The midday sun beat down on the dry, cracked earth of Agua Fria, casting long shadows across the quiet town. Dust swirled lazily in the air, stirred by a faint breeze that did little to ease the oppressive heat. The locals kept to the shade of wooden awnings, whispering nervously as the rhythmic clink of spurred boots echoed down the main street.

Cyra strode with purpose, her long tan duster coat swaying with each step. The polished silver revolver on her hip glinted like a warning in the sunlight. Beneath the wide brim of her black hat, her piercing red eyes scanned the street with a cold, calculating gaze. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she tipped her hat at a young man who quickly averted his eyes.

“Keep yer nose clean, boy,” she drawled, her voice calm but laced with enough edge to send a chill down his spine. “Wouldn’t wanna have to teach ya manners.”

He muttered an apology, his trembling hands clutching a sack of supplies as he hurried away. Cyra chuckled under her breath, the sound low and menacing, as she turned her attention to the saloon up ahead.

The swinging doors of the "Silver Spur Saloon" creaked as she pushed through, her presence drawing every eye in the room. Conversations ceased, and a nervous hush fell over the patrons.

“Afternoon, folks,” Cyra announced, her tone light but commanding. She strode to the bar, leaning an elbow on the worn wood. “Whiskey. Neat.”

The barkeep nodded quickly, pouring the drink with shaky hands. Cyra watched him work, her gaze sharp and unyielding. As he slid the glass toward her, she caught sight of a man at the poker table fumbling with his cards, his eyes darting toward her nervously.

“Y’look like ya got somethin’ to say, friend,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. She turned to face him fully, her hand resting casually on the butt of her revolver. “Care to share with the class?”

The man stammered, his face pale. “N-no, ma’am. Just... mindin’ my own business.”

Cyra chuckled softly, taking a slow sip of her whiskey before setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. “Good answer. Keep it that way.”

Satisfied, she downed the rest of her drink in one go and tossed a coin onto the bar. She turned to leave, her boots thudding against the wooden floor as she pushed through the saloon doors and stepped back into the harsh sunlight.

As she walked down the main street, something caught her eye near the edge of town—a figure lingering where the dusty road met the open plains. They stood just beyond the last row of buildings, their posture cautious, as though deciding whether to enter.

Cyra stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes. Her hand instinctively brushed the grip of her revolver. “Well now,” she muttered under her breath, her voice low and sharp. “What do we have here?” Her smirk faded into a stern expression as she adjusted her hat, the sun casting a shadow across her face. She began walking toward the figure, her pace steady, her gaze locked on them like a hawk sizing up its prey.

“You lookin’ for somethin’, stranger?” she called out, her voice carrying across the still air. There was no warmth in her tone, only the quiet promise of trouble. The town held its breath, the tension thick as Cyra approached the mysterious newcomer at the edge of Agua Fria.

The figure flinched at the sound of your voice before slowly turning around to face you. It's a man in a dark duster coat, his pale features contrasting sharply with the sun-kissed skin of his exposed neck. His hair is unruly and black as night, framing his gaunt face like a shadow. The stranger's eyes meet yours, their piercing gaze held steady despite your evident unease.

"I was looking for someone in particular," he says slowly, each word weighted with meaning. "Are you... Cyra Night?"

You smile at his remark but don't laugh. "Careful what you call a girl who can shoot straighter than you can walk," you say in your drawling Texan accent. "I've heard of people dying over comments like that." Your hand drifts to the revolver at your hip, and the stranger takes an unconscious step backward.

"My name's Cyra Night," you continue, your voice hardening ever so slightly. "And I'm not real keen on strangers poking around Agua Fria." You lean forward slightly, fixing him with a steely gaze. "Now, why don't you tell me what business you have here?"

Your eyes narrow at his reply, and you lean back against the bar, crossing your arms over your chest. "Oh yeah? And who exactly do you think owes you money around here?" You pause, watching him carefully for any sign of deceit or desperation. "This isn't some run-down town from the east," you add, nodding toward his unfamiliar accent. "Agua Fria may not have as many rules as those places do, but we still have our code."

You study him for a moment longer before sighing and straightening up. "Alright," you say at last, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Whoever it is you're after... they'd better be worth it. But if there's any trouble from this, don't come crying to me."

Your eyes widen as the man pulls out an amulet, its intricate design gleaming in the dim light of the saloon. You recognize it immediately as one of the rarest and most valuable artifacts you've ever laid eyes on. Beneath your calm exterior, a storm of conflicting emotions rages: curiosity, desire, suspicion.

"Where did you get that?" you ask quietly, slowly approaching him with unspoken warnings writ large in every inch of your posture. The man's Adam's apple bobs nervously as he swallows hard. "It doesn't belong here," he whispers, the tremor in his voice betraying his fear.

"Tell me where you got it," you growl, "and maybe I won't rip it right off your neck." His eyes flicker to the saloon door and then back to yours, uncertainty et

The man's words send a shiver down your spine as you picture yourself alone with the amulet, free to bask in its power and riches. But something holds you back; it isn't right to steal what belongs to someone else, even if they are foolish enough to leave it unguarded.

With a shake of your head, you step closer to him, your voice taking on a softer edge despite the steel beneath. "If this truly is some sort of treasure," you say, "then I advise you not to let it out of your sight again. There are those in Agua Fria who would stop at nothing to get their hands on something like that."

You pause for a moment, considering him carefully. "Let's just forget this ever happened," you mutter eventually. "But if I were you, I wouldn't mention it to anyone else." The man looks relieved but hes

"I see." You take in the body at his feet and nod slowly. "I appreciate your honesty," you say, even though the truth is far more complex. The man's confession weighs heavily on you; it's one thing to be in control of Agua Fria, but another entirely to become a killer in the process.

"Well," you continue, waving your hand dismissively at the corpse, "I suppose I can understand why someone might want him dead." You frown, debating whether or not to say anything more about the matter. Finally, you decide against it and turn back to the bar, taking a long swallow of whiskey before exhaling sharply.

"Don't go causing any trouble," you mutter under your breath, not quite meeting the man's gaze. "And if anyone else comes sniffin' around about that amulet... well, just

As the sound of hoofbeats echo through the streets, you whirl around to see a group of ruthless-looking bandits charging toward the town. The leader at their head sports a wolf's pelt as his helmet and wields a massive battle axe with ease, his eyes fixed on you.

"You'd better get back inside," you growl at the stranger beside you, "and stay out of trouble." You draw your revolver with lightning speed, dropping into a defensive crouch as the bandits close in. The saloon doors slam shut behind them, casting you and the stranger in darkness.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he whispers nervously, gripping the handle of his revolver tighter. "Those look like dangerous men."

You snort softly and glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "Danger

The pain sears through your side as one of the bandits' bullets finds its mark. You grit your teeth and return fire, striking the brute with a glancing blow that sends him sprawling to the ground. Despite the pain, your concentration never wavers for an instant; you know that if you don't take these men down quickly, innocent lives will be lost.

"Get back inside," you order the stranger sharply, not taking your eyes off the advancing bandits. "Protect the town." You see movement in the corner of your eye and whirl around to face another attacker who had tried to sneak up on them unnoticed. With a savage grin, you raise your revolver and send him tumbling back into his friends' midst with a killing shot.

"Cyra!" the stranger gasps, his voice tight with fear. "Are you alright?" He steps forward

"I'm fine," you growl through gritted teeth, wincing as the pain from your wound shoots up your arm. Your hands shake as adrenaline surges through your veins, but you force yourself to steady them before they betray you. "But we need to finish this quickly."

You nod in acknowledgement of the stranger's aid, then turn back toward the bandits with renewed determination. One by one, they fall beneath your relentless fire, until at last only their leader remains standing. The wolf-man snarls and charges forward, his battle axe raised high over his head as he aims for your head. With a desperate cry of warning, you dive out of the way, rolling to safety just inches before the axe would have cleaved you in two.

"You ain't gettin' away from me," snarls the w

"What?" you exclaim in surprise as the wolf-man tumbles to the ground. Whirling around, you see the stranger from the saloon standing behind you, his revolver still smoking from the shot. "I owe you one," you mutter under your breath, unsure whether to thank him or chastise him for interfering. The town slowly begins to return to normal, as if the violent storm had passed by without leaving a trace.

You sheathe your revolver and straighten up, wincing as pain from your wound flares anew. "I suppose we'd better clean up this mess," you say, gesturing toward the bodies strewn across the street. The stranger nods solemnly, following you through the town as the citizens emerge from hiding places and shuttered buildings, their faces pale and frightened.

It's quiet for a while, but as you lead

You raise an eyebrow as he pulls away the makeshift bandage and removes his hat. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?" you ask curiously, studying him closely. He looks uncomfortable beneath your scrutiny, shifting from foot to foot before finally meeting your gaze.

"Well... I just wanted to say thank you," he stammers. "For giving me a chance, I mean. And for not... killing me back there." You arch an eyebrow at him, not quite sure how to respond. "And also..." He hesitates again before continuing in a rush, "I heard you say that this town needed someone like you. Well, maybe I could help out too. I'm not from around here either, and I don't have anywhere else to go."

Your eyes widen slightly at his offer; he doesn't seem the type to

The name 'Max' triggers a distant memory in your mind, one that's been buried deep beneath the years of hard living and cruelty. A boy, no more than a child really, who had been caught up in an accident during one of your missions to destroy a rival gang's hideout. You'd saved his life, but at what cost? He'd been left scarred both inside and out by the experience, never able to return to the life he once knew.

Now here he is, standing before you, offering his help in your newfound role as leader of Agua Fria. It's a risk, letting someone so close to your past back into your life, but there's something about him... something that tells you he's changed since then. Perhaps it's just the desperation in his eyes or the way he carries himself now, but you find yourself willing to take that chance.

"

You shake your head slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's alright," you say softly. "I understand why you had to disappear. And honestly... I think it's good that you found me." You glance down at his injured hand, then back up to meet his gaze. "I can always use someone who knows the terrain as well as you do," you continue, a spark of hope igniting within you. "And if you truly want to help... well, I'm not one to turn down an offer like that."