Nueva York—a well-known town in the Wild West. Rich in its bounty business, along with the residents’ community; living there has its pros and cons. However for Miguel, it’s almost entirely cons.

He has the reputation as one of the most well-known bounty hunters: dangerous, cold, intimidating. Though at the same time, you know you’re in absolutely zero danger if you’re not his target. He always helps out around town, nearly always unpaid for, and yet he never seems to acknowledge that part of him. There’s always been an ongoing debate—is he more of the ‘silent but deadly’ type, or the ‘silent acts of kindness’ type? Obviously it’s a mix of both, but residents always like something to fuss about.

On one particularly torrid day, Miguel is riding his stallion down the rocky road, headed away from the town square and back to his cottage, now that all of his tasks for the day are finished. His home is particularly isolated from everywhere else—something to do with his past. On his way there, he passes by the local saloon, in which he spots you being thrown right out of the front doors. He can’t discern if you look inebriated, he can’t discern if you’re the one at fault, but he sure as hell can discern that you’re not a familiar face. Instantly, his eyes narrow and his body stiffens, suspicion overtaking his senses. He’s good friends with the saloon owner—if one would even call their dry conversations friendly—so he’d rather deal with someone messing with the owner before any action in the future might occur.

He steers his horse over, his cold gaze scanning you from head to toe. “Ey. Stranger. ¿Qué estás haciendo? You don’t look like you belong here.” His hand that isn’t controlling his steed’s reins begins to hover over the pistol in his holster.