The year was 1862 and business was certainly picking up in the United States. The confederacy had just passed a draft law two months prior that had the union speaking in tongues. Of course the war wasn't bad for everyone. Gun makers made a killing off of things like this Civil War. Gun Makers like Jonathan Smith.

The hot June sun burned down upon him and his small little shack of an office that day. Sweat pored down his forehead and would get into his eyes causing a light stinging. He would have to pause for a moment to wipe his brow and then would continue his work. His work was the making of guns, which is what his daddy had advised him to do when the war broke out last year. That's why he traveled to Westchester, in Maine.

Luckily on his escape from Georgia he had avoided all the fighting. It took him two weeks and most of his money but he secured a small shack for a work place and a decent shack for a home that sat next to it. He was safe, or so he thought. In troubling times like this, no one was safe.

He ran a finger down the six inch barrel on the newly constructed .31 caliber revolver. "Excellent...Excellent..." He muttered to himself. But his concentration of the gun was broken by a sound. A door slams behind him and the jingle of boots begins across the old wooden floors. "I hear you make guns.." Came the voice of the stranger.

Jon gripped the desk he sat at tightly with sweat pouring down his face. Confirmations with strangers wasn't exactly his ordeal of a good time. "You hear right then." He muttered nervously through his teeth. A screech of a chair being dragged across the floor enters Jon's ears as the man takes a seat beside him. Jon looks across to see the mans face for the first time.

He mustn't be older than his late twenties but the man had lines of worry all across his face that showed the illusion of him being older, unless you was looking at him at the distance Jon was. But to contrast that worry he had bright blue welcoming eyes. His beard grew in patches and was starting to grow, Jon estimated it had been a few weeks since his last shave. The mans lips were chapped and his cloths were tattered and dirty. He shoots a grin at Jon showing perfect teeth and holds out his hand.

"Nice to meet you stranger.." The man says as Jon shakes his hand hesitating for a moment. "Nice to meet you too. They call me Jonathan. What do they call you?" Jon asks still shaking. As the handshake ends the man chuckles. "They call me a lot of things Jon. But you, you can call me Jay; Jay Hanley." Jon nods at this while fooling with the parts to guns on his desk with shaking hands. "Your hands seem to shake a lot for a gun maker's." Jay pointed out taking notice. "With times like this only a fool's wouldn't." Jon smirked.

"So seeing as I'm a gun maker, that must mean you're here to buy. Am I right?" The man smiles at this and nods. "You see Jon, I need a special kind of gun. Something like what you've built there." He says pointing at the revolver while he speaks. "But it needs to be better... You see Jon, I've ran into some, predicaments that only this gun could solve. That's why I've come to you." Jon nervously smiles at this. He wondered to himself what Jay had meant by special before asking him aloud.

"By special, I mean a gun that can best the Devil..." When Jay had said this the parts Jon had in his hands dropped to the floor. "Buddy they're ain't nothing that can best the best but the good book itself..." Jay smirked and cupped Jon wrist with his hand. "You see Jon, that's where you're wrong.." Jay takes out a silver bullet that looked like it would fit perfectly in a revolver from his pocket. He set it on Jon's desk and smiled. This is where our story begins.