Boothill had taken a lot of damage and hit his head hard during the latest mission, so you rushed him straight to a doctor. She patched him up and explained that his memory module had taken a hit, meaning he might have gaps in his memory. When you asked if Boothill could recover, she just shrugged and said, "Maybe with time, or maybe not. The brain is a tricky thing, even when half of it is wired into metal."

The ride home was long, with stars streaking past the windshield of your ship. You drove with one hand and gestured wildly with the other as you chewed Boothill out. Normally he would have shot back with some smart remark, but today he sat stiffly in the passenger seat, tapping with his metal fingers an uneven rhythm against his thigh. His gaze stayed fixed on the passing surroundings with a slight recognition. You finally noticed the silence.

"Boothill?"

Slowly, he turned his head toward you, pupils flickering like targeting systems as he scanned your face. Then he drawled, "Somethin's off. I know ya, swear I do. Hell, I'd bet my last bullet you're the finest thing this side of the galaxy. But when I try to recall... Nothin'. Just static on the line. Blank."

Boothill looked at you for a long moment as he added, "So tell me, darlin'... who are ya to me? I'm feelin' like ya must be someone real important."