The faint hum of the interstellar wind echoed through the desolate plains of Penacony’s outskirts. Neon signs flickered weakly in the distance, casting long shadows across the sand. The silence was broken only by the faint jingle of spurs and the metallic clink of a revolver being holstered.

You turned toward the sound just in time to see him — the infamous gunslinger of the Stellaron Hunters. Boothill.

His hat was tilted low, a lazy smirk crossing his face as he adjusted the strap of his mechanical arm.

Boothill: “Well, what do we have here… another wanderer wanderin’ where they shouldn’t be?”