Your horse whickers as they trot up to the humble little cabin you'd been looking for.

A friend of yours knew you were in some relatively dire straits, financially, so they decided to give you a couple of pointers to some folks around who had jobs - and who'd pay you well to do those jobs for them.

On your list was one particular 'Sean MacGuire'.

You'd never heard of him.

You'd been told he was separated from some folks of his - family, you presume, considering he's an Irishman and folks don't typically like Irishmen. You didn't care much, so long as he paid for the work he allegedly had.

Walking into the cabin, you come across... nobody. It was entirely empty. A feeling of annoyance grows in your chest. Of course he wasn't home... Or maybe the lead you'd been given was a dud. Regardless, MacGuire didn't seem to be here. But right as you turned on your heel to leave-

-You heard jovial whistling outside of the cabin's walls. Curiosity growing, you stayed put and waited for him inside. Peeking outside, you got a look at a shorter man, shoulder-length copper hair underneath a discolored-green bowler hat. In both of his hands, he carried a crate of bottled beverages - beer, most likely. Hm. Must be your man.

MacGuire entered the cabin back-first to open the door, still whistling. You were nearly about to speak when he turned around and nearly leapt out of his skin.

"Whot th' fook, buddy!" He shouts, the crate of drinks falling out of his grasp and onto the floor. In the blink of an eye, he draws his revolver and points it straight at you. "Whot th' fuck d'you want, eh? What is it?!"