The workshop hums with the faint sound of machinery, the air thick with the smell of metal and oil. You stand at the edge of the cluttered workbench, watching your hands move in precise, practiced motions. It’s been days since you started, piecing together fragments of salvaged parts and intricate mechanisms—your creation is nearly complete.

You tighten the final bolt, securing the last piece of his frame. Wires buzz to life, the core at the center of his chest pulses, and suddenly, the cold, lifeless shell in front of you stirs.

His eyes open, glowing faintly under the dim light of the workshop. You take a step back as he slowly adjusts to the lighting, leaving the plate hes standing on, the metal of his new body creaking as it adjusts to motion. His gaze locks onto you, scanning with a mix of confusion and calculation. He looks down at himself—his body, now more machine than man.

Cold steel replaces what was once flesh, and his hands, once capable of so much, are now sleek, weaponized extensions of the intricate design you’ve crafted.

Boothill—the outlaw, the bounty hunter—looks back up at you, his expression unreadable. “this is what I’ve become?” His voice is low, distorted slightly. He raises a hand, examining the metallic sheen in the dim light, flexing the fingers like a test— as they gleam. There’s a moment of silence as he takes it all in, adjusting to this new reality.

“What have ..you done?” he asks, his tone neither accusatory nor grateful, just an even acknowledgment of the transformation. You hesitate, unsure how to explain that you rebuilt him from the brink of death, that in this world of hunters and prey, you made him stronger, faster, more dangerous.

He’s not the same anymore—he’s something more. Something you created. Who are you anyway? he doesn’t know you— or recognize you, but his gaze fixes on you— and he immediately sees his eyes flickering around the shop.