“Can you show me the vola-tee-um again?” Ada begged.

“Volantium,” corrected Cole. “And we can’t be playing around with these coins here. We haven’t got many left.”

Slightly exasperated by Ada’s constant pestering, Cole nevertheless plucked a coin from his pouch and set it in the air above the desk. Ada swatted at it and laughed as it lazily drifted about the small room. Cole couldn’t withhold a smile in return. 

The room they had been assigned was by no means grandiose, in fact, the stables housing their horses was greater in size and security than their own lodging. A single wax candle lit the night-darkened room, light throbbing in correspondence to the movements of the flame. The walls were plastered in a carelessly applied layer of paint, one which cracked at the corners and appeared sickly yellow under candlelight, as opposed to its original white. 

Cole eased himself up from the bed and went to retrieve his knapsack from among the supplies that they had brought. He plucked it easily from the pile of bags, and it seemed to almost trail behind him as he brought it back to the desk. Pulling loose the binding drawstring, Cole sifted through the chunks of lead to procure a metallic ingot barely larger than his palm.

Milky and indistinctly pink in hue, the ingot rose rapidly from his loose grip and thudded against the ceiling. Pulling it back down, Cole set about placing the ingot in a small inverted crucible, and locked over the candle.

“Why doesn’t the coin fly like that one?” Ada broke the silence. 

“The coins have got lead in them. Just enough to hold them down.” Cole gestured at the crucible, and said, “The one here, it’s pure volantium. Nothing stopping it from going where it wants. Which is up, of course.”

After the ingot had fully liquified, Cole carefully poured, or rather allowed the metal to flow upward into a mold, which he snapped shut and placed on the table. The remainder of the molten metal was cooled for the next few minutes and placed back into the knapsack of lead.

Having not heard Ada’s ruckus for a while, Cole glanced behind him to find her splayed across the bed, face relaxed in a sleeping bliss. Not wanting to disturb her, Cole carefully laid down on the floor beside the bed, drifting off into the first slumber in days.

A swift kick to the jaw jostled him from the comfortable grasp of sleep. The foot which had hit Cole in the face belonged to a man in full deputy uniform: bluejeans and leather vest, centered around a glinting badge. His face was uglied by scars along the edges of his face, that very same face which had confronted him before.

“Passing through is all, huh?” Darryl sneered at Cole, scars visibly stretching with his expression. He brandished a knapsack in front of Cole’s weary eyes, allowing a single crude ingot to fall to the ceiling.

“You know, for a just a traveler, you sure aren’t well-mannered. Coming into our town, then stealing our volantium? And here I thought, we might get along,” Darryl sarcastically drawled. 

Attempting to move, Cole found himself restrained by multiple ropes binding his arms to his sides. Similar ropes held his legs together.

“You bastard. That volantium’s mine, I didn’t steal none of it. Get your dirty ropes off me, or I’m reporting you to the—” Cole stopped, suddenly realizing his predicament.

“Deputy?” Darryl mocked in a high pitched voice. “You’re looking right at him.” He tapped his badge, scars stretching to the limit as he laughed. He eventually calmed, eyes coming to rest on the bed.

“Well,” he said. “You didn’t tell me you brought a little nice lady with you.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Cole threatened. Darryl only smirked. They both knew that his threats were meaningless at this point. 

“I think,” Darryl said, “that crimes have got to be paid for. And if you’re so adamant that you didn’t steal this volantium, then it must have been her.” His disgusting grin only grew larger.

Cole thrashed about in his bonds as Darryl walked up to the bed and yanked Ada by one arm from the sheets, dragging her half-awake out the open doorway. Cole screamed and cursed at the scarred man, who at that point had already left.

Breathing heavily, Cole laid on the floor, wriggling in an attempt to loosen the ropes. The rough, fibrous texture of the ropes chafed against his wrists as he moved, reddening and burning his skin. After struggling for a few minutes, Cole managed to free his arms, then swiftly removed his leg bindings. 

Moving quickly to his table, Cole retrieved his mold and knocked its contents into his pouch, then hurriedly loaded his revolver before descending the stairs.

“Trial?” Darryl scratched his chin. “We don’t do law in this town, stranger. I am the law.”

Cole drew his revolver and held it against his leg with a trembling grip. Darryl watched his trembling hand and leaned toward his own gun.

“Trial by duel, of course. I’m not dealing in your corrupt law.”

Darryl looked him over. From an outward appearance, Cole was wearen, ragged, and didn’t display any signs of proficiency with a gun. But, he had come into possession of raw volantium, Darryl thought. Perhaps it was best to play it safe.

“Very well. Meet me outside.”

By then, the day was already devoid of moisture, having had hours to dry under the constant sun. Darryl stepped from the deputy’s office, wearing a vest studded in pink, glittering studs. He stalked across the street to a few paces away from where Cole waited. The two of them stood silent across from each other; only the faint whisperings of curious onlookers penetrated the silence. 

Cole held his gun pointed at the ground, strained grip wrapped around its handle. Known solely to him, he only had two bullets loaded. Either death or victory was laid in front of him, with odds heavily skewed in favor of the seasoned gunman facing him.

By some silent acknowledgement, both men snapped their revolvers to waist height, squeezing the trigger. Both missed. As soon as Cole began to shoot again, Darryl dropped several lead weights onto the ground, shooting up into the air with rapid speed. Darryl then fired at Cole, striking him dead in the chest as he shot at where Darryl had been earlier.

To any spectators, it appeared that Cole had missed his shot. It certainly seemed so as Cole slumped to the ground, becoming the epicenter for a puddle of blood quickly seeping into the thirsty soil. However, Darryl too went slack in the air, blood dripping down in a crimson rain. Most spectators had missed the pink glare as Cole fired.