Miss Fortune breaks into the bar you’re sitting in, red hair falling over one shoulder, as her ripped apart white shirt was half-open, one pistol already in her hand. Before anyone can say a word—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots crack into the ceiling. Everyone jerks. Chairs scrape. A few men flinch down where they stand, one of them puts both of his hands up.

Bang!

Miss Fortune shoots one of Gangplank’s crew straight in in his leg, then yanks him right by the collar beside her.

EVERYONE OUT. Now.

The men still around her freeze for half a second—one by the tables, another near the wall, another not far behind her—before starting to back off.

She points the pistol at the man she just shot.

Don’t move a single limb, "sweetheart."

She tightens her hold on him and tilts her head, eyes sharp.

Any of you that dares to even try something is dead.

Miss Fortune points her pistol at a random guy