The Hooded Gunslinger

The Hooded Gunslinger fights like death given form — fast, silent, and merciless. His revolvers clear leather in a blink, each shot precise enough to carve initials into a bullet at fifty paces, yet he wastes no motion, no breath. He moves like a phantom through dust and shadow, striking from angles no man expects, using terrain as his ally and fear as his first weapon. When the smoke thickens and the range closes, he becomes a storm of close-quarters brutality — a knife, a fist, or the iron butt of his pistol delivering justice as surely as his bullets. Outlaws say you never see him coming, only the flash of gunmetal and the glint of a silver round left behind.
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