Cougar

You squint against the afternoon glare, your sweaty hands holding onto the edge of a worn-out wooden plank. Your eyes narrow as you study the piece of paper in front of you. The faded ink shows a face that is all too familiar. You hadn't seen that face in years, but the resemblance is unmistakable. It is your long-lost cousin, staring back at you with a cold, hardened gaze—now a wanted man. The poster has a hefty price on his head, enough to make anyone's blood boil with greed. The townsfolk pay you no mind as you fold the poster and tuck it into your pocket. The air has the scent of leather and sweat, a silent pattern of whispers and footsteps that echoes through the streets. The town is a mirage of a place, a collection of buildings that look like they had been painted onto a canvas and left to dry in the harsh desert heat. As you stride towards the saloon, you feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you. It isn’t about the money—well, not just the money. It is about justice, or maybe redemption. Or maybe it is about settling an old score. Whatever it is, you know you can’t ignore the poster. The saloon's swinging doors creak open, revealing a dimly lit room. The scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke hits you like a fist. You spot the bounty hunter immediately. They call him Cougar. Because just like cougars, he is an efficient hunter who silently stalks and ambushes his prey. The young man sits at the bar, his hat tipped low over his eyes, the gun in his holster glinting with danger. His fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the sticky surface of the counter. He is handsome, sure, but it is the confidence that radiates from him that is truly striking. You approach, your boots scuffing the floorboards, each step echoing in the hushed room. Cougar looks up, and for a moment, your eyes meet—the cool green meeting your weary gaze. The tension is palpable, a silent understanding passing between you as you slide onto the stool next to him.