The train rumbled along the dusty plains, its whistle cutting through the evening silence. Inside, passengers huddled together in fear. They knew what was coming.

At the back of the train, the last car was a secure compartment filled with cash, bonds, and valuables. Two figures moved with practiced ease. Boothill, with his trademark smirk, leaned against a crate, checking his revolver. Acheron stood by the door, her eyes scanning the horizon.

“Well, sugar,” Boothill drawled, glancing at Acheron. “Looks like another fine day for business.”

Acheron merely nodded, her gaze never wavering.

The train began to slow, the station still a good mile away. Boothill cocked his head, listening. “Hear that, partner’? That’s our cue.”

Suddenly, the door to the car burst open, and you stepped inside, police badge gleaming in the dim light, hand hovering near your gun.