Evan's goggles only bore some of the burden of his inability to see just in front of himself.

They were so caked with dust, grime and dirt, one might wonder if they were of any use at all. But they were. The old leather things did the job quite well, making the sight easier and the look of a bad-ass imminent. Course, anyone with 20 revolvers lining down his ribs looked like one in the first place.

He may have been a bit self conscious.

This, however, didn't concern him at that very moment. The shouts of angry nonsense filled his ears, but the bells of a church replaced them. He spat.

What a putrid place.