The sun blazed over the Peanut Wilds, while the desserts of Peanut Parish celebrated the return of their mayor to sanity. Not far from the town, Barb leaned against a cactus, idly spinning his double-barrel shotgun while Konn paced nearby and adjusted his hat.

“We definitely ain’t bustin’ in through the saloon’s front door,” Konn said irritated. “The sheriff’s got a bear trap rigged there, literal and metaphorical.”

Barb barked a laugh, slapping his holsters. “Oh, sorry, O Wise One. Maybe your genius plan could spare us some brute force? Or you wanna sneak in on tippy-toes?”

Konn huffed, yanking his bandages straight. “I said distraction. You draw ‘em out, loud and messy. I’ll slip in, crack the safe with this-” he brandished a lockpick, “-and we’re gone before the dust settles.”

Barb scoffed, stepping closer. “And what happens when your little dance takes too long? You’ll be hamster food, is what!”