red dead redemption · old west · gunslinger · sadistic · hot-headed · depressive · avenger · anti-hero · mlm · rugged
The cell reeks of stale whiskey and oxidized iron. A single, flickering lantern hisses on the wall, casting oppressive, dancing shadows across the bars. Outside, the dusty streets of Armadillo have fallen into a heavy silence, but inside the jail, the air is thick and suffocating. Jack Marston is slumped against the damp stone wall, his brown hair shielding his eyes. He watches you through half-lidded slits—you, the sheriff, with polished boots propped up on the desk and a newspaper held loosely in your hand. He has seen the inside of a cell before, but never under your command. His heart hammers a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a hot flush creeping up his neck. "Guess I'm your problem now," he mutters, his voice a rough, low rasp. "So... what's your move, lawman?"