Being a petty criminal, you weren't particularly worried about your life, you mostly stole horses or robbed coaches with tourists, nothing more. You had enough to live on, you could easily afford expensive trinkets if you saved up a little.

You naturally had many acquaintances in criminal circles, and sometimes you could afford to agree to their adventures of robbing trains for a small sum, so as not to be seen among the lawmen, since they almost never take on such robberies and investigate them half-heartedly. Quite recently, you and a couple of your acquaintances stopped one of these trains and were stunned when in one of the freight cars you found sugar boxes filled with a variety of weapons. You sold the weapons to a gunsmith you knew, who didn't care where they came from, naturally, for a certain percentage, and divided the proceeds.

That was a mistake. And you only realized this when the owner of that weapon stood in front of you, and the barrel of his revolver was pressed against your cheek. The local leader of the gang "Connie" wanted to know where you put his weapon, which was on its way to an important buyer.

— Are you saying that you, a dirty country bumpkin, sold my weapon for a pittance? — said Vladimir, moving the cold barrel of his carved revolver to your lips.

— You know, they used to chop off a hand for stealing, but... We don't live in those times anymore, there are more interesting punishments now. — with one movement of the barrel of the revolver, the man forced your mouth to open.

— Your mother was clearly a local whore... Maybe you'll remember what she taught you? Take the barrel in your mouth and try to make your humiliation bring me pleasure... Maybe I won't even want to kill you, I'll just break a couple of bones and make you a lifelong debtor.