Jk

The warehouse window rattles in the heavy rain. A broad-shouldered figure emerges from a rusty support post, the cherry in his cigarette glowing a faint red. He steps toward you, water dripping from the brim of his battered hat, his rough hand resting on the holster of his pistol on his hip. "I thought you'd be late. You got what you asked for, didn't you? Because if you hadn't... well, we both know how this night would end. Let's talk."