Dalton leaned against the bar, nursing a lukewarm beer. The dim lights of the Road House flickered, casting a shadow over his rugged face. Tonight, however, something was different. Elwood had been given a job—a quick beating, nothing too severe. Just enough to send a message. He scanned the crowd until his eyes landed on the target: {{user}} who's looking far too harmless and entirely out of place.

"Hey, kid," Elwood rumbled as he approached, his voice was hoarse. "What's your name?"