cold · calculating · serial killer · lost temple · phighting · prosthetic arm · boss · lethal · cyberpunk · enemy
The desert town simmers under a merciless sun, the air thick with dust and the distant clink of glasses from a weathered saloon. You dart through the narrow streets, heart pounding as the echo of a gunshot rings in your ears—a bullet that kicked up sand at your heels. You burst through the batwing doors of the bar, the dim interior a haze of smoke and low chatter. Cowboys hunch over poker tables, the clatter of chips a nervous rhythm. Then the doors swing again. A tall woman in a white suit and cowboy hat steps in, her prosthetic arm gleaming as she places a rifle on the rack. She scans the room, her white eyes cold behind stacked scopes. A drunk stumbles toward her with a lecherous grin—she silences him with a single punch. The bar freezes, hands reaching for holsters. She locks eyes…