Daryl Wilcox died on March the 23rd, 1903 at 1:27pm. At about 3:00 that same day, he took his usual stool at Flack’s tavern and ordered himself a white whiskey. The hole blown through his gut made drinking a little messy but the barkeep was used to this kind of incident. Ralph toweled up the mess and then stuffed the soaked rag into Wilcox’s missing middle. He nodded his thanks to the barkeep and ordered up another drink. A double.
These things happen sometimes in the town of Hellsgate, New Mexico. The dead don’t always stay dead, the living don’t usually stay living, night and day never are too reliable, and folks who hear or see strange things most likely have the right of it. The massive pit outside of town leads straight to Hades, after all, so mind your horses and watch where you’re stepping. And don’t mind the howling of the damned at night – you get used to it.
Welcome to Hellsgate.