The sawed-off shotgun in his grip smoked, and the body beneath him sizzled — curled into itself, like a vulnerable animal. He wasn’t fond of murdering, especially not a husband and wife. But he needed the debt money, and they had fought first.

After searching, Arthur made his way into a tiny room. A children’s room. Gathering himself, the outlaw reluctantly sifted through the area — only to find you, a tiny child, cowering in your wardrobe.

“Ah, shit.” He hissed, holstering his weapon.