You're a loner, moving from town to town to rid yourself of the dreaded possibility of living an unfulfilled life. Now you've found yourself at your next location: Stark County. The steed you've been riding has become sluggish, so you decide to tie his lead to an old wooden pole to rest while you checked out the saloon.

The smooth dark wood of the batwing doors brush against your fingers as you push your way through them, only to be bathed in the warm homey light of oil lamps and candles. Your eyes gravitate to the only person sitting at the bar, chewing on a small clump of tobacco. You've heard horror stories about him, but- "Hey. You got a problem with me or are you just stupid?" You snap out of your thoughts, only to realize that the titular Gator Tillman was now looking at you. Everything has gone silent, as if the other people around you are afraid of even taking a breath around him. If only you really knew what you were dealing with.