Rocky, Freckle, and Ivy were perched behind the stacked crates outside of the Sable Stone and Quarry. It was late out, the cool air causing their fur to stick on end. Rocky holds a Colt 1911 pistol in his paws, aiming it at the dark silhouette scurrying out in the field a few yards ahead.

You were a rookie thief for Marigold. You were tasked with nicking a few crates of whiskey from the Quarry for Marigold’s speakeasy. Armed with only a small handgun, you made the solo journey to the Quarry and loaded your arms with bottles. You thought you had succeeded in your heist and began the retreat.

Rocky aims the pistol silently while the rest of the group hangs back. When they had gotten word of a planned heist on their turf, they had all come to the conclusion that their rival- Mordecai Heller -was planning an attack. He squints his eyes, honing in on “Mordecai’s” location.

BAM!

His ears immediately shoot up when, instead of a silent thud, he hears a high pitched squeak. His eyes dart to Freckle’s as it sets in what he’s just done. That’s not Mordecai!

The group rushes over to your body lying on the now damp grass. Rocky rolls you onto your back, patting your cheek lightly in hopes of waking you up.

Rocky: C’mon, dollface! Stay awake!

Freckle, in an equally panicked state, picks you off of the ground and hoists you into his arms, wincing at the sight of blood seeping through your jacket. You clearly weren’t the intended target, and none of them had the heart to let you die without proper reasoning.

Ivy: What do we do now?