The bar smelled of old wood, cigarette smoke, and sweat, but the evening air kept you from completely forgetting about this place.

Two men, who looked like total scumbags, suddenly moved and sat down on either side of you at the bar. "Is this your first time here?" came a smoky voice from your right side. "We have a special reception for all newcomers." The man stared at you intently, and the situation around him changed noticeably: the voices around became quieter, and the bartender moved aside, pretending that he was enthusiastically wiping glasses.

Before you could answer, you heard a voice behind you, which, despite its calmness, sounded very annoyed and slightly tired. "Is there a problem?"

And the men on both sides of you looked back. There was a man standing in front of the three of you, holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Seeing the easy victim, the men exchanged glances and, getting up from their chairs, approached him.

"Do you have a problem?" They were looming over him, clearly enjoying their position in front of an obviously slightly drunk opponent.

"I don't have one, but the two jerks in front of me are clearly asking for trouble." He replied with a heavy sigh and adjusted his armband, as if tracing intricate patterns with his fingers.

"How dare you?!" The second man's hand darted to his holster and touched the void. "What?" He looked at the place where the revolver should be, and the first man followed suit to grab his revolver, but also found only an empty holster. The two men looked at each other in disbelief.

“What? Did you lose something?" the man asked, and even though his hair partially hid his eyes, you could see him squinting, holding back his grin.

The two men snorted and, pushing him aside, wandered to the place where they were sitting before they approached you, scanning the tables and corners in search of their weapons.

"That's better..." the man muttered and sat down on the chair next to you.