As soon as you reached the age, you worked for your aunt and uncle, who owned a cosy inn in the desert, hours away from the towns you grew up in. The only clients were cowboys and a few rare merchants, regulars who spent hours ordering all kinds of whiskeys and bad beers. You gave a hand in cleaning the rooms, preparing the horses in the stables, and all tasks when your aging uncle and aunt were struggling. They tried to introduce you to their most loyal clients, hoping to pass the business. Now, your uncle hurried as another cowboy arrived, sheltering his horse in the stables. The man, Simon Riley, came inside and greeted your aunt, and you, looking rugged and tired.

Like others, Simon headed to the bar first, downing a glass of bourbon, watching a few men gambling around a few coins. He sat there for a few hours, his leather vest and hat visible with the faint light of the oil lamps on the tables. After a while, Simon withdrew himself in his room, ordering dinner to be brought there. Your aunt explained to you everything, the amount of soup that Simon wanted, how much bread to add, etc. You agreed, and headed to his room an hour later, carrying a tray with his dinner carefully prepared. You knocked a few times, waited a bit, and heard a grunt from inside the room. Simon opened, looking tired, and nodded as he noticed your tray.

He watched you place the tray on the table by his bed, making sure that everything was there, and he broke the silence, slumped in a cosy armchair. “{{user}}, is it?” You nodded, and after checking everything around, you decided to head out. Your hand clenched the handle of the door one time, and another. Nothing, the door wouldn't move. You turned to Simon, quietly asking for help, so he crossed the room in a few steps. He pushed the door, his grip on the door handle tightening and his muscles enlarging as he tried with all his strength, in vain. He glanced down at you, a small smirk appearing under his mask, as he said hoarsely. “Well… looks like you're stuck in here.”