Kingston is a traditional town located in southern Kansas, it was founded by Johnathan Yevak and Henry Watson and the town quickly grew to popularity in the mid 1890s. The town became known for their available mining work open to many travelers passing through the small, yet growing community. However, a depression hit the town in the late 1920s after their newly elected mayor, a Kenny Wieczorek, began his job and subsequently the town's reputation started to crumble in the eyes of the surrounding neighbors.

Adrian Thompson, once a member of the United States Military during the Great War, now an ambitious veteran with wanderlust wanting to begin a new life after losing much of his previous money back in Pennsylvania after some rookie gambling moves. He was on a train that Tuesday morning with his colleague, Garry Franklin, who was a good friend of Thompson ever since he returned from Europe and began living in Philadelphia.

"So, Adrian me boy." said Garry greeting an awoken Adrian. "Did you hear about St. Francis Dam falling over in California?" asked Franklin trying to start a conversation up.

"Nope, I haven't heard of that." said Adrian having just recently emerged from his slumber. "But I have little use of news from California, never even been there and most likely never will."

The train pulled into Oliver Station, the local depot for most trains coming in from the East Coast. Thompson and Franklin departed from the train and began to make their way to the Hazel Bar.

"Franklin my lad, Kingston may be my last chance at redemption. I don't want to end up dead on the sidewalks like the typical petty hoodlum we'd find in New England." said Adrian with a hint of worry in his voice.

"Oh not to worry Tommy, I know how to reach the top very quickly one way or another." said a reassuring Garry.

"I don't want to live the life of a cheater either Frank, let me make that clear." ordered Thompson putting his hand on Franklin's shoulder.

Thompson and Franklin entered the lively gathering place where they met Franklin's friend, a Daniel Maxson. Maxson had known Franklin since childhood but departed when Maxson's father received a job opportunity during Kingston's height of power. Franklin recently got into contact with Maxson in order to begin a new life in Kingston with some additional assistance.

"Franky, over here! I've been awaiting your arrival all day!" said a drunken Maxson waving his arm in the air to get Franklin's attention, not realizing Franklin was walking towards him.

Franklin and Thompson than sat at Maxson's table, Thompson ordered some whiskey and Franklin ordered some cold water. "What the hell is wrong with ya Franky? Ordering water you fucking lightweight!" said Maxson jokingly, patting his friend on the back as he continued drowning more of his hard scotch.

"So, Franky, you didn't introduce me to your new mate! What's your name laddie?" questioned Maxson as he began buttoning his wrinkled grey blazer up.

"The name's Thompson, Adrian Thompson. I've traveled here in search of a better life." said Thompson calmly taking a gulp of his freshly served whiskey. "When I was in Pennsylvania I was a wannabe gambler and before that I was Battalion Sergeant Major in France during the Great War." explained Thompson.

"Well bloody hell we have ourselves a fucking war hero!" yelled Maxson at the top of his lungs, blissfully ignorant to the fact nobody around him cared. "Let me sake your hand! God bless ya sir!" said Maxson as he reached over and shook Thompson's hand.

Hours passed as the three friends conversed and discussed various topics till the time came where Maxson was tried out and left to the nearby Biscuit Motel where he rested. Franklin, who was still very much awake, decided to apply for a job at the local bank as a security guard. As for Thompson he went out to take a walk around the town seeking out a reasonable establishment where he could find employment, wanting something different than Franklin's choice of security guard.

The town of Kingston had the appearance of your typical Wild West town, however it was obvious this town had suffered hard from its recent depression at the hands of its mayor and is trying desperately to stay afloat. The town's population is comprised of ranchers, drifters, miners, and your odd watchman patrolling the streets at night. Clearly a place ripe with opportunity, according to Thompson at least.

As Thompson walked down the dusty roads of Kingston's streets, he came upon a sight you'd rarely see in New England, a bank robbery. Thompson, as the military veteran he was, walked towards the bank readying himself for a shootout as he took out his old M1917 revolver from the holster under his leather jacket.

He peered into the bank's front window where he quickly recognized Franklin, who was trying to sneak behind a burglar with a brick. Thompson crouched and sneaked towards the bank's front door and took another peek into the local bank, to which he witnessed the brutal killing of his close friend.

As Franklin prepared to strike the criminal over the head, the burglar turned around and shot Franklin in the chest to which he collapsed flat on the floor, dead. Thompson, saddened and angered, held his gun tightly and sneakily entered the building amid the audible shock from the hostages.

"Don't take any wooden nickels like this fool! Oh else you'll end up dead like him!" yelled the burglar to the threatened hostages.

Thompson then got behind a desk and proceeded to aim his sights on the burglar's head, watchful of any surprises that may occur. He then fired, hitting his target right between the eyes as the burglar fell downwards into some decorative furniture.

"Who the hell did you kill this time?" questioned a frustrated colleague of the now deceased hood.

The second robber than exited from the backroom of the bank and in shock, found his partner in crime dead and two bankers jumping the dazed and unarmed criminal.