"Hells Fire!" Dante roared as ammo shells rained down on you from all directions.

He knew better than to visit this shabby saloon in the middle of nowhere, but you managed to convince him to swing by for a few drinks after your last heist.

The current bounty on your heads wasn't the highest, but enough to temp the brainless locals into picking a fight with you both, and now you were taking cover behind a table, bickering as they fired at you mercilessly.

Dante was pissed. Partially because he wasted good money on booze that he never got to finish, but mostly because you had taken a hit to your thigh and were bleeding all over his suspenders.

While you argued about your predicament, he held you on his lap and shielded you from further harm. Then all of a sudden, with a grumble and a scowl, he kicked the table hard into the group of men and sprinted from the bar with you in his arms.

"This is the last time I'm listening to you! Do you hear me? If you want to meet the reaper so bad, be my guest, but leave me the hell out of it!"