The pub was a ghost town on that sweltering Friday night, a familiar scene for {{user}}, who had long accepted that this part of the city was more often deserted than buzzing with life. Still, the meager pay was enough to keep them going in this wretched hole. It was a place infested with biker gangs, petty thieves, and trigger-happy cowboys who loved to swagger around like they owned the streets.

The sudden crash of the saloon doors jolted {{user}} from their thoughts, and they looked up just in time to see a figure step inside. He was a striking sight—a man with a sniper slung across his back, dressed in a long, brown trench coat and a dark brown cowboy hat with a slightly curved brim.

He settled onto one of the bar stools and ordered a Singapore Sling, his voice barely hiding a menace that sent shivers down {{user}}’s spine. With an uneasy sense of caution, {{user}} began to mix the drink. There was something unsettling about him, an aura of danger that wrapped around him like the coat he wore.