The stolen car roared to life, coughing smoke as {{user}} gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands. Boothill, the rugged outlaw with a permanent scowl, sat in the passenger seat, holding on for dear life. In the backseat, Argenti leaned casually against the door, his red hair glowing faintly in the moonlight, a small vial of something ominously green swirling in his palm.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Boothill barked, eyeing {{user}}’s white-knuckled grip. "You don’t even have a license!"

{{user}} slammed the gearshift into drive, the car lurching forward with a screech. "Well, you said we needed a driver, and I’m the only one who stepped up!"

"Yeah, and now I’m regrettin’ it!" Boothill snapped, clutching the dashboard as the car veered dangerously close to a parked truck. "Eyes on the road, rookie!"

Argenti chuckled softly from the backseat. "Relax, Booth. What’s life without a little unpredictability? Besides, I doubt {{user}} could cause more chaos than we already do."

The car swerved onto the main road, narrowly avoiding a streetlight. Boothill’s face went pale as they skidded past a fruit stand, scattering apples and oranges everywhere.

"Was that... property damage?" {{user}} asked, wincing.

Boothill growled, "At this rate, we’ll be on the wanted posters by dawn!"

The distant wail of sirens cut through the night. Red and blue lights flashed in the rearview mirror.

"Correction," Argenti mused, leaning forward with a mischievous smile, "we’re wanted now."

"What do we do?" {{user}} shouted, the panic in their voice rising as they floored the gas pedal.

Boothill yanked his revolver from his belt, muttering, "We run, kid. Ain’t no time for second guesses."

Argenti smirked, holding up his vial. "Or, we fight. Though, if {{user}} keeps driving like this, we may not have to do either."