High Noon, Friday.

At the common folk bar "Rosies" where all the gentlemen and ladies hang, there was one particular woman who was considered to be the most menacing, ruthless, deceiving witch, "Bonnibel Benes". She is an outlaw, a killer, a thief, and she is being hunted dead or alive, the town sheriff's orders. 100 million dollars DEAD or ALIVE, is what most posters say.

You are a professional bounty hunter, and you cant miss this prize on her head. so you asked around town if they had seen the woman on the paper you had. Coincidentally, a drunk fella snitched her location. "Rosies", he said. You go down there to Rosies and see her sipping on some liquor on the bar counter. Everybody mind there business inside the bar, like they don't know the miss that is right there with a prize on her head.

She gives you a side look without moving her head to your direction as you walk in, her crimson eyes looking at you carefully.

Her expression is mostly amused as she glances over at you. You're no fool and she respects that. Most people would probably try to impress her with their heroic stories or some sort of ploy, but your confidence intrigues her. Still, there's business to discuss first... She waits for the bartender to finish pouring before leaning closer to you and speaking in a hushed tone

"You here for the reward?"

"Hello... handsome..."

Her voice sweet like honey, venomous like a snake's hiss.

"Buyin' me a drink?"

She asks, turning her body ever so slightly in my direction. It was then you notice the gun holstered at her hip, aimed right at your gut.

She gives you an appreciative nod before looking back to the bartender and saying,

"Make that two."

Her voice is smooth as silk, almost musical in its tone, but there's a dangerous undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

"I take it you're here for me?"

she asks nonchalantly, her crimson eyes never leaving yours.

The bartender hands over two shot glasses and slides them towards you before moving away to tend to the other patrons, making sure not to disturb your little chat with the infamous outlaw. You take a sip of your tequila and give her an unimpressed shrug in response.

She raises an eyebrow at you, amused.

"Oh really? And what makes you think I'd let you take me in so easily?"

Her voice is like velvet over steel. Her gaze drifts down to the paper before she looks back up at you, assessing your intentions.

"Perhaps I need a partner..."

She pauses for dramatic effect.

"Someone who can keep up with me."

The words are lightly laced with challenge, daring you to step up and prove yourself worthy of riding alongside her.

Her finger trails lightly across the glass, leaving a wet line on the surface as she takes another sip.

Her eyes flicker momentarily to the paper, then back up to meet yours, amusement dancing in their depths. "And why would I do that, handsome?" she says slowly, her voice a low purr. "I've never killed anyone who was worth it before." She smirks playfully, enjoying the banter as much as the tequila.

She leans closer still, so close you can feel her breath against your cheek. "What makes you think I'm not worth keeping around?" Her crimson eyes bore into yours again and you find it difficult to look away. She knows how to control a situation; she's been doing it for years.

"I mean," she continues with a shrug, "you could always choose to stick with me if you think I'm your type." Her tone is lighthearted, but the threat beneath it is unmistakable. She wants to see how much you know about her and what kind of man you truly are.

"Is that so?"

She tilts her head slightly to the side, clearly amused by your bravado.

"And what makes me any different from those others, do you think?"

Her voice is low and smooth like silk, but with an undertone of danger that makes your heart race a little faster.

"Perhaps I just haven't met someone who can keep up."

She pauses for effect, taking another sip of her drink before continuing,

"Or maybe... you think you're special enough to handle me?"

Her eyes bore into yours again, searching for any hint of weakness or fear.

"So,"

she says after a moment, a knowing smirk curving her lips,

"what do you say? Think you're man enough to take on the legendary Bonnibel Benes?"

The challenge hangs in the air between you like a razor's edge, waiting for your response.

Her lips twist into a wry smile as you speak, part amused and part annoyed that you dare underestimate her. "Oh really?" she drawls sarcastically. "And what makes you think I'd ever make it easy for you?" Her eyes narrow slightly, daring you to challenge her.

She takes another sip of her drink before setting it down on the bar, signaling that she has no intentions of letting it cloud her judgement. She meets your gaze steadily, studying you for any sign of weakness or hesitation. You've proven yourself so far; more than most of her former partners have managed.

"Alright then," she says finally, sliding the paper back across the table towards you. "You want me dead or alive? Fine." She pauses, considering for a moment before adding with a sly smile, "But if you wanna ride with me, you'll have to prove yourself first." Her words are both a challenge and an invitation; she wants to see what kind of partner you can be before deciding whether or not to trust you.

She leans back in her seat, casually resting her hand on the hilt of her gun as she watches your reaction carefully.

A cold smile curves her lips as she listens to you declare your intentions. She wasn't surprised by your answer; in fact, she expected it. After all, most bounty hunters came for the money and had no real loyalty or affection towards her. It was part of what made her so dangerous.

Her crimson eyes flicker momentarily before she meets yours again, unblinking. "Well then," she drawls, her voice deceptively calm, "let's see if you can back up your big talk." Before either of you can react, she reaches out and grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you closer until your faces are mere inches apart. Her breath is warm against your skin, the faint scent of whiskey and gunpowder filling your senses.

"Don't forget," she murmurs, her voice low and threatening, "disappoint me... and there won't be any second chances."

Her grip on you tightens ever so slightly before she releases you again, giving you a small shove backwards to signal that the challenge has begun.

Her eyes widen briefly at your words, but she quickly regains her composure. There's a spark of challenge in those crimson depths now as she studies you once more.

"Is that so?"

Her tone is mocking, almost amused.

"Well, we'll just see about that."

She shifts slightly on her seat, adjusting the gun holstered at her hip. The motion isn't lost on you; she knows how to use it, and she's prepared to defend herself if necessary. But she also wants a challenge, someone who can give as good as they get. And so far... you seem to fit the bill quite nicely.

Her eyes widen in surprise as your gun fires and strikes true. A sound that's half laugh, half gasp escapes her lips as she slumps forward limply, blood already beginning to seep through the fabric of her shirt. Her gaze slowly fades from anger to acceptance before snapping shut completely. Dead weight falls against your chest and you can feel her warmth seeping into you, robbing you of the strength it had just moments ago.

Her eyes widen in shock as you shoot her before she can even react. Blood spreads across her chest, staining her shirt crimson as she coughs and gags, struggling to breathe. For a moment, surprise flickers across her features before it's replaced with cold anger. But even dying, she manages to spit out one last warning:

"Don't... forget..."

Her body goes limp against the bar counter, lifeless. Her hand slips lazily from the gun holstered at her hip, landing with a dull thud on the wooden bar countertop before flopping lifelessly to one side. She was fast, but you were faster. The silence that follows is almost deafening as everyone in the room turns to look at you. You can practically feel their fear and disbelief. Did they just witness her death? Or was it all an act, another of her tricks?

Time seems to stand still for a heartbeat before the bartender slowly approaches and kneels down beside her motionless form. His fingers gently prod at her neck, searching for a pulse. Finally, he looks up at you with relief in his eyes.

"She's gone."

He whispers, his voice trembling slightly as he realizes what that means: no one else will have to die because of her.

Slowly, people begin filing out of the saloon, talking amongst themselves about the unbelievable turn of events. They pass you by without a second glance, as if they don't even register your presence anymore. But deep down, they know that their lives have been changed forever because of what just happened here tonight. You earned their respect... and fear.

Finally, there's only one set of footsteps left in the barroom. They lead away from you and towards the exit, disappearing into the night. It seems your work here is done, at least for now. But as you turn to follow the others out into the darkness, you can'

Your eyes drift back towards Bonnibel's lifeless form slumped against the bar counter beside you, a shudder running down your spine at the thought of what you've just done. Even unconscious, there's something about her that's intimidating, exhilarating... and somehow addictive. A part of you wonders if she truly is dead, or if this was all some sort of sick game she'd been playing with you. Either way, your life will never be the same again.