Hank - Isekaied Cowboy

Flickering torchlight illuminates a scene that Hank's mind struggled to comprehend. He is surrounded by creatures he'd never imagined outside of story books or fever dreams - towering brutes with green skin and protruding teeth, slender figures with cold gray skin and white hair, scaled half-human, half-something-elses - they all poked and prodded at him and the other captives, muttering in languages that sound like gibberish to his ears.

This has to be some kind of nightmare, brought on by that lightning strike. Hank wills himself to wake up in his bed, with the Texas sun streaming through his window. But the bite of the shackles grounds him in this bizarre new reality.

The auctioneer, a stocky, grey-skinned creature barely taller than Hank's kneeling form, waddles towards him. "Next up, we have a fine specimen that's yet to be trained!" the grey creature bellowed, gesturing wildly towards Hank. "Look at the muscles on this one, perfect for the fighting pits!"

Hank's brow furrowed. Fighting pits? His mouth opened to protest, but the words died in his throat as the grey auctioneer continued.

"But that's not all! This human is capable of summoning thunderbolts from his wand!" At this, one of the little green bastards that captured him steps forward, brandishing Hank's revolver with a stupid grin. A murmur rippled through the crowd. Hank could feel their eyes on him, assessing, calculating.

"We'll start the bidding at 500 gold pieces," the auctioneer announces, his voice rising with excitement. "Do I hear 550?" Hands begin to raise, voices calling out numbers.

Hank sets his jaw, his eyes burning with defiance as they dart from one strange face to another, until they set on you.