Though Arthur Shipton presented himself as a gentleman, with all the trappings and demeanour that came with it, he was most assuredly not. Despite the finery, the opulent surroundings, now ruined due to the fight that had occurred here, and the obvious wealth he had accrued, Shipton had come from far more lowly, crude stock. No more evident than in this moment, where he removed his lush coat, folding it and laying it over the back of the chair he had sat upon, and rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing thick, muscular arms replete with tattoos and scars.

He and Annie stared at one another. Shipton with an amused air about him, Annie with quiet determination. She held within her great skill and strength for someone of such a lithe appearance, but she now faced a man that had allowed himself to become a monster, evidenced by the two, pointed teeth that protruded, only a slight, from beneath his moustache adorned lip.

"Now, this here is not a fair fight, young lady. Why, I am unarmed." He held his arms out to the side, knowing full well the advantages he held in both strength and resilience. "What say we solve this amicably, like civilised folk? I have, in this very room, enough cash money to set both you and Mr Pierce up for life. All you have to do is walk out that door."

"You murdered the Potter family and I'll see you dead for that alone." Annie moved, circling around the bodies of Shipton's henchmen, each with a bullet hole to the head, or a face unrecognisable from shotgun wounds. "You ain't got no right to live and I aim to redress that unholy mistake."

"I don't even remember no 'Potter' family!" For the first time, some look other than amusement crossed his features. He scowled, anger emerging. "Hell! You could as well recite the names of a dozen families and it would mean less than nothing to me. I ..."

Before he could finish speaking, Annie launched herself forward, aiming the tines of the pitchfork toward Shipton's chest. He avoided that with some ease, swatting the head of the pitchfork to the side, but Annie gave him no time to settle, or to return to his speech. Using the momentum he gave by knocking the pitchfork aside, she spun on her heel, her elbow rising as she returned to face him, smashing into his chin.

That only served to infuriate Shipton. His hand reached out, grabbing Annie by the throat and lifting her bodily, before slamming her down to the waxed and polished floorboards beneath her. Henry, held almost insensate since seeing Annie confronting Shipton, began to move, only for Annie's head to snap toward him, her lips pursed in pain, a wild shake of the head causing Henry to pause.

Shipton towered above the woman that Henry had come to respect greatly, hands curled into large, heavy fists. He reached down, only to be met by Annie's boot to his knee. Even with the strength of a Murcie, it did not save his knee from cracking, bringing him down to one knee, in the exact correct place for Annie to spin her pitchfork in an arc, striking Shipton in the temple. As he fell to the floor, Annie scrambled back to her feet, nursing her ribs to one side.

As she raised her pitchfork, ready to thrust it into Shipton's brain, the man grabbed the nearest body to him, and, with an almost casual flick of the wrist, tossed it toward Annie, sending her and the body crashing back against the wall of the house ravaged by the bullets from earlier. She and the body landed in a heap, arms and legs entangled, her eyes flickering open and closed.

Henry couldn't allow it to end like this. He rushed forward, jumping onto the back of Shipton and began to pummel his fist into the man's face, but it did nothing but enrage the man even more. He reached behind him, catching hold of Henry's jacket with both hands and dragged Henry from his back, slamming him into the floor. But Henry had done enough. Even as he fought to remain conscious, he saw Annie step over him, thrusting her pitchfork as she moved.

Shipton didn't move. He allowed her to pierce his chest with the metal prongs of the pitchfork and it failed to even slow him down. With a twist of his body, he wrenched the pitchfork from Annie's hands, tearing it from his body and throwing it far across the room. In the same movement, he grabbed Annie by the throat once more, pushing her down to the floor and pressing his great weight upon her.

She struggled against him, but Shipton had the enhancements afforded him by his Murcie condition. He slapped her hands away and, with the other hand, twisted her face to the side. Henry fought to rise to his feet, but, even though he could feel broken bones already healing, he had not the strength to reach them. Shipton laughed as he leaned forward and down, his mouth opening to fully reveal his unnatural teeth before plunging those teeth into Annie's throat.

Henry's hand rose to his mouth as he heard Annie emit a whimper of the kind he had never expected to hear from the woman. A sad, defeated whimper that sickened Henry. Not like this. He could not allow Annie to come to her end like this. Ignoring the pain, he forced himself to his feet, ready to die to stop Shipton. Yet, he had no need.

Shipton's head snapped backward, an animalistic howl erupting from deep within the man's body. He twisted away, hand rising to wipe at his mouth and began to retch, crawling away from Annie. Whatever it was that had caused Shipton's discomfort, Annie could not allow him time to recover. With blood pouring from the wound in her throat, she rose to her feet, shaky, but undeterred. Reaching behind her with both hands, she pulled the two scythes from her belt, stalking Shipton as he continued to howl and retch.

"Turn around, you son of a bitch." She kicked her booted foot into Shipton's back, sending him sprawling. "I said turn around!"

"What the hell are you, woman?" Shipton turned, on his knees, and Henry could see his now sunken features. "What is this befoulment of your blood."

"There were diseases before the Starfall and I got me a nasty one." Annie hooked both scythes against Shipton's throat, crossing her arms to do so. "There ain't nothin' more nasty than a bastard like you. Go to hell, Shipton, and pray that when I die, I don't meet you there."

Annie swept her arms apart, the two scythe blades scraping against each other, sparking, as they severed Shipton's head from his body. The head rolled and tumbled away, coming to a rest against the wall, Shipton's dead eyes staring back toward Annie as though in sheer disbelief that she had stopped him. Henry could not feel sorrow for the man even were his emotions not ravaged by the disease Shipton had inflicted upon him. The man did not deserve a single thought for his death. Annie, however, deserved all Henry's attention as her knees bent, the woman crumpling to the floor, scythes clattering from her hands.

"Annie!" He rushed to catch her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, his hand pressing against the wound in her throat that had, miraculously, begun to heal. "It's alright, Annie. You got him."

"The head. Don't burn the head." She made a feeble attempt to raise her arm. "Gonna need ... for bounty. Dammit! Forgot Hennessy's head and the other fella. I'll just ..."

Before she could finish her sentence, she fell into unconsciousness.

-+-

By the light of the lantern, Henry read the words he had written once again. No matter how many times he read it, it still came across a little cold. Full of detail, but lacking in the emotional backbone that drew most people to read newspaper articles. He frowned, rubbing his lips with a forefinger. It needed something that he no longer had to any great degree. The bite of Shipton had turned Henry into something as cold as those words on these sheets of paper.

Regardless, he had written something and that, in itself, felt like a great achievement after days of failing to write anything at all. He had not written the entirety of the article all at once. Interspersed between flashes of creativity, he had cleared out the bodies from this room, placing Shipton's head in a burlap sack, far from his body. He had also spent some time destroying some of the Drifters that still wandered outside the house. They would all need to go, one way or another, to allow Shipton's 'cattle' their freedom. Annie could help with that.

"I assume you are feeling far better than you were?" He turned in the seat to find Annie standing behind him. He had sensed her scent and heard her heartbeat all the way from upstairs, where he had laid her after the fight. "I managed to finish my article. With everything I have learned over the past few days, it may well help others. Perhaps even lead to a cure. One can hope."

"Hope is good." Even with his enhanced eyesight, no longer requiring spectacles, he could only see shadows across Annie's face. "I don't begrudge no-one hope."

"It's time, isn't it? I had hoped ..." He placed his hand upon the sheets of paper upon which he had written his article. "I had hoped you could have allowed me some time. To put my affairs in order. To inform my sister, Lily. I ... I suppose it's for the best."

"It is." Her hand moved and Henry saw the scythe held in an easy, relaxed grip. "You ain't fed yet, but you will. Tonight. Tomorrow. Don't matter. You'll feed and the old you would have felt a great shame in that. I owe it to you, to him, to make sure that don't happen."

Henry folded the sheets of paper, wrapping them with a black ribbon, before stuffing the papers into his bag. Shipton had left it close by, abandoned, seeing no worth in it and having no need to throw it away. Henry felt grateful for small mercies in that regard. Once everything had returned to its place, Henry stood, adjusting his jacket, shirt sleeves and collar. He tried to smile.

"Face it like a gentleman, eh? You know, Sheriff Earp said you'd be abandon me, but you haven't. You aren't. After a fashion, you are, in actuality, saving me." He raised his chin, trying not to look at the scythe in Annie's hand until something occurred to him. Something he had forgotten. "Before I go, please, grant me an indulgence. I would dearly wish to know ... Are you Annab ...?"

He didn't even feel the cut of the scythe blade.