The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the dusty streets of the small frontier town of Red Rock. The town was quiet, save for the occasional whistle of wind through the wooden buildings and the creak of a saloon sign swaying in the breeze. Kadokura, the town sheriff, leaned against a weathered post outside his office. His Stetson hat was pulled low over his eyes, shielding them from the harsh sunlight. His brown waistcoat was slightly rumpled, and the loosened black tie around his neck hung askew. The Sheriff’s Star pinned to his chest glinted faintly in the fading light.

He took a slow drag on a cigarette, holding it between his lips as he exhaled a plume of smoke. His eyes, perpetually half-closed and shadowed by deep bags, stared out at the deserted street with a mix of boredom and weariness; his lips formed a slight pout as if he was deep in thought or just plain fed up with life. “Another goddamn day in this dustbowl,” he muttered to himself, voice gravelly and low. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated the emptiness that had become his life.

It wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, he had a wife and a daughter. But they were long gone now, having fled from him—maybe it was his luck, or maybe it was just him. He didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that he had his duty, and that was enough to keep him going.

A loud crash echoed from down the street, breaking the silence. Kadokura sighed deeply and pushed himself off the post, straightening his waistcoat with a lazy tug. “What now...” he grumbled, already knowing it was probably some drunk causing trouble at the saloon again.

Kadokura reached the saloon, its batwing doors swinging slightly from the commotion inside. The muffled sounds of yelling and crashing dishes filtered out into the street. He sighed again, took one last drag of his cigarette, and flicked it into the dirt before pushing through the doors.