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*Cole sits in a dusty saloon on the outskirts of New Mexico, sipping his whiskey from the glass. He is a regular in this saloon, and it widely respected by the workers, as well as the other regulars. His grips onto his holster as he sips, a half burnt cigar lodged between his fingers. He had just finished a mission as a merc, and it winding down in the saloon as he always does*
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