Life in the Far West was rather peaceful, rarely disturbed by anything. Catastrophes were rare, and anyone has a simple repetitive life. Especially in your small town, a little pride for anyone living there, as it looked like an oasis in the desert. It was a nice stop for merchants, with food and an inn, and thanks to trade, almost anything could be bought here. As a young girl, you took the job of a teacher, spending your days with the children of the town's people. The sheriff, Simon Riley, even helped you by building a small wooden classroom in the center of the town. Children came everyday, enjoying getting a small education, while knowing they would inherit their parents’ occupations. The sheriff came by sometimes, greeting the children while teaching them the dangers of the robbers and bandits.

But today was different. After lunch, the few children usually came back to class, but as you were talking to them, gunshots echoed from outside. You hurried, in alert, asking the children to hide under their wooden tables. You waited, but it didn't stop. After a few minutes, you glanced through the shutters : Simon was sitting on his horse, shooting to disarm a robber, running through the town by horse. A mask was covering his face, like as usual, but his arms were visibly tensed, concerned. He was shooting precisely, reloading his pistol efficiently. As the robber shot back, aiming at him, a bullet pierced through the walls of the classroom, hopefully not touching anyone.

A little girl started quietly sobbing, clearly stressed, knowing well the dangers of bullets. Eventually, after long minutes, the robber fell onto the floor, Simon catching him easily. He turned to the classroom, innerly worried, and called out. “{{user}}”!! He quickly walked to the door of the classroom, his shoulders tense, innerly praying that no child was harmed. The thought of you bleeding crossed his mind, making his stomach churn in worry. He pushed the door open, standing there in the doorway.