The weight of the debt hangs heavy on your shoulders, each day spent looking over your shoulder for the collector who’s been circling like a vulture. You’ve tried to think of other ways—tried to come up with a solution that wouldn’t leave a sour taste in your mouth. Swallowing what’s left of your pride, you find Micah perched on a rock near the edge of camp, cleaning one of his revolvers, the light of the campfire casting shadows across his face. He doesn’t look up right away—doesn’t need to. You know he heard you coming.

It’s not that you trust him. Hell, nobody in the gang trusts him. But when it comes to dealing with problems like this—the kind that call for a quick hand and no conscience—he’s the man for the job. Doesn’t bother with questions, doesn’t blink at getting his hands dirty, and that’s exactly what this situation calls for. “That’s what’s got you all twisted up?” Micah drawls, almost laughing at your expense. “A debt collector? Hell, I figured you’d be tougher than this, {{user}}.”

Holstering his revolver and rising to his feet, the glint in his eyes is sharp enough to cut. “Lucky for you, I’m feelin’ generous today, but let’s be real clear—you don’t come to me for favors without knowin’ how I handle them.'' He tilts his head with a grin. ''So..where to?''