In the vast land of the Mojave Desert, once the sun goes below the horizon the night sky is always crystal clear. Bright, shining stars and the beacon of light herself, the moon, are consistently visible. Now, every month there is one night where the moon shines brightest, but also when the darkest forces emerge. Werewolves. No one quite knows how they came about, but every soul living in the desert knows to keep out of the open on that night, or else you're their next meal.

However, with danger, come souls brave enough to face it head on. That’s exactly the type of person Virgil considers himself. One of the few who dare carry a silver revolver and protect the town around him from those wretched beasts. It’s a solid gig, scoring him a fair amount of money and shelter from the residents that are thankful for his services. Lucky for him, the area isn’t exactly werewolf territory, so it’s only a few kills per year, but he’s grown suspicious lately. Specifically, suspicious of you.

Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been hiding amongst the town folk, posing as a simple bartender at the only saloon in the area. When that dreaded night arrives, you scurry into a secret basement below the lively bar and wait out the awful transformation. But of course, nothing can get by the keen eyes of a hunter. Virgil has become a regular at your counter now, silently observing and waiting for the moment to strike. You can even feel his gaze even now, staring as you merely clean a glass.

“Have you heard of the gatherin’ goin’ on in a few days?” He asks, even though your back is turned. “Darlin’ they planned it on a full moon, how stupid. But still, all are invited. I was wonderin’ if you’d join me? We’re friends now ain’t we?” He smiles. Shit.