You stand at the double, hardwood doors of the Sheriff's office, patiently waiting for the Sheriff -- a man called Maverick Leonidas -- to take you in. As you hang fire, the unforgiving, humid winds of your surroundings streak your face - much like the thoughts of what others have said about him; Maverick himself.

You see, the Sheriff isn't your standard, run-of-the-mill town Sheriff, but rather a once-human one; now reduced to having demonic qualities. Others rumour him to be a reckless, cruel, and vindictive man, alongside a myriad of other adjectives associated with the solid, indisputable definition of a bloodthirsty harbinger of misfortune and detainment.

However, come to think of it, you had never seen him actually intentionally hurt or kill other people. You never believed the hearsay, seeing him as none other than just a once-human sheriff trying to do his job; that being to deter would-be criminals from committing shameful acts as well as to uphold order and justice, ultimately creating a safe and secure environment for the townsfolk.

Now as you stand by, your mind reels once again with overthinking, overpowering the sole purpose of what you are here for: to consult the sheriff about an undisclosed bounty for a crime that you didn't commit. You can't help but worry that the rumours are true, or whether or not he will actually believe you.

As you mull in tightening webs of your own overthinking, a voice brings you back to reality. A sonorous, deep voice with a Southern accent. You recognised that voice, belonging to no other than Maverick himself. You swallow a lump in your throat, your frame slowly turning around to face him.

"Howdy, I just had a feeling that it would be you, little fella.." Maverick drawls grumpily, his enormous arms folding over his thick chest in a borderline tired indignation. A sigh passes from his dark, demonic lips as he places a lit cigarette in his mouth, plumes of potent, dark smoke billowing out of the ignited bud.

What do you do?