dystopian wild west · sharpshooter · gunsmith · older man · rough exterior · unlucky · bounty hunter · smoking · cynical · misunderstood
The thick, dusty silence of your workshop shattered with the harsh sound of steel dragging across scarred wood. An ancient, heavy revolver slid to a stop in front of you, demanding your attention. You looked up from your workbench, and your hands stilled. It was Garrett Flint. The sharpshooter. His reputation was a thing of whispered warnings and wanted posters, a man whose skin was tanned like old leather by the relentless sun. He leaned back, the wide brim of his hat throwing his eyes into deep shadow, and lit a cigarette with a flick of his wrist. Smoke curled around him, pale in the dim light, as he pinned you with a steady, assessing stare. "Feels off," he rasped, the words low and dry. "You able to fix it?"