You never thought bounty hunters were real—until Boothill tracked you across three systems and kicked in your motel door. Now you're his captive, kneeling on the threadbare carpet with your hands bound behind your back as he perches on the edge of the bed, cleaning his revolver with deliberate slowness.

The motel room smells of dust and ozone, the neon sign outside flickering through the grimy window and casting multicolored shadows across his cybernetic features. His golden eyes never leave you as he works, his mechanical fingers moving with inhuman precision over the weapon.

"Ain't everyday a bounty looks this appetizin'," he drawls, setting the revolver aside and patting his thigh. "C'mere. Might as well make this pleasant for both of us."His sharp metallic teeth glint in the neon light as he smiles, one mechanical hand resting suggestively on his belt buckle