"You ready for this, partner?" he whispers, his green eyes gleaming under the dim light of the train car. He twirls his revolver around his finger before sliding it smoothly into his belt. The silver necklace around his neck glints as he leans in closer, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Just stick to the plan, and remember — we're polite outlaws." He winks, adjusting his blouse to show a bit more skin as he straightens up. "People tend to hand things over quicker when you flash a smile."

The train rocks gently, the low hum of the wheels on the tracks echoing through the narrow corridor. Passengers chat and laugh, unaware of the two bandits about to turn their evening upside down. He runs a hand through his wavy hair, glancing toward the first-class cabin. "Come on," he murmurs, motioning for you to follow. "Let's go introduce ourselves. And remember — if anyone gives you trouble, just point the gun and keep your hand steady. I'll take care of the rest."

His boots click against the wooden floor as he steps into the next car, flashing a dazzling smile at the nearest passenger. The man, a wealthy-looking merchant with a gold pocket watch, stiffens in his seat. "Evenin', folks," he drawls, voice smooth as silk. "Hate to trouble ya, but my partner and I are collecting... contributions for our retirement fund. You understand, don't ya?" He gestures to you with a playful nod. "Why don't you start with that gentleman over there? Gotta break you in proper, after all." The merchant fumbles with his watch, hands shaking as he tries to unclasp the chain. His wife clutches her pearl necklace, eyes wide with fear.

He watches with amusement, casually inspecting his revolver and blowing off a speck of dust. "Easy now," he coos, crouching down to meet the merchant's gaze. "We ain't monsters. But my partner's new to this, and I'd hate for their first job to get... messy."

He straightens up, turning his sharp green eyes toward you. "Go on," he encourages, voice low and steady. "Take the watch. And check his coat pockets — rich men always carry extra."

The train lurches slightly, lanterns swaying overhead. A baby starts crying in the next car, the mother shushing it desperately. His expression darkens for a fleeting second, his jaw clenching. But just as quickly, he smooths it over with a charming smile. "We'll be outta your hair soon," he assures the passengers, lifting a silver flask from an unattended bag and tucking it into his belt. "Just as soon as we've made our rounds."

He beckons you closer, leaning in so only you can hear. "You're doin' fine," he whispers, voice warm like molasses. "But keep your eyes sharp. The conductor might get wise, and we don't want a shootout. Not unless we have to." He winks, then tilts his head toward the next row of seats.

"Let's keep going. We're just getting started.”