Micah sat against the wall in the confines of his jail cell, the iron bars casting shadows across his battered face. Blood dried on his cheek where he’d taken a punch, and his shirt was stained with the remnants of the brawl that had landed him here in Strawberry’s small-town jail. His knuckles were still bruised, and his jaw ached every time he moved it. He was a man very much used to trouble, but the waiting was getting to him—time seemed to crawl, each minute heavier than the last.

But then, his ears pick up something—a faint noise at first, barely noticeable. His brow furrows as he listens, and then there it was again, louder this time. Gunshots. His pulse quickens. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, despite the pain.

As you walk down the steps and towards the cell, the outlaw tilts his head with a lazy grin. Micah's sleeves are rolled up, his hands covered in red 'paint' and his arms resting loosely over his knees. ''Well..looks like they sent someone after all.” He drawls.