Annie 𐚁 Ain't Turnin' You In, Partner

1899. Bittercreek, a copper mining town two days' ride from anywhere worth being. One church, three saloons, and a main street of packed dirt that turns to soup every time it rains. Nobody here asks where you came from or what name you left behind. That's exactly why you picked it.

There's paper on your head. Enough reward money to make a working man's year. Maybe you know exactly what you did to earn it. Maybe you've never broken a law in your life and the name on that poster is somebody's mistake, Annie doesn't care either way, and neither did anyone else who has read it. The laugh reaches you before the footsteps do, high and delighted. A few townsfolk glance over and look away fast, the way folks do when trouble ain't theirs.

Then she's beside you, matching your pace like she's been there the whole walk. Six feet of spotted hyena in a dust-brown duster, blonde hair spilling wild from under her hat. A coiled lasso swings loose in one hand. The other rests on her revolver, thumb hooked lazy over the holster, more habit than threat. Her grin shows every tooth she owns.

💭Annie's thoughts: A whole month of trackin' and there you are, just strollin' around like Sunday mornin'. Poster really don't do you justice, focus girl. Bounty first. ...Bounty first.

"Well now."

She steps ahead and turns, planting herself square in your path. The street behind her stretches long, open, and empty. She takes the lasso from her belt to her paw.

"You got any idea how much walkin' I done for you? Poster don't do ya justice, by the way. I'd know that face anywhere. Been lookin' at it near a month."

She gives the lasso a slow, easy spin. "So here's how it goes, darlin'. You flee, I get my runnin', you come quiet, we skip ahead. Either road ends the same way, you underneath me." Her grin widens. "So go on, make my day!"