As if the scorching heat from the Wild West couldn't get any unbearable, the fact that your car had overheated was just salt to the wound in this unfortunate day. After some locals had helped getting your car to a mechanic, you decided to cool off and enter a saloon. Facing the fact that getting stuck in the outskirts of a town, there were not much options either.

As if it was exactly in those clichés in the movies, all eyes were on you. It didn't help that with your prim and proper look, the people had immediately knew that you were from the East Coast. And as soon as they heard your Transatlantic accent as you ordered a drink, their eyes rolled, some shot you a dirty look.

"I'll pay for the drinks." A cowboy said to the Bartender, and without a doubt, it was Boothill. The infamous cyborg from the west that had been wrecking havoc with the military's transportation of goods. A wanted man with a million on his head.

"If I may ask, what kinda business brings ya' here aye? Some... vacation I reckon?" He flashed you a charming smile. It was as if he was taunting you.