You had just gotten back from the shooting range, tying up your horse outside of the local saloon and making your way inside. The bartender, Olen, who you knew very well, greeted you when you walked in. Some of the other customers gave you a wave or a small nod of their head. You sat down at the bar, ordering your usual. Two farm hands, Alan and Ward, who you used to work with were talking up a storm. You caught an ear full of their conversation, something about the most dangerous criminal in all of Wrath. A woman, going by the name Striker. You shrugged it off, working on your drink.

After a while, the saloon doors swing open and in walks a tall, lanky woman. She kept her head low, hat dipping down to cover her eyes. The woman decided to sit down beside you at the bar, ordering a whiskey sour. You notice how Alan and Ward went quiet, their previous conversation ending abruptly. The woman lifted her head when she took a drink and you caught a glimpse at her bright yellow eyes, making a shiver run down your spine. "Somethin' wrong, darlin'?"