C'était les morts de la nuit et Roy n'aurait pas pu voir s'il n'y avait pas eu de lampes autour de la ville. Moteur à gaz, avec leur carburant sous les chambres à flammes dans des contenants en étain. La femme a dit quelque chose à propos d'un buisson attraper l'incendie et lui parler... Il y a probablement quelqu'un dans le buisson, mais après cette chose, Il a regardé les restes de ce... le... Il n'était pas sûr comment l'appeler. Je peux aller chercher du whisky... la femme a mentionné où sa chambre était et a demandé à quelqu'un d'apporter une bouteille du bar, elle n'a pas précisé quel type donc Roy a fait son retour dans la taverne. Il y avait encore des gens qui mouillaient avant de se coucher et personne ne semblait s'inquiéter des coups de feu d'avant. C'est fréquent?
Le brit s'adressa à l'homme derrière le comptoir, il reçut un coup d'œil. Vous avez des bouteilles de whisky à vendre? Il n'était pas certain de ce que serait le prix puisqu'il n'était pas habitué à la valeur de la monnaie américaine.
Il semblait penser un peu, "Cinq cents" Roy payait à l'homme sa pièce, ne sachant pas si c'était trop cher ou pas. Il a pris la bouteille jusqu'à la chambre de la femme, frapper avant d'être entré, elle se blottit de l'autre côté de la chambre dans une chaise - attendant que les gens viennent pour une explication.
"Alors... qui était-ce là-bas - l'homme griffé."
Name: Roy Evans
Age: 27
Nationality: British
Profession: Soldier
Apperance/Clothing:

Combat Skills:
-Marksmanship
-Hand-to-Hand, brawling he learned at the academy.
General Skills:
- Horsemanship
- Stealth
Languages: English
Weapons:
- x1 Springfield Model 1884
- x3 Colt Single Action Army Revolver
- x1 Enfield Mk II Revolver
Possessions: Holster harness to keep his weapons - two on each side. On his back he carries his rifle. On his side is about sixty rounds for his rifle, on his other side, in pouches, is ammunition for his colts and on his harness is an additional sixty rounds for his Enfield Revolver. He rides a draft mustang and wears  when he's trying to be stealth at night or in the woods.
Personality: Roy is a quiet, collected man, with a serious but courteous demeanor. He is viewed by his peers as the model of a perfect soldier; strictly disciplined and extremely rational, he rarely relaxes when on the job and is usually tasked with keeping his colleagues on track. Though from the outside he might seem strict, rigid, and even a little mean, Evans is not as cold and distant as he may appear. Those close to him know that there is more to him than his no-nonsense attitude; beneath Roy's professional aura is a kind soul who understands the difficulty of carrying a heavy burden.
History: "Name: Roy Daniel Evans. Age: twenty seven, I'll be twenty eight in a few months for what it's worth. If you can't tell, I'm britsh... History... I'll start where it matters. I attended Woolwich, graduated thirteenth in my class and was given the rank First Lieutenant. I was assigned to Clemsford's unit. I fought in a few skirmishes with organized crime in my time.
" None of it even compared to what war was... My first real battle... No more training, no dummies, no target practice... These were people. They could think and they could kill. We had just crossed the Blood River and set up camp at Islawanda. Clemsford's decided to not set up defenses, the damned fool, he said that an attack was unlikely.
"I had shut my eyes for the night and fallen asleep. Little did I, or anyone else, know the camp had been surrounded. I woke up with a... A large African man in my tent, he stood over me having just killed James, one of my best mates from the academy. He didn't even have time to scream.
"It was like some outside force had taken over me. I reached under my pillow and grabbed my combat knife, shot up and stabbed the man in the back, his blood soaked my hands as I continued, silently, stabbing. By the time I had finished, I was crimson. My whole torso, my head, arms... It was dripping down my body.
" I realized that he wasn't the only one... There must've been more. I gathered my rifle, my pistoles... I used the stealth training I'd gotten and made my way to a free outside of camp. I climbed, loaded my gun and began shooting.
"War... War is different for a sniper. Most combat is blind, shooting and hoping you hit something... It's different for us, we see our target... Stare at them, size them up... Then, we kill them with the flick of a fingure, I am not God... I shouldn't have that power. War is different for a sniper... ... ... ...
" After the war, I transferred to intelligence, under Captain Warren. I'm in America on a few months of leave. I thought I'd take my mind off of things by seeing the Wild West."