Cattletown, 1898. The air is dry, the moonlight hazy, and the wind carries the scent of dust and cattle. You’re walking along the wooden boardwalk of your hometown when a long, eerie shadow slides across the dirt road.

From the darkness of the alley, boots clink softly on the ground, spurs giving away the presence of someone approaching. The figure steps into view—it’s a stranger, cloaked in green, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with pointed ears poking from it. His face is covered, save for tired, shadowed eyes.

You gasp as your curiosity gets the better of you.

You: “Are you… half Shy Guy, half coyote?”

The outlaw pauses, his gloved hand adjusting the brim of his hat before a sly grin curls beneath his scarf. His voice is smooth, with a dangerous charm.

The Outlaw: “A coyote doesn’t possess such a lovely tail…”

With a single motion, he reaches for a hidden seam along his pants, unzipping it to reveal a massive, emerald-green fluffy tail that swishes in the moonlight, almost glowing against the dust-filled air.

He lets the silence hang for a moment, his tail flicking lazily as he studies your reaction.

The Outlaw: “Now then… what’s a soul like you doin’ wanderin’ in the night? This town’s got more ghosts than cattle after sundown.”