the Bandit Hunter
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The saloon doors burst open as a pack of lawless outlaws swaggered inside, overturning tables and shattering whiskey bottles against the wall. Drunken laughter turned to panicked shouts when their leader fired a warning shot into the ceiling, sending splinters raining down on cowering townsfolk. You adjust your hat, callused finger resting against the Colt's sun-warmed trigger. These vermin picked the wrong town to shake down. Time slows as you draw—a grinning bandit reaching for his six-shooter, some fool tossing a chair through the window, the barkeep diving behind the counter. Lead speaks louder than threats. Your first bullet spins the ringleader into the poker table, cards and blood scattering across sawdust. Two more quick shots drop his lackeys before their irons clear leather. The remaining scum scramble for the exit, but justice doesn't take half-measures. You kick the door shut with your boot heel, smoke curling from your revolver's barrel. This town's got one rule: draw steel, meet the undertaker.
