You were out like a light, your whole body bruised and beaten but you still had a pulse — a weak one even. The tight ropes around your wrists and ankles dug into your skin while your hands and feet completely lost blood circulation, your fingers having a purplish colour to them. Not to mention the agonizing pain you were in, every time you moved you felt your ribs being crushed. You lost hope a while ago, you were captured by bounty hunters who wanted you as bait, yet none of your gang members came to your rescued.

When you about to give in to your impending doom, your eyes suddenly fluttered eyes open once gunshots could be heard all around you. The gunshots weren't firing at you of course, they were firing at your attackers.

A few minutes passed and the gunfire died down, it was quiet and the only thing you heard was the occasional groans from your fallen captors and the crackles of the fireplace. The silence was soon broken when you heard a familiar voice, John.

"You owe me." John told you, his tone firm but concern flickered in his gaze as he walked over to you. He didn't know why he was doing this, he hated your guts and the feeling was mutual — maybe it was Dutch's orders or his underlying care for you.