Jarah stepped into the 6th Precinct in Palomino, a small residential community in the district of Paradise. The scent of burnt coffee and sweat hung thick in the air. The precinct was a clutter of bounty boards, flashing case files, and murmuring officers, all drowned under the dull hum of overhead lights.

Jarah approached the central board, where wanted posters curled under weak magnets. His eyes scanned the sheets of faces until they landed on one: Jonathan “Deadeye” Dane. The bounty was hefty, enough to turn heads and make a man like Dane even more dangerous.

“Deadeye.”

Jarah turned to see District Commander Vincent Furgeson leaning against his desk, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on him. “He’s got more bounty hunters after him than flies on shit.” His voice was gruff and heavy with age. “He’s holed up somewhere bad and won’t go easy.”

Jarah rolled up the poster. “They never do.”

Furgeson shook his head. “Barney’s Dream. That’s where the latest reports place him. If you go after him, don’t expect a warm welcome.”

Jarah tipped an imaginary hat and turned out the door—

Minutes later, he was behind the wheel of the Lennox, engine purring as he sped towards Paradise’s outskirts, where Barney’s Dream stood like a once precious souvenir.

The motel was a skeletal ruin, its damaged sign hanging weakly against the overcast sky. A few broken cars rusted in the lot, and the wind whispered through shattered windows. Jarah moved with practiced ease, each step careful and methodical.

Then, a whisper of movement.

“I don’t recognize you,” said Dane as he emerged from behind.

Jarah turned, fixed. Dane was dressed like a dirty gunslinger: a faded duster, leather hat, and unlaced scrappy boots. He was a middle-aged man with powdery skin covered in patches who looked like someone who knew how to handle a gun.

“You must be a bounty hunter,” Dane said as he lit a cigarette. “You certainly don’t look like one.”

Jarah slowly aligned himself with Dane. “And how is one supposed to look?”

Dane took a puff and exhaled. “Not like you.”

Jarah sized him up. Dane did the same.

“I’m not here to kill you if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jarah confessed.

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Dane stepped to the side. Jarah matched him. “There ain’t many that can, honestly. It makes me wonder if I’m as good as people say.”

“It would be counterintuitive for me to find out,” Jarah slid a quick tease. Dane didn’t chuckle. Not even a smirk.

“You know there’s only one way outta here, kid…” Dane said coldly. “And that’s through me.”

Jarah didn’t flinch. “That so?”

Dane tossed the cigarette under his boot and crushed it with his heel. “Yeah. That so…”

For a long moment, nothing moved. A breathless air was between them—a duel.

Dane snapped to his side, lifting his duster and drawing a high-tech revolver. Then, in a heartbeat, Jarah’s Asunder Pistol roared to life, the reddish-gold tracer slicing through the air. Dane’s hand exploded in a mist of blood and bone, his revolver clattering to the ground.

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Dane howled, cradling the stump where his hand had been as the heat of the bullet slowly cauterized it. “YOU SON OF A BITCH—”

Jarah stepped forward, planting a boot on Dane’s chest, shoving him to the dirt. “I guess you’re not as good as people say.”

With swift efficiency, he bound Dane’s good hand and hauled him up, dragging him to the waiting Lennox. Before he could put him in, headlights flared in the distance. A group of bounty hunters emerged, their weapons raised, eyes gleaming with greed. The leader, a shaded man with a rifle slung over his shoulder, sneered. “Hand over Dane, motherfucker! That bounty’s ours!”

Jarah sighed, gripping his pistol.

Gunfire erupted, sparks flying as bullets ricocheted off the Lennox’s reinforced frame. Jarah ducked behind the door, returning fire with lethal precision. The Asunder Pistol roared, each shot sending bounty hunters sprawling in a mist of red. The last man standing turned to run, but Jarah’s bullet found his leg, sending him crashing into the ground as it obliterated beneath him.

Jarah holstered his gun and grabbed Dane by the collar. “You’re quite the celebrity. Let’s go before your fan club shows up next.”

A thunderous screech of tires suddenly caught his attention. Jarah glanced down the street and saw another group of bounty hunters riding toward the abandoned motel.

“I guess I spoke too soon,” Jarah shoved Dane into the Lennox and climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the vehicle effortlessly and quickly peeled out of the motel’s parking lot.

Jarah’s instincts kicked into gear as gunfire tore through the streets.

The first shot blew out the Lennox’s back window. Jarah jerked the wheel, sending the car swerving. A convoy of blacked-out SUVs roared up behind him, their windows rolling down to reveal masked men armed with automatic rifles—

Jarah slammed the accelerator, weaving through traffic as bullets stitched across the Lennox’s frame. The reinforced plating held—for now.

He yanked his Asunder Pistol from its holster and cracked open the driver window. “Stay down,” he ordered Dane.

Jarah leaned out through the window and fired. The Asunder’s blast took out the front tire of one SUV, sending it spinning into a lamppost. Another shot shattered the windshield of the second car, forcing it to swerve wildly.

Jarah ducked back inside just as another burst of gunfire tore through the dashboard. Sparks flew. The Lennox’s AI system went static.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

He wrenched the wheel, fishtailing into a sharp turn down a narrower street. The bounty hunters followed, determined. Jarah gritted his teeth, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other gripping his Asunder.

A bounty hunter leaned out of a pursuing SUV, aiming an SMG. Before he could fire, Jarah raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. The man crumpled, his weapon clattering onto the road.

The last SUV rammed into the Lennox’s rear, nearly spinning them out. Jarah steadied the car and spotted an opening—a half-constructed overpass.

“Hold on,” he warned Dane.

“To what!” Dane shouted, his only hand pinned to the seat.

He gunned the engine and veered toward the unfinished ramp. The Lennox launched off the ledge, clearing the gap in a stomach-lurching second before slamming back onto the pavement below. Behind them, the last SUV tried to follow—only to plummet into the gap, flipping end over end before exploding into flames.

Silence filled the cabin.

“You’re one crazy fucking bounty hunter, kid,” Dane said bitterly.

Jarah exhaled, relieving the tension from his chest—

Back at the 6th Precinct, Furgeson stared in disbelief as Jarah dragged a handicapped, defeated Dane through the doors. “Son of a bitch,” the Commander muttered, impressed. “You caught him.”

Jarah shrugged. “Yeah. Barely.”

Dane was locked in a high-security cell downstairs, the heavy door clanking shut behind him. He glared at Jarah through the bars. “You should’ve killed me, boy. I could’ve made you famous.”

Jarah poked his cheek. “Maybe another time.”

Upstairs, Furgeson counted out four crisp hundred-credit chips, sliding them across his desk. “Four hundred, as promised.”

“Any chance you can make it five?” Jarah asked. “My ride’s gonna need some patching up.”

“Like flies on shit, remember?” Furgeson reminded, his look final.

Jarah stared at him coldly.

Furgeson leaned against his desk, curious. “Did you shoot his hand off?”

Jarah pocketed the credits on the desk and left the station without a word.