#formatting is hell

Perhaps that was the reason why the inhabitants of Tumble Town were believed to be fools, having chosen to live in the depths of the Mesa, despite the sun, the monsters and the ancient radiation still affecting the land.

However, the Sheriff had never really agreed with those that had never lived there. He didn’t see the people he had sworn to protect as fools, or as people with a death wish, but rather as people capable of overcoming any hardship thrown their way. A people bound through the pain of survival and loyalty to each other.

Their kindness wasn’t so dissimilar to a gentle flower sprouting from the cracks of the sidewalk.

And, it was for that very reason that the Sheriff had let his name, his identity, go, and had taken the heavy hat of responsibility and become the Sheriff.

Said hat now rested tilted on his head, offering shade to his eyes despite his office already being shrouded in darkness.

The door and windows were closed tight, letting barely a ray of light filter through, and leaving the one room office cool and protected from the outside radiation. Despite the piling dust collecting in the corners and the jail cells behind him, the air was fresh and serene, a light snore escaping the Sheriff's lips as he sat in his chair.

The door slammed open, the outside light outlining the figure before him, as the Sheriff violently awoke. His feet, that until then had been resting on his desk, shoved a couple of piles of paperwork from it, the same papers he was meant to work on before he had unceremoniously fallen asleep, scattering them on the wooden floor.

“Sheriff!”

He dropped to his knees, desperately trying to collect the paperwork before losing anything important.

“There’s an emergency!”

At the words he perked up, rising from the desk, clutching some of the papers and staring down at the woman who had barged in.

She was smaller than him, most people that had grown up in the Mesa were shorter than the Sheriff, and the only thing visible were her brilliant red eyes, as she wore a pink bandana covering her mouth and nose, and a large brimmed hat that protected her from the sun.

“Of what kind, ma’am?”

The Sheriff asked, raising his eyebrow in surprise.

It wasn’t often he saw her around the central part of town, as she and her family had elected to live farther away, keeping the few livestock the town had.

To have her there, panting slightly and with her shoes caked with red sand, could only mean that it was one of the worst types of emergency.

“Bandits,” she panted, “Towards the North Eastern border.”

He nodded, setting down the paperwork he still held and walking outside towards Arrow and Bullseye, raising his own red bandana to cover mouth and nose.

“Were you able to see how many there were? Or any other identifying factor?”

“Afraid not, Sheriff. I only saw them in the distance before we ran, but I’m certain there are at least three.”

“Three?”

“Yes. A green one, a red one and a yellow one.”

The Sheriff froze as he sat atop Arrow, mentally cursing. Because of course it was him.

“What’s wrong, Sheriff?”

“Don’t worry. Has your family hid?”

“No. I took the youngin’s here with me. However, I don’t doubt that the others have kept as quiet as we have.”

The Sheriff mentally swore at that.

“Then, don’t worry. I will save both your family and the livestock!”

And, as the words were still muttered in the wind, Arrow began running, shooting across the scorched land.

On his back the reds and oranges of the Mesa began blurring for the Sheriff, his eyes still not having entirely adapted to the radiation of his home and tearing at the air rushing against him. Luckily Arrow had been bred and raised to survive in the Mesa and had no qualms in speeding as his hooves hit the hard sand.

Eventually, they reached the farm, its warm wooden walls etching against the hardness of the land.

“Stay here, bud,” the Sheriff murmured to his trusty steed, patting his soft head before leaping off and beginning to explore.

It was unnervingly quiet, only making the absence of wind clearer as there was nothing to break through the stillness. Despite the desolate but untouched sight of the farm, it didn’t stop the familiar prickling at the nape of his neck, as if someone was observing him.

Something caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see a flash of colour entering the central barn. Bright red, in surprising contrast to the Mesa’s enduring shade.

The Sheriff ignored the burning of his eyes, grinding his teeth in annoyance, as he began making his way towards the barn. The sand crunched under his footsteps as he reached the open doors and looked inside.

A wave of relief washed over him at the sight of the untouched livestock, before souring as he saw the familiar figure at the far end of the barn, leaning against the far end wall, bright red eyes flashing with amusement.

Because of course it was the Blood-Red Bandit. His archnemesis, who the Sheriff knew without even having to lower the other’s bandana, was smirking at him.

“Took you long enough, cowboy,” he drawled and suddenly the air in the barn became even more stifling.

As the Sheriff took his first steps into the barn, taking out a pair of handcuffs from one of the pockets from his jacket, he took the time to observe the figure better.

It was rare for them to meet each other one against one, usually it was the Sheriff pursuing the Blood-Red Bandit and his bandit friends after they had broken the Law all across the Mesa. He had even been able to nearly catch them once or twice.

However, all those times hadn’t really given him a chance to observe his archnemesis.

He didn’t wear any hat, or anything to protect his head, leaving his blonde hair swept back as if he had been racing at full speed though the Mesa, which wasn’t so unbelievable. But, what was even more unusual was the amount of black clothing he wore. In fact, it seemed as if adding red was more of an afterthought, rather than a statement piece.

However, despite the way the Blood-Red Bandit seemed to beg the sun to just murder him, what caught the Sheriffs attention was his flushed but amused face, and the brilliant, keen eyes. It made him waver, even for just a moment.

“After all this time you’ve been wreaking havoc on these poor people’s lives, running away, it’s finally time I bring them justice and take you, and all your friends, in. And, honestly, it’s about time I caught you, bandit.”

He sneered the last word, but the Blood-Red Bandit didn’t flinch.

“What if I don’t want to come to the brig with you?”

The Sheriff placed his free hand on his hip, where his revolver rested in its holster, “You don’t want to escalate this, bandit. I’m the Sheriff, I never miss a shot.”

The Blood-Red Bandit scoffed, but his voice remained amused, “You don’t even know if we’re alone. As far as you know my friends might be hiding something… or maybe they’ve already ransacked the place as we were having a chat.”

This time, when he grinned, it was on full display, sharp teeth and delighted smirk, as he lowered his bandana. Was he insane?

“You don’t even know if this is a trap, cowboy.”

The Blood-Red Bandit had taken two steps towards him, making them close enough that if the Sheriff dared shoot he would endanger both of their lives.

He didn’t take his hand off his holster, tightening the grip on the handcuffs, and glaring down at the bandit as he tried to come up with a plan. None came to mind, but one thing was dangerously clear, he didn’t trust the man before him enough to take his eyes off of him.

“So, you may be the best shot this place has known in a very long time, but you’re forgetting something equally as important, cowboy,” he continued, a smirk still gracing his sharp features, “You’re playing against me. And, I know you better than anyone else.”

The handcuffs clattered to the ground, making some of the sheep huff in alarm, but they started screeching when the Sheriff shoved him against the back wall of the barn, making the weakly built structure shudder against the force.

Seething, the Sheriff growled, nearly ripping his bandana from his face, “You don’t know anything about me, bandit.”

“Oh, but I do. I know that your favourite colour is green and that you keep your favourite music disc in the drawer of your bedside table because you’re too scared of losing it. And, I know that behind all that,” he said, his voice now just a low whisper, his dark, sharpened fingernail tapped against his golden star badge, “There is someone that is so desperate to prove himself, that he’s going to run head first into danger. Just to show that he can be the hero-“

“Shut. Up. Bandit.”

“Make me, Sheriff.”

The Blood-Red Bandit’s smirk only grew at the Sher- at Jimmy’s frustrated expression.

It was known that Jimmy, once riled up, followed his instincts, usually forgoing any previous plan. And, well, they were already so close, their breath mingling hotly against each other’s skin, and all that he could hear was his blood roaring in his ears.

So, it wasn’t surprising when he leaned down, catching the Blood-Red Bandit’s lips with his own. What was surprising was that the Blood-Red Bandit let him, deepening the kiss as he grabbed Jimmy’s belt and held him even closer.

The whining of the sheep disappeared as Jimmy ended up leaning with an arm against the wall, the other carefully raising the Blood-Red Bandit’s face.

They kissed until they lost their breath, and by then every thought had escaped Jimmy’s mind with ease. Until he opened his eyes and met with bright red eyes, looking back at him baffled, and then everything came back with the violence of a river in full.

Still panting, Jim- the Sheriff shoved himself away from the wall and away from the Blood-Red Bandit, whose mere presence seemed to now radiate heat.

“I- that’s not allowed! You tricked me! You- you-“

As the Sheriff stumbled on his words and his thoughts, the Blood-Red Bandit recovered from his stupor, a sly smirk appearing on his lips.

With a sudden bout of courage, or perhaps it was mere foolishness that prompted him in that moment, he leaned forward, grabbing the other’s hat as the Sheriff backed away even further, as if scared that being touched once more by the bandit would leave burn marks on his skin.

“Gotta go, cowboy!”

And, the bandit disappeared in a flash of black and dark reds, leaving the Sheriff still processing the kids alone in the barn.

“My hat!”

“You’ll have to come and get it, Sheriff!”

“But- that’s my hat!”

As if shouting it as a war cry the Sheriff flung himself outside of the barn, a horse and yellow clad bandit already waiting for the Blood-Red Bandit. The man climbed on the back of the creature, cackling gleefully as he shouted back at the still panting Sheriff.

“How do I look?”

“Horrendous!” He snarled, without really thinking through his answer, “Give it back!”

“Maybe next time you’ll be more lucky, Sheriff!”

The Blood-Red Bandit’s laugh only grew louder, more mocking, the horse started. Its hooves resound thunderously against the sand.

But, despite the disrespect towards the Sheriff and, as a result, the Law, the Sheriff found himself ever so slightly endeared at the disappearing sight. The bandit didn’t look so bad.

And, as the Blood-Red Bandit and his companions disappeared through the dusty land of the Mesa, the scorching radioactive ground warm and deadly, Jimmy could only look at him go.

Which wasn’t very like the Sheriff.