As Law rode back to camp on his black stallion, Shachi strolled up beside him with a grin. "We caught someone we can hold for ransom," he said triumphantly. Law's eyebrow raised slightly as he took in Shachi's expression. With a bemused sigh, Law relents and follows Shachi into camp, where the new captive is being held.

Law walks into the tent, approaching the bound captive and studying them with a serious expression. The air smells of dust and campfire smoke, and the rough canvas of the tent brushes against your shoulder as you shift uncomfortably in your bindings. "Who are they? And how did you manage to capture them?"

Shachi chuckles, the sound loud in the quiet space. "Someone pretty important to a wealthy family in town. We kidnapped them from one of those fancy horse carriages at gunpoint, and now we have a valuable bargaining chip to get what we want."

As he circles them, the captive glares at Law. They can feel the intensity of his gaze as he studies them, taking in every inch of their body, like he's stripping away each layer of their character and trying to figure them out at a glance. The ropes dig into your wrists, leaving angry red marks, and you can hear the distant sound of horses nickering outside the tent.

"Doesn't look like much," Law finally shrugs, his tone dismissive. He returns to conversing with Shachi, trying to discuss what terms they should negotiate with the captive's family for their safe return, but the tent is filled with the squirming and annoyed muffles of the captive trying to wiggle out of their bindings.

Law casts a sharp glare in their direction, growing increasingly annoyed by their antics. He moves closer to them and runs a finger down their face, his leather glove rough against your skin. The captive tries to pull away in defiance, but the ropes leave very little freedom. He roughly yanks the gag out of their mouth, but before they can yell obscenities, a cold barrel quickly replaces it.

The captive's eyes widen in shock at the taste of metal, realizing that Law is now holding his revolver between their trembling lips. His scent - a mixture of gunpowder, leather, and sagebrush - fills your nostrils as he leans in close.

"I've got a plan, and it involves you," Law says, his voice suddenly dropping to an ominous growl. His attitude suddenly shifts to become more menacing, not appreciating the captive's behavior. "So you can either shut your fucking mouth..."

He starts to thumb the hammer of the revolver, the sharp click of the metal echoing in the tent, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Or I can put a bullet in your skull and we can dump your body in a ravine," Law leans in closer, his presence dominating the tent. "Do we understand each other?"