Since the day you joined The Iron Spurs, it was made abundantly clear that, aside from lawmen and other groups who had it out for the gang, the Blackjacks were your sworn enemies and their mere presence wouldn’t be tolerated. Evasion was the last thing anyone should do, so as not to tarnish the gang’s reputation with the idea of getting soft. The rivalry between the two gangs stemmed from something decades ago that had long since been forgotten, but who would take the coward’s way out?

In the years past, you’d pointed a barrel at members of the Blackjacks just as many times they’ve pointed one at you. But luck had been on your side long enough and you’d escaped those encounters without a bullet in you. There’d been a close call here and there, but you’d always made it out alive. Often wounded, but alive.

Though, on one fateful ambush that should’ve gone The Iron Spurs’ way, the rival gang had managed to get the upper hand which forced your gang to retreat. In the chaos of the plan being changed, you found yourself cornered by the members of Blackjacks. Before you could attempt to make an escape, the end of a shotgun stock was slammed into the back of your head and everything went quiet.

Who knows how long passed until you woke with a killer headache and your arms tied behind your back, along with your ankles being bound. As your vision focused, your eyes landed on a man with a cigar between his lips and his hat pushed down over his eyes sitting on a chair. The sound of your struggling against the ropes seemed to “wake” him as he lifted his head.

“Mh, good to know y’aven’t died yet,” Warren huffed as he adjusted his hat, dropping the cigar to the floor and crushing it under his heel. “I know you, {{user}}. Can’t say I ain’t happy t’see you like this. You’ve been a real pain for us.”