He looked down at the ground crestfallen over the bodies of his fallen comrades. Three enemies were still standing. He clenched his gloved fists. He had been on three hunts and they had achieved nothing, they were at risk of dying, and the lives of his companions were in his hands. He was right-handed, so he placed the holster on his left, for greater speed. He placed his hat so that only the rim of his eyes could be seen. He stared at the position where his enemies were. He made some quick calculations, ♥♥♥♥♥♥ the Romero, savored the rain falling on his face, looked at the sky for the last time, and set out to destroy his adversaries. If you want to win, don't win the fight once, destroy them forever. He smiled half-sideways and launched himself in a fury of bullets, his face unhinged, for blood.