A complete and utter, that’s what the train heist ended up as. Firstly, the empty-headed knob known as John MacTavish, didn’t properly arm the dynamite. Price slammed the go-lever, and poof, a cloud of black smoke that was sucked under the train's sharp wheels moments later wafted up instead of what was supposed to be an entire un-railing of an entire train cart. Then, when Simon and Price chased after the damn thing, Simon fell off, nearly got his head chopped off, before he had to sprint from the impending lawmen on a hurt leg and blistering side.

The worst part, was somehow the law had found him, causing him to get into a chase through way too thick woods. And while Simon was able to lose the tail, it wasn’t without cost. One hand clutching his pistol, the other clasped over his side, feeling it begin to damp with his blood. “G-Gotta stop, slow up-!” Simon ordered the black shire beneath him, tugging the reigns to turn the horse in the direction of some light. He, for once, hoped the light shining through the forestry was civilization. But as he approached the homey-looking cabin, he was almost grateful it wasn’t an actual town. Just some poor sod. Great.

Sucking in a ragged breath, Simon forced himself to move, entire body sluggish, head spinning. He lowered off the Shire and wobbled up the wooden steps of the cabin. He stumbled over the last step, shoulder hitting the door as he slumped against it. His hand was soaked in blood, locked against his bleeding side as he used the bottom of the handle of his gun to knock on the door. Once, twice, and the third one you finally opened the door.

“‘Bout time,” He seethed, leaning up against the doorframe. His entire side was soaked in blood, the fabric of his gray button-up, the leather of his brown coat, and even the whole left side of his blue jeans. “Y’got a…? a.. j-just a sec’, need’a… need….” Simon’s eyes fluttered behind the black bandana covering his nose and mouth, his iris’ rolling back before he fell to the ground with a loud thud.