into the air and push a shockwave out from the base, giving the impression of a small mushroom cloud before dispersing.
Xion Strawberry engages in a Comment Of Opportunity at Xion (nee Keyon, nee Ranger Cross Star) and her howdy cowboy button-down. Nodding emphatically, Xion tugs indicatively at her bandanna. "I love outfits like this! They're comfy and easy to wear, and the material breathes a lot better than other fabrics. Plus, hats are fun!"

Xion has not lost her appetite, because Xion only has two emotions and 'wow!!!' as speeds. The rest are purely confusing chemical expressions.

Her belt is plucked at, but since it's Roxas, she doesn't mind at all, the cacophony of jangly keys producing a single star-capped keychain.

"There's a lot of bad stuff that goes on. If we didn't eat because bad stuff happened when we were nearby, we wouldn't be doing this. We'd probably just be trying to feed people. Don't go hungry!" She encourages, following John slowly.

Roxas incredulity is met with Xion's bare sigh. "It really only takes one awful person who really, really wants to be awful to make a whole town sad. That's the worst - it's why malice should be smacked until it cuts it out, otherwise it'll keep spreading like a plague. Where we're from, at least you can attack the Noise or Heartless. It's sad to say we have it better, but... We kinda do. Either way: We're here to help. And we got Luke's message!"

She smiles at John. "Don't feel bad about asking for help, especially if people are being hurt. Care's everyone's job!"

Dinner passes with easy laughter and a few asks for passing the pepper, but afterwards, as night falls, the whispers of her unlawful joy draw a narrowing of the eye.

Moving outside to figure out who exactly is Yonder Jerk who is moseying up to her good time to talk trash, Xion squints into the night at the rictus grin.

The MASKED RIDER shows up, calling out for everyone to 'clear leather'.

"But I'm not wearing any lea--"

Xion is shot in the chest, the aim undeterred, and falls back, stunned, as a hole rests across her chest.

Staring up at the stars, the Nobody thinks about how she got here, where she came from, and why, oh why, was a big chunk of her life ring gone.

"I hated every word I heard from this guy already." She grumbles, her body blackening in dark silhouette smearframes as she doesn't stand so much as teleport vertical, drawing Starlight off her keyring holster, the keychain becoming a star-capped blade.

"I don't why you're quoting those rules at me, but let me try a few on for you, you imposter of a judge:"

Left pinky comes up. "Love thy neighbor!"
Left ring finger. "Thou shalt not kill!"
Left middle. "There is no God higher than your Lord!"
Left index. "You're a DICK for trying to drop the White God's words for your own blackend purposes!"

Levelling her keyblade, she strafes the JUDGE with a few sugar-star shots, circling to provide some angles for the others to split the JUDGE's attention.
Shinnosuke Tomari As they eat, Shinnosuke is mostly quiet. He takes in the words, eats some rolls, and pays attention. He doesn't reload? Interesting to know. Nothing else works, so it's time...for a Kamen Rider.

As the family heads into the cellar, Shinnosuke heads outside as he hears the words in the wind. He sees those bodies, and his black dune buggy, and he's enraged. A murderer, back from the dead to do it again. "He doesn't seem to be a Roidmude, Mr. Belt!" "No matter, Shinnosuke. We must stop him before he hurts anyone else."

The hellfire blasts come forth, as the black dune buggy is placed into the bracer on his wrist and twisted. Shinnosuke speaks up. "Henshin!"

The dune buggy tire blasts off the nearby Tridoron, clamping down vertically next to his right shoulder, as a silver bodysuit, black armor, and a bug-like buggy-like helmet all appear. This is good that he transforms so quickly, because...

DRIVE! Type -- Wild!

The hellfire blasts impact directly with his chest despite the Masked Rider's help, sending him skidding backwards. "You've hurt enough people. Now, we'll be judge, jury, executioner!"

Kamen Rider Drive sprints forward, moving to levy a fist straight at the Judge's chest. If he can land a hit, he moves to dart around, and use Type Wild's enhanced strength with his martial arts skill to pin Judge's gun-arm as long as he can (expecting Bullshit Pin-Escape Strength), calling out to the Masked Rider.

"Shoot away, Rider!"

Drive's willing to take back-blast of other's shots to give the Masked Rider the shot!
Strawberry Princess      Strawberry's sharp reactions are almost enough to save her from the hail of bullets, but not quite. As the whispering wind transitions into otherworldly gunshots, she's already awakened from her nodding-off state, throwing open the back door of the house at a dead sprint as she flicks her wand's safeties off.

     She can't outrun the brimstone blasts. But that isn't the point. In the split second that legging it bought her, the wand comes alive with a tinnitus-like whine. The brimstone-scented orb grazes her side as it tears through the house, but it meets with a flaring pink forcefield just a fraction of an inch above her skin, sending her sprawling into the dirt of the backyard facefirst instead.

     Twist around; check for more blasts. Kip up, Sparkle Flight on. Three-dimensional cover? Roof, tree? No- nothing sturdy enough. Defensive maneuvering instead. Even as her mind reels, an autonomic checklist brings her crisply to her feet, assesses the tactical landscape, and then draws her into the air on wings of white glitter, tacking and juking with nauseating unpredictability overhead.

     First her wand comes up, painting the Hanging Judge in a column of faint blue light- but after a split second, she swaps to her Glock instead. Maybe it's the fact that he's getting melee-dogpiled; maybe it's the nagging uncertainty that Mr. Hanson, as wretched as he is, might not be entirely inhuman.

     Regardless, she speaks the local language, and the local language is lead. Three bullets light up the Hanging Judge's left leg, clustered tightly around the knee.
Go Shijima      Hangin' Judge Hanson doesn't seem to have any legs, instead hovering roughly a foot from the ground, his tattered judge's robes acting like a spectre's caul. That being said, Strawberry's Glock is no less useful for it. "Magic with intent to incite hope," he hisses, knocking the gun from the Masked Rider's hand with a well placed shot and singing him as he makes a pass on his horse.

    The chains around the Judge's forearms jingle, supernaturally elongating to entangle both Strawberry and the rider in black, yanking the latter off his horse. As he hits the ground, his hat lands beside him, revealing his brown hair. The Judge utters a new 'crime.' "Curly hair." The chains begin to constrict around each of them, much like the rope that still dangles from his neck once surely choked the life from him.

    But Roxas' shockwaves stagger the Judge, throwing him across the open homestead. The Keyblade Knight's decision to put the house at his back, combined with the shockwaves, only causes a new 'crime' to be added to the list. "Harboring fugitives," whispers the Hangin' Judge, before rapidly flying over to Roxas, his chains unwrapping from Strawberry and the downed Rider.

    "Don't underestimate us," cries a transformed Mach in agreement with Xion's tone, blasting Hanson with the power of STOP. It's enough to slow him down, but not to stop him. Hanson, crackling with red energy from Go's blaster, attempts a flurry of slashes on Roxas with the blades of those wicked-looking sixguns. His strikes aren't strong, but they're incredibly quick, to the point that they're threatening for a different reason.

    Tomari hops in to intercede with a fist aimed for Hanson's chest. It connects, and there is a sound like wind blowing across a hill. What follows afterwards is a high-speed, frenetic close-quarters slugout, as Hanson and Drive attempt to get the better of each other. The chains around his arms seem to animate on their own--as does a frayed, rotted noose, all attempting to clinch Tomari just as surely as he's trying to grapple the Judge. But Drive is far more used to targets putting up fights than the wraith is--and where they're matched in speed, the Rider has the upper hand in experience.

<J-IC-Scene> Strawberry Princess says, "The guy in black..."
<J-IC-Scene> Strawberry Princess says, "I mean, the other-"
<J-IC-Scene> Strawberry Princess says, "You know what I mean!"
<J-IC-Scene> Masked Rider (NPC) says, after a weighty impact, "Masked Rider. Or Little Joe, if you like."

    Following Tomari's successful clinch, Masked Rider's gun is a yard or so away--but rather than waste the opportunity, he makes use of another unusual gadget. There's a sound like a bullet's ricochet--but no gun is fired. Glinting in the moonlight, razor teeth jut from the brim of a black hat, hurtling towards the Judge. Flying through the air, it makes three passes, each shedding the same anti-luminous ectoplasm as Drive's punches, Roxas' shockwaves, and--

    Xion's star-shots. "Profanity after curfew," whispers the Hangin' Judge, his chains and noose latching on to the tree, ironically escaping Drive's grasp by the very means which killed him in life. Those guns materialize in his hands as he turns them on Xion. Her plan to split his attention is successful, because with each new 'crime' he invents, his focus seems to shift away from the last. It's all that he says--whispering each crime over and over again.
Roxas Despite being in a relatively good position to do so, Roxas doesn't flee from the approach of Judge Hanson or his flurry of attacks. He doesn't even coherently respond to them as might be imagined-- he raises his Keyblade forward, but doesn't parry directly. A semispherical dome flickers at his fore, catching the first few blows of the flurry against it before they manage to get through and start making contact with his actual body.

Small plumes of darkness, not blood, waft out on contact. Roxas winces a little, but doesn't really react like a person should.

Which seems to be a part of his fighting style. The very instant the onslaught ends or wanes, he presses forward with some fairly good footwork, swinging his silvery-white Keyblade in a broad arc that is chased and charged with a brilliant light. It hangs in the air where the keyblade passed, presenting a brilliant crescent -- dangerously damaging, despite otherwise appearing just like the light he scrawled in the air to illustrate Xion's alias.

"... Theft, vagrancy, tresspassing, breaking and entering, obstructing justice, impersonating a law enforcement officer, impersonating a member of the military, identity fraud, illegal border crossing, smuggling..." Roxas begins to tick off absent-mindedly, filling in for all the things the Judge doesn't know about.
Shinnosuke Tomari Everyone's fighting. They're strong. They can do this. The noose and the clinch come forth, chaining onto Drive, but he's got two things: strength and skill.

He moves to yank back, trying to break the frayed rope straight forth, and get twelve paces away. Masked Rider has told them how to defeat this guy. A lawman's bullet. If the Rider's a lawman, his gun's gone. He can't make the shot.

So Shinnosuke has to. He tries to deflect, asking if it has to be a bullet. It does. Go asks what's wrong. He lies. He tells him he just wanted to punch the guy. Twelve paces away...

The revolver comes out. Drive Type-Wild raises the dinky gun, waiting for everyone else's attacks, before pointing it straight at the Judge's head. His hands are clearly shaking, despite the suit. Not because he doesn't have training, or is bad at this.

Shinnosuke remembers his body feeling heavy. Hitting the explosives, instead of the target. A man down. A man who has never fully recovered since. He hasn't been able to truly fire his gun since then. Obviously, there's been mandatory upkeep, but even then, it's hollow.

Right now, he has to make the shot. So, once everyone's attacked...

BANG!

A sureshot, straight for the chest. He's aimed for the heart. He's not a sharpshooter like Strawberry can be, but he's fired a gun many times. Hopefully, with the Judge weakened, it's enough.
Xion The Hangin' Judge is a horror of western make, but the makeup is still too-real to Xion. Someone who judged others. Someone without empathy or sympathy. Words from holy books and kind tongues twisted into profanities. The letter of the law enforced subjectively, subjecting the innocent to a twisted fantasy created solely for the act of callous terror.

The sixgun shots don't connect the second time, the aerial volley slashed out of the air as Starlight carves a silver arc through the air, teleports into her other hand, and crosses, an X-cut of active defense hanging like moonlight crescent shields of tangible energy.

"You're just going to say whatever stupid hurtful thing justifies what you're doing, right now. Hanging those people. Shooting us. Attacking people that needed help. The real evil--"

Xion points her free hand at Judge as Tomari sets up for his shot. It has to end with a Lawman's shot.

"--is the malice that's consumed your heart! It's too much for any one person to bear, but we'll free you from it."

Weapons -- alternative keyblades, summoned from the keychain at her hip, begin to orbit around her, tip-down. Some resemble gears, others wings, others axe-headed, hammer-headed, flower-patterned, swoopy lamps, tron lines and sworls. Her bladed corona lifts, and then shoots out like bits, arcing up before hammering down like nails in a coffin to pin the Hangin' Judge in place.

"The time for your malice is over! Something else, something better, can take its place!"
Strawberry Princess      Strawberry neatly jukes to dodge the chain- but she isn't prepared for it to whip around behind her, course-correcting and grasping her leg like a prehensile limb. It jerks taut a fraction of a second later, setting her speed from 'fast' to 'zero' in a catastrophically high-G stop. Black spots bloom across her vision as she tumbles from the sky, reeling in shock for the second time this minute. This is how people die, she's dimly aware. You take a corner too hard, you black out, and you hit the ground like a paintball.

     Again, her body moves by itself. Wings flare to slow her fall, the deceleration worsening the black blots that cloud her eyes; catching a glimpse of the chain through her fading vision, she snapfires a tiny spark of unbearable light from the tip of her wand to slag through it, freeing her from its grasp before it can do worse.

     As her conscious mind soft-reboots over the coming seconds, she'll have to reconstruct what her body did next on autopilot: shifting from a freefall into a controlled dive, Strawberry twisted in the air to connect her pink boot with the Judge's skull, hitting him with an amount of force that would be bone-shattering for an ordinary human. Only her Shimmer Aura flaring around the limb to diffuse the impact saved her from a broken foot in turn.

     She retroactively processes that while slumped back against a dead tree, passively watching the others' finishing attacks rain down on the Hanging Judge. Clammy skin, rapid breathing and heartrate. But everything still works. Good job, me.
Go Shijima     That the Judge doesn't know about Roxas' offenses doesn't seem to bother him. That is, no more than the utterly venomous contempt he seems to hold for whoever is the target of his fixation. As he had no problems making up hanging offenses in life, he has no problems levying equally heinous death sentences on Roxas. As the light causes his robes to combust, another trumped up charge is added.

    "Life without lawful possession of an intact Heart." How did he know that? There is a malignant purple gleam that briefly illuminates his pallid, bloated face, now split like a gruesome cut of meat from the searing brilliance. Something Else is watching. And cheating. As Hanson draws a breath, he screams, a banshee's keen distorting the air and splitting the earth beneath him.

    The power of this sudden attack seems to have surprised even the Hangin' Judge, to say nothing of the Masked Rider, who's thrown from his feet as his hat returns to him. It would seem that Xion is entirely correct--that Judge Hanson is consumed by malice. If he had to die for his greed and black-hearted abuses of power, then he'll choose to spend death making life as terrifying as possible for the living. The sixguns of his are brought back up, blasting hellish orbs to try and knock those keyblades aside. A few are, certainly--but nowhere near enough. As those few are knocked aside, the rest strike true, nailing his ghostly corpus in place. This time, no crime--only a scream of rage, sound waves hurled her way in an effort to strike back.

     It is cut short by Strawberry's boot, which lands with an audible crack into his skull. The enraged scream turns to a panicked gurgle--whatever is left of his mind is enough for him to know what's coming. He struggles in vain against his bindings, the ropes and noose spitefully attempting to single Tomari out. The noose even gets around his neck, and begins sluggishly pulling him

BANG

     Silence. There is a moment of quiet tension as Judge Hanson's body goes slack. Hissing purple vapors rise up from it, and there is a sense of hatred in the air, bearing down on you. Like an awful, greasy hand, this presence makes its contempt for you known, a petty, malevolent, primal emotion:

You took away its toy.

     Even Masked Rider is uncertain... Until there is a subtle Change. The dead tree is just a dead tree; its branches no longer accusing. The shadows are but natural phenomena, and hide no secret evils. The grass bends gently beneath your feet, the comforting embrace of mother Earth. it is the lowing of cattle which finally breaks the silence.
Go Shijima      As seconds pass, even that lurking malevolence passes, as if unable to sustain itself without some level of passive, ambient fear. Masked Rider gets to his feet. Collecting his own strange six-gun, the barrels collapse into one more normal looking barrel with a click. A red flask that looks like it came from a snake oil salesman's roadside carriage is tossed Strawberry's way. "Little sips," he says. "For what ails you."

     Another horse whinnies in the distance. "Little Joe! Little Joe!" A man in a bowler hat with a rattling backpack easily twice his size comes bounding down the trail, waving what Tomari, Roxas, Xion and Strawberry will recognize, despite its 19th century influences, as a New Greeble. "Try--" He pauses, his nag giving a passive nicker. "...this new invention, you killed it already, didn't you."

     "Sorry, prof," says Masked Rider. "Better luck next time."
Shinnosuke Tomari The rope fastens around the throat. It's strong. But it can't beat determination, even if it's not fully hearted. The gun goes off. It destroys Judge Hanson, with everyone's combined help, and...

It seems there was more evil here. Drive jerks back, rope defeated, and detransforms, placing his fired gun away.

Nice Drive.

Shinnosuke Tomari is what's left. He sees the greeble, but for once, he doesn't care or have much of a shock. He steps over to Little Joe, takes his hand, and clasps it in a friendly fashion.

"I assume stopping whatever this is, that's your job. If you need help...let us know, but as a fellow Rider, I believe you have all the help you need." He looks to the Prof with weary eyes, a nod, and then starts stepping back towards the house.

"I'll let the family know it's safe now." There's also the hint that Shinnosuke needs to be alone, in regards to those who saw it. That didn't lift a burden off his shoulders - it just helped budge it back.
Xion "No. Heck no." Xion breathes, arms pumping as she sprints towards the stepped-on-and-then-shot-with-a-sixgun corpse of judge. The terrible malevolence that rises out, hissing and vaporous, doesn't really get a chance to be an awful, greasy hand. Xion's feet find the hilt of one sword, and she leaps up.

Oathkeeper alights in Xion's hand as she swipes it diagonally through the vapor cloud, an updraft of Aero-magic drawing up and out the presence.

Xion plunges Oathkeeper into the sixgun round, the white angelwing dropping into the 'corpse' with a shimmering light-limned ease.

She turns it, and with a soft 'click' of a lock being worked...

Nothing happens.

Hopping off the hilt she landed on, the weapons slowly fade into motes of color-coded light as DOC HOLYDAY shows up with a New Greeble.

"Oh. Um..." Xion releases her grip on Oathkeeper, that keyblade returning to inventory as well after a moment, all the keychains coming to a jangling rest at her hip-ring.

"Sorry, Masked Ranger! But I locked him. He won't... His body won't be host to anything, any more. He can rest."

Tomari heads off, to let the family know.

Xion reaches a hand up to scratch the back of her head under her hat, looking to Strawberry curiously. "How did you know the gun would work before you were told? Do you also feel Hearts? I totally missed it, if so."
Roxas "Do you think I want one?" Roxas doesn't have anything to do, once the ghost is nailed in place. He falls into a steady, neutrally defensive stance. It's relaxed, but not without the capacity to move back to true readiness.

"Truth is," he says, "the more I learn about the way you people feel, the less I want to be more like you."

His gaze follows the purple vapor, the thing that inhabits it. But Roxas doesn't seem to really register the feelings it's projecting, or if he does it's through a staticky field. There's a lot of "lost signal".

After a moment or two, Roxas banishes his Keyblade and summons to hand a... can. It has the shape of some kind of energy drink, and most definitely resembles a modern version of what was just handed to Strawberry Princess. He meanders over towards Xion, sipping at the contents of the can and regarding the corpse with some interest.

"Never thought to lock a dead guy," he admits, frowning a little and turning the concept over in his head. Could he lock GRAVES? It seems unlikely...

Blinking, he looks between Xion and Strawberry, "What do you mean? Did I miss Strawberry doing something cool?"
Strawberry Princess      Strawberry staggers to her feet and shuts off her wand with a sound of grinding metal and hissing steam- 03:22 left, its timer says, but there's no sense keeping the Cancer Stick active any longer than necessary. Despite (or maybe because of) still being a little clammily disoriented, she unquestioningly accepts the red flask from Masked Rider and takes a little sip, then politely smile-grimaces at the taste.

     "Thank you, Mr. Joe," she eventually manages. "Without you, we wouldn't have known..." Her gaze drifts over to the fading purple smoke. "What did we do, exactly? Things feel- better, now. More wholesome." But the Masked Rider is already occupied with his greeble-bearer, and might not hear her question.

     Strawberry meets Xion with a Brave Smile, but falters to a kind of embarrassed bafflement as the question registers- which is only compounded by Roxas's attention. "It's- how did I know? ... Sometimes I know things I shouldn't. But it's not- I just shot at him because I didn't want to blow him up. I didn't know if he was... still a person. You know?"
Go Shijima      Now that the hostile aura is gone, Little Joe removes the domino mask. With it, the effects of some sort of passive identity shielding spell quietly fade away. What's left is a youthful, handsome looking man with brown, curly hair and eyes the same shade, given easily to thoughtful peering. They're alive with warmth, in this moment, shaking Tomari's hand firmly.

     "Well," he says, to Strawberry, "It's no problem, really. I dunno how that kid's letter got to me, but I couldn't ignore it. It's just a shame that Ranger I'd meant to meet couldn't make it." He frowns, lightly, but his Greeble Bearer is ready with an explanation.

     An older man, undoubtedly the age and inclination to be thrown out of institutions of higher learning for crank theories and/or dangerous experiments. But, also, undoubtedly, the Fun kind of professor. "Well, young lady," he says, straightening his bowler and fixing his bow tie in a very endearing Grandpa Fashion, "Cryptids have existed for some time. Some, like tall tales--an American frontier variation on the 'Heroic Spirit' of elsewhere--are dangerous, but not inherently malevolent. Others, however, carry a passive etheric disruption which exponentially--"

     "The mean ones work for the same boss," says Little Joe mercifully. "At least, we think. And we're not sure who. But the nastier they're able to make things, the worse types tend to show up. My father, he... we lived in a place called the Ponderosa, near Carson City in Nevada. It's..." He frowns, removing his hat to clutch it between his hands. "Gone, now, because of them. So me and the prof are working to figure out who they are and how to stop them. Anyway--wait, where's Mach?"

     There's a raucous cheer that erupts across the whole ranch, as the hands come barreling out of the homestead's cellar, along with Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, and Luke, who is leading the charge. "Common Rider Drive! Cross X! Mr. Roxas! Your highness! Mach told us what you done, and... and..."

     His excitement, happiness and relief are too much, and he loses himself for a moment, his eyes tearing up. The boy runs towards the nearest one of his saviors, as the rowdy hands whoop and holler. That rescuer happens to be Strawberry, who gets a tight hug from a child undaunted by six feet and too many inches of mahou. Little Joe discreetly slips a letter addressed to Luke over to Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, smiling at Strawberry and holding a finger between his lips.

     Marnie McCarthy gently picks up. "...and he also came to us with a business proposal. I can't understand how someone could be so blamed mean as Hanson was, or that Nira of y'all's--but it was all we could do to move cattle with Hanson haunting the place."

     "So," says John, "Your 'co-op' has got itself a new supplier."

     Go would, ordinarily, be brimming with pride at all this adulation--but there is an elephant in the room which can only dampen spirits if not addressed. Stepping up to Roxas, he extends a hand. The same gesture, for Xion. "Thank you."
Xion Xion claps Go Shijima's hand in hers, when its her turn, then lifts her palm to grip his hand-base and link around his thumb, pull back, dap, and then do a downsies-upsies.

She learned from Arthur Lowell, and it's the kind of cool kid handshake that's infectious.

"Sure, Mach. This was really good, so of course I supported it. It helps people. Here, since you're running out of money--"

She produces the WEALTH ESSENTIA fliptop from her inventory and underhands it at the Super-Star Action Rider.

"Doing good things should be rewarded with treasure, right? Quest complete, and all."

She does a two-finger wave as a yawning PORTAL OF QUESTIONABLY VILLAINOUS DARKNESS opens behind her.

"Keep fighting as a Masked-" She uses the American term, because this is America.

"-Rider, Shijima Go. Even if we're fighting, being a good person is a choice every day."

With a backstep, she's gone, to leave the Masked Ranger and his Greeble Professor to accept the credit.

If you did it for a reward, it wasn't justice.
Strawberry Princess      Strawberry swells with a kind of hesitant warmth as the whole farm turns out- delighted that there's cause for celebration, but quietly uncomfortable at being (part of) the focal point of it. Luke provides a convenient distraction for her. As he barrels closer, she drops to one knee again and wraps him up in a hug. One-two-three back-pats follow; the universally-understood Correct Amount. When they pull apart, she's genuinely, earnestly grinning.

     "You did real well, Mr. Luke. Judge Hanson won't be bothering anyone, ever again."

     There's no words she can say to make sure he won't be scarred by seeing dead bodies strung up along the trail. But maybe they can seem heroic enough right now to give him a happy memory to lean on, when the bad ones crowd in. And children are resilient, aren't they?

     As she straightens back up, her exultant expression changes to something more humbled. "A business deal...? Mr. McCarthy, Mrs. McCarthy. I hope you understand that you'll be helping a whole lot of people get back on their feet. I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

     If she's still feeling queasy about the dead bodies, or the sensation of a human skull breaking under her foot, it's buried pretty far under layers of satisfaction and cheer.
Roxas There's a certain measure of confusion in Roxas's expression at Go's ... somber? Charged, at least, approach. He doesn't seem to connect the dots of what Go is attempting to bridge the gap from. Well, it isn't as if he's forgotten the problems he has with the Special Cases Department, but they're certainly not at the forefront of his mind or his Heart at this particular moment. They're also not especially rooted in what they're doing to try to improve living conditions.

He shakes Go's hand in spite of his apparent confusion, his lips curled into a slightly perplexed grin.

"Well, this IS what we do. But sure. You're welcome."

Scratching the back of his head with the teeth of his keyblade, Roxas breaks away from Go and glances towards Little Joe, and the McCarthy family in general. "I probably wouldn't have thought of making a supply line connection in this specific way... but I guess that wasn't really the specific idea, was it?"

Shrugging loosely, Roxas banishes his Keyblade and about-faces. He waves towards the crowd at large, "Well, time for me to get going too. Strawberry, if you want the same ride, come with me. We'll be waiting a bit, though..."

Walking back off to the Jeep, Roxas... drapes himself across the hood and fishes his phone out of his pocket. It's an odd thing, silvery and modern but not quite of a brand that's found in the mortal world. It's a phone by Xemnas, that works in strange places.

Once he actually gets a pick-up from Xion...

"Xioooooon... I need you to come back here. I gave you the keys. And you're supposed to RIDE away."
Xion Roxas' voice carries into the corridors of darkness.

An echo through time and space, into the darkness between spaces.

Like a whisper, he hears an unearthly echo that isn't his.

"Oh no I forgooooooooot!" Xion calls, another portal opening above the drivers side seat as Xion drops back into reality. She fumbles with her keyring for a little bit. "Oh no which um..."

She starts trying keys in the ignition.

Since they're all magic keys, they all fit.

She bumbles with a while before the Wrangler's engine turns over, and, sheepish, she beep beeps the horn. "All aboard?"
Go Shijima      The WEALTH ESSENTIA is caught handily. He takes his eyes off of Xion for a moment, to turn it around in his hand. One of these got him started down the path of 'fixing' things, and it's hard to be pessimistic about the results. But for as much smiles as that last one brought, it also attracted Nira's attention to the SCD.

     "That Xion," he says, stuffing it into his backpack as the jeep is piled into. He himself climbs back on the Ride Macher for an uncomfortable ride back to the warpgate in Austin. "Her ideals are simple, but, man... does she make things complicated."

     I'll have to be more careful with it, this time... but I think it can still do some good.