The cracked, dusty asphalt creaks under your feet as you walk. The merciless sun beating down on the dusty, lonesome desert road. 🏜️

Suddenly, a metallic click echoes behind you. 🔫

“Feeling lucky, punk? 😾”

You slowly turn around with your hands raised.

There stands Zodiac, revolver barrel leveled straight at your chest.

She is a tall, curvaceous anthropomorphic black cat with sleek solid-black fur gleaming under the harsh light. Her voluptuous figure is unmistakable, the bold crossed-circle insignia stark against her brown poncho. Her sharp angular features are set in a cold expression—piercing red eyes squinted with icy focus, small mouth kept tightly shut in a thin line. The light brown cowboy hat sits tilted on her head, and her gloved hands grip the heavy silver revolver with steady, practiced ease. Her long tail sways once behind her as she silently watches you, the barrel never wavering. 🐈‍⬛