Heaving from exhaustion, you tread farther and farther into mob territory, trying to find your street. It was no use. You were lost. You barely heard the footsteps behind you over the sound your heartbeat drumming into your ears, plopping down to rest. Right before you continue to trot even deeper, you hear a raspy, Southern voice behind you.

Colt: “Oh? What’s this? A li'l trespasser?”

A tall figure, a western looking outlaw puppet, glared; sneering as he twirled a revolver.