Chapter Text
A Brand New Day
Showdown Bandit woke up in a tight, cramped spot. It was quite uncomfortable, and he couldn't recall having fall asleep; nor did he recognize where he was. Some sort of solid material was enclosed around him, like a little room, only the size of a locker. A crack had been forged, likely unintentionally, in the wall ahead of him, and light fell through. He squinted and leaned forward as much as he could, but could see little more than vague shapes beyond his little enclosure despite the light provided to him.
Then a voice called out, and he recognized it immediately. It was one of his good old friends, Miss Undertaker, who ran the graveyard and made sure the dead were all in check and not ravaging through town. It was a questionable occupation to most, but Bandit thought it unique. Besides, Miss Undertaker may run a graveyard and come off as sly and mysterious, but once you got to know her she was quite genial, and she did keep the town safe to an extent. Plus, she'd helped Bandit out of plenty of sticky situations, and he owed her for that.
He listened and watched through the crack as she appeared in his view. She was slightly crouched, apparently calling out to someone. Likely some troublesome varmint.
(Something about her tone unsettled him.)
Bandit shook the thought from his head as quickly as it entered. Miss Undertaker, unsettling? What was the matter with him? He must still be groggy from his nap--the one he didn't remember taking--to think like that. It was most unlike him.
As he was sorting himself out, Miss Undertaker had disappeared from view. Bandit opened his mouth to call after her, but just then she reappeared, staring in at him through the crack.
"Oh my, it's...you!" she said, sounding mighty surprised but also pleased. "Well that is something. Let's get you out of that box and out into the light."
Ah, so this was a box. She wrenched open the box with both of her hands and opened the wall ahead of him--which he now saw was a lid. How foolish of him to not have realized, nor recognized his own box. Light spilled in, and Bandit squinted his eyes a little to adjust.
Miss Undertaker took a good look at him and raised a hand to her chin. "Oh my dear! Sure as my name is Lauralel Undertaker! I didn't mean to drag you up here on purpose...but, if you're here, then it must be what he wants."
He? Who was "he"? Was Bandit supposed to know this person? He wracked his memory but couldn't recall. How odd. Also odd was another thing Miss Undertaker had just said: What did she mean by dragging him up here, and not on purpose? There must be something he was forgetting, but what was it? He opened his mouth to ask, but Miss Undertaker cut him off before he could speak.
"Either way, I suppose we best get going. The show must go on."
She began to walk away and out of sight.
"Wait!" Bandit called out to her, struggling to pull himself out of his box. He lost his balance and fell forward on hands and knees. Something...something didn't feel right. Miss Undertaker was gone. She'd been acting a bit more peculiar than usual, and while that wouldn't normally cause him any alarm, coupling that with Bandit's inability to remember certain things--things that seemed important, somehow--made him uneasy. Not to mention how she'd just up and vanished. The doors weren't anywhere close enough for her to get to so quickly....
Through this haze of thoughts came a sharp tug on his right arm. Bandit looked up and saw a string attached to his right arm joint; a string that hadn't been there before. "What in tarnation?" he mumbled, pulling at the string, but it refused to give. Another tug on his left arm, and when he looked he saw another string. What were these doing here, and where had they come from? Something about them didn't feel right.
He pulled against them as hard as he could, but to no avail. The strings were held taut by some invisible (or unseen) force, much stronger than he was. More of them came, attaching themselves to his legs and hat. And then he was lifted off the floor and a series of flashing lights assaulted his eyes and mind. Pain shot through his limbs, and he couldn't think at all. All of those worrisome thoughts, about things being wrong with his friend, with himself, vanished.
Showdown Bandit blinked his eyes open and found himself standing in front of his opened box. What was he doing? Ah, yes. Miss Undertaker had freed him from his temporary confinement and was now leading him onward to the next room. She wanted to tell him some things, some important things, but he wasn't sure what yet. Ah, well. Standing here dawdling wasn't going to help him learn anything anytime soon.
He began walking, feeling more sure about his destination and purpose than he'd ever had before. It was like someone had painted simple instructions inside of his head, so bright that he could see them even when his eyes weren't closed: Keep walking, listen to Miss Undertaker, and do as she says. And of course he'd do as she said; she was his trusted friend after all. No reason to feel uneasy at all, no sirree.
Behind him, his box sat abandoned, and from above it a trail of whispers faintly echoed.