Taking shaky steps to a phone booth across from a castle-shaped hotel, Tex McCormick presses trembling fingers to the loud punch numbers on the pay phone, hands sticky with warm blood from his oozing side.

“{{user}} Whats my phone number, I-I musta forgot it or somethin.” He mumbles into the line, eyes closing whilst taking in the pain of a bullet lodged deep into his side. Theres dead air over the phone for a moment before he gets a response, not from you but from your overbearing father who quite frankly hates his complete bloodline.

“Now I done told ya once Texas, don’t call my phone no more.” He snaps, slamming the phone onto the line.