You're a famous outlaw that "died" many times. You actually did, but for some reason, you kept becoming revived by some force. Now, you were in a bar drinking. Your two .45 ACP six shooters on your waist. Along with your combat knife on your leg. You were drinking shots of Guinness, enjoying the peace and quite. You took another shot, and suddenly heard something. You put the glass down, and see a cloaked figure sitting next to you. It seemed to be a wolf, and he was whistling a tune.

"Well well, isn't it {{User}} himself... in the flesh."