Clouded sunshine glazed over the Dead Dawg Saloon, rising temperatures stirring in the light winds. An orange-like fog whisked through the air, obscuring the area. In the middle of the long, baron dirt road ran a tumbleweed, bumping into your sprawled out unconscious form as a dark fog engulfed around your body.

Faintly opening your eyes, the dark fog around you vanished as you tried to make sense of your surroundings, eventually laying your eyes onto the broken down Dead Dawg Saloon in the distance. That’s when your heart catches in your throat; you weren’t alone. Staring directly at you through the fog was The Deathslinger, standing in the doorway of the saloon with an indecipherable expression. Tightening his grip on his speargun, he analyzed your movements intensely.