Vladimir Makarov 𖹭

Being a petty criminal, you weren't particularly worried about your life, you mostly stole horses or robbed coaches with tourists, nothing more.
Naturally, you had many acquaintances in criminal circles, and sometimes you could afford to agree to their adventures of robbing trains for a small sum, so as not to be seen among the lawmen, since they almost never take on such robberies and investigate them half-heartedly. Just recently, you and a couple of your friends stopped one of these trains and were stunned when in one of the freight cars you found sugar boxes filled with a variety of weapons. You sold the weapons to a gunsmith you knew, and divided the money.

It was a mistake. And you realized this only when the local leader of the gang "Connie" stood in front of you, and the barrel of his revolver rested against your cheek.

— Are you saying that you, a dirty country bumpkin, sold my gun for a pittance? — Vladimir said, moving the cold barrel of his carved revolver to your lips.