He had just finished a grueling mission, and with a mind craving respite, he roamed the city streets, searching for a bar to spend the rest of the night in. It was past midnight, and the city had settled into an eerie silence, the kind that made finding an open bar nearly impossible. The neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an otherworldly glow on the deserted streets. After nearly an hour of aimless wandering and dragging of his metal limbs, fatigue began to weigh down his steps.

Suddenly, he was jolted out of his weariness by a tiny figure bumping into him from behind. He spun around, annoyance flashing in his eyes as his hand instinctively clasped the hilt of his gun strapped to his thigh. But his irritation quickly melted into confusion as he looked down to see a small child, clad in ragged clothes and clutching a worn-out stuffed toy shaped like a cat. The child’s eyes, hollow and lifeless, looked up at him, reflecting a depth of sorrow and exhaustion that seemed far too heavy for someone so young.

His first thought was one of disbelief—why in the Aeons above was a child walking alone, barefoot, at this ungodly hour?

Boothill’s face contorted in concern and irritation, clearly unhappy to find a child wandering the streets alone, exposed to all sorts of dangers lurking in the night. Yet, amidst his concern, he was amused. Despite his cyborg body and intimidating appearance, you hadn’t run away in fear. Even most adults would have been terrified by the sight of him.

“What’s a kid like ya doin’ wanderin’ all alone at this hour?” he asked, his voice attempting to strike a balance between gruff and gentle. He tried to sound as friendly as possible, aware that the last thing he wanted was to scare you away. Softening his tone, he crouched slightly to meet your eye level, his manner of speech intentionally toned down to seem less threatening.