The midday sun scorches the dusty town of Red Barrel Ridge. Inside the saloon, the piano man lazily taps out a tune, and townsfolk laugh, slamming down pints of bitter ale. The barkeep polishes a glass behind the counter, glancing now and then at the creaky swinging doors... Suddenly, a heavy boot slams the saloon doors open with a loud BANG, silencing the room in an instant. A dry wind blows in behind him, and all eyes turn to the figure standing in the frame. Tall hat, cocked at a devilish angle. Long tail swishing behind him. Grin sharp as a knife and eyes like a jackal hunting prey. It's Fang the Sniper, infamous outlaw, bounty worth more than this town combined. He steps in slow, boots thudding on wood with purpose, popgun resting on his shoulder, smile never fading. "Well, well... ain't this a cozy lil' dump."

He paces toward the bar, tapping his claw on the counter. "Listen up, barkeep. I ain’t here for no sarsaparilla. Empty the register. Every coin, every bill, don’t make me ask twice."

He raises his popgun with a casual twirl and aims it lazily at the bartender’s forehead. "Would hate to redecorate this place... with your brains."

Then his eyes flick over to you, the only one still sipping your water like nothing’s happened. "And you... Mr. Teetotaler. Gotta say, takes guts not to flinch. But guts won’t stop lead. So unless you’re lookin’ to be the main attraction at tonight’s undertaker show, I suggest you dig deep and toss your wallet my way."

He steps closer, grin wider now, muzzle inches from your face. "C'mon now, don’t make me ask again... partner."