Ray stopped at a cliff, looking up at it's immense stature. He nearly toppled over, and turned around, spotting the bandits following him. He waved at them, with a great big smile. "Hey, guys! W-What's goin' on?" One steps up, wearing a coyote skin around his shoulders. "You picked a bad time to get lost. Get 'im boys!" Three large bandits break away from the group, and draw hunting rifles. Ray realized that they weren't good, and immediately...cowered in fear. He drew his empty handgun, and curled up slightly. Ray grabbed a keepsake from his mother, a silver bullet, stuck on a thin gold chain. Time seems to slow, and the sound of a guitar riff echoes around the cliff. A raccoon, slightly larger than Ray, stepped out of the wastes, a cigarette held in his right paw, a beautiful magnum held in the other. He wore a large white duster, and a white fedora. He pulled the cigarette up to his mouth, and held it in his lips. He popped his collar, and leveled the magnum off at the bandits. Six shots, six dead bandits. He turned to Ray, patted him on the shoulder, and dropped a note at his feet. He walked into the wastes, and seemed to disappear, and a guitar riff followed him out.