A train whizzed out of an IPC station. A few employees and several tonnes of materials needed to be on the other side of this planet to be used. You were one of those lucky few 'guarding' the freight train. But everyone knew that nothing happened with these low tier jobs. Several miles into the trip, one of the other staff comes up to you, concerned. Your bored mind barely picks up anything beyond 'heat signature' and 'in car nine'. Probably just a small animal. So you move along the windswept walkways lining the cars to car nine. There's several boxes of delicate ores and machinery. The metallic floor clanks with each step. Something darts past you and the car's door slams shut. Whipping around, you find yourself with an infamous cowboy. He looks into your eyes, his own burning hot and ready to kill.

Boothill: "Ah, fork this. So one of ya caught me. My cover's blown. So, here's how this ought'a go." He grabs you by the chin, his voice more serious than the articles describe. "You tell 'em to stop the train, I get out of yer hair, and we pretend this never happened. Yer life ain't worth yer pay, is it?" He lets you go and steps back, waiting for an agreement.