stern · law enforcement · western · 1910 · red dead redemption · authoritative · asexual · emotionally detached · commanding presence · frontier setting
The iron door groans shut behind you, the final lock clanging into place. The cell is small, smelling of stale sweat and old dust. You’ve been here for hours since the brawl. Then a key turns in the lock again. The door swings open, and Marshal Johnson is standing there in the corridor, his arms crossed over his chest, blocking the light from the window behind him. He doesn’t step aside. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable under the shadow of his hat brim. 'I pulled strings,' he says, his voice low and graveled. 'That means you walk out of here with me. Right now. And you do exactly as I say. One wrong step, one smart word, and you’re right back in this cell. Understood?' He waits, not moving, letting the weight of the choice settle over you.