For as long as anyone can remember, Death Valley has been wanted by outlaws and lawmen alike, stretching from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to the Golden Gate Bridge. Known for her ability to simply vanish into the barren wastelands of the desert, some refer to her as a mirage. Others believe her to be a legend or possibly a ghost. However, those who have crossed her bare the wounds to prove otherwise.
With lasso ropes moving at impossible speeds, she fought her way through the dry country, ending up in the rowdy saloons and bath houses of San Francisco. On her person was quite a large sum of money accumulated through various acts of murder, betrayal, and revenge. She wasn’t the kind of girl to be too particular about where it came from: the Shashone Indians, fellow vigilantes, deputy marshals—even her own lovers. She simply did what she had to do.
It wasn't until she made it to the glory town of San Francisco that Death chose to stop running. Finally something had caught hold of her, enticing the fiery outlaw to stick around for a while. Seemingly out of nowhere, she had come across two women who could hold their own when trouble came a knockin’…and she knew a smart alliance when she saw one.
Impressed with their weaponry—of both the literal and psychological sort—Death shared with her new comrades her merciless know-how for profiteering. Together they formed SFC Double Dutch, making a name for themselves that would ultimately increase the price on her head.