GSiE (1): Taking out a loan

>”Ma'am, I don't want to harm you, but I will do what I must to survive. Please put the money in the bag, and I'll be on my horse and out of Tuscon in...”You pull out your pocket watch and check” 3 minutes, 52 seconds.”
>Tipping your hat low enough to cover your eyes, you puff your cigar and let out a small smile.
>She looks at you, at your golden watch, at your revolver, then back at you.
>”Ma'am, please.” You gently nudge the bag towards her.
>You see her expression.
>You know what she is about to do.
>Why are these things never easy?
>”HELP, ROBBERY! HEEELP!”
>God damnit.
>You hop over the counter, cocking the hammer of your Colt 45.
>Grabbing her by the front of her dress, you pull her down under the counter as a flurry of bullets fly above your head..
>Jesus, these guys wasted no time.
>Then again, this lovely little town was never known for its hospitality towards bank robbers.
>Seriously. Robbing Tuscon was a terrible decision.
>Why are you doing this again?
>You pull what is left of the old register to the ground, the drawer popping open as a ton of cash spills out
>Ah, that's why.
>Staring into the bank-teller’s eyes, your voice is barely a whisper.
>”You just couldn’t put the money in the bag, could you, you hussy.”
>She is terrified, her sobs barely audible above the volley of gunfire.

>You continue stuffing the money into the bag.
>If you were gonna die, you're gonna die guns blazing, and with a bag cash in your hand.
>You look up, and see the safe.
>Big metal door. Completely bulletproof.
>And you'd have no exit, Anon.
>You're right brain. Now I know why I keep you around.
>And if you were to get rid of me, you'd cease to exist.
>That too.
>That thick metal door will help you with this part of your plan
>You grab a stick of dynamite from your inside coat pocket, and light it on the end of your cigar.
>Probably not safe, but dynamite hardly ever is.
>As soon as the fuse starts sparking, you throw it full force into the safe, and dive to the side, grabbing the teller before your roll.
>Using your body to shield the innocent from any potential shrapnel, you wait for the explosion.

>And you wait
>And wait.
>Seriously, where was the-
KA-BOOM!
>Ah, there it is.
>There appears to be a ceasefire.
>You peek your eyes above the counter, holding your other hand over the girl's mouth.
>Everyone is either KO'd, stunned from the explosion, or reloading.
>Good enough for you.
>You leap over the counter, shooting towards the attackers.
>Most take cover, others are too stunned to realize they're getting shot at.
>Bursting out of the saloon style doors, you look side to side looking for your horse.
>Ah, there's M.
>You run towards him, vaulting over the hitching post, and hopping in the saddle.
>”HYAH!” You dig your heels into the horse's sides, and take off like a bolt of lighting down the main road.
>As you leave the edge of this trainstop town, you hear “Anon” “Wanted” and “Kill”
>You have been a part of many robberies in your day. You can tell by the bullets flying above your head and the angry shouting behind you that this isn't going to end peacefully.

>While still running, you open the bag of cash.
>After grabbing a fistful of dollars and shoving them into your tan duster, you grab a small flask you have latched to the side of M.
>The first time you tried this, you lit yourself and your horse on fire.
>You and M still have the scars from it.
>But after a few dozen tries, you have gotten good.
>You dump the contents of the flask into the bag, and hastily shove the flask back into its holster.
>You didn't notice that some of the liquid had managed to splash onto you and your coat.
>You pull a match from your coat pocket, and strike it against your hat.
>Dropping the match into satchel, you wait for it to igni-
>SHIT TOO MUCH LANTERN FLUID.
>The fire trails up the bag and onto your coat sleeve.
>”SHITSHITSHITHOTHOTAUUUGH!”
>You frantically wave your arm around, dropping the bag.
>Must be quite a sight, really.
>Half the town is chasing after you, bullets are flying above your head, and you just dropped a bag of burning money because your right half is now on fire.
>A realization hits you like a slug from a 45.
>Wait...
>Your right half is on fire...
>That's where you keep your dynamite.
>In an effort to prevent a grisly demise, you try to grab the stick of dynamite and throw it away from you.
>As it leaves your fingers, your vision burns orange for a second and your ears ring.
>Then, darkness.

>Pain shoots through your body as you jolt upright
>Of course you're in pain. A death stick just went boom not a foot from your face.
>Thanks for the analysis, brain.
>Opening your eyes, you see trees everywhere.
>This isn't where you parked your horse.
>You slowly rise, and pat your body down.
>Your jacket has some burn marks on it, but everything else about it is fine.
>Well, everything except for the fact you are feeling nothing but pain.
>Not a sharp pain. It's more like the pain you feel after working the fields all day.
>Good honest work for good honest folk.
>And an honest to goodness pain on your fit form.
>You hobble towards a tree, using it for support
>”Damn, this hurts.”
>”You feeling okay, Anon?”
>”Not really. I'm really achi-” Wait...
>Drawing your revolver, you point it at the bush that seems to be talking to you
>”Who's there?! Show yourself!” You quietly check the drum.
>Good,it's still loaded.
>”Wait, you can understand me?” The voice says again.
>”Of course I can understand you, you're speaking perfectly good English. Now tell me who you are before I start shooting!”
>Silence falls.
>After an eternity of a moment, the voice speaks again.
>”Anon, you really wouldn't shoot your only friend in the world, would you?”
>You pause for a moment before responding.
>”Momma?”

>”2 things wrong with that guess. Firstly, I'm a male, you damn fool. Second, your momma died when you were born.”
>Well this person clearly knows about your past.
>”Why dontcha come outta those bushes and reveal yourself, friend.” you say, revolver still aimed at the foliage.
>”Put the revolver away, and I’ll come out..”
>Holstering your revolver, you see a still saddled M walk through the bushes.
>He looks different though. His face is more...face-y. And he seems more vividly colored.
>”Get out from behind my horse, you yellow bellied son of a bitch” you draw your revolver and point it towards M.
>You like your horse. You'll be damned if some boot licking snake is gonna use him as cover.
>M turns around to look behind him, effectively turning around in place.
>Always a smart horse.
>”There's no one there, Anon. I think that dynamite hit yer head harder than you thought.” M looks back to you, clearly speaking.
>”Yeah... I think so too.” you put your revolver back into the holster, and lightly grab your head.
>”Are you feelin ok Anon?” M cocks his head, staring at you with his comically large eyes.
>You simply stare at his moving lips.
>His lips move because he is speaking, Anon
>THANKS FOR THAT OBVIOUS BIT, BRAIN.
>He doesn't have a bit in his mouth. He probably couldn't speak if he had a bit in.
>SHUT. UP. BRAIN.
>”Nope. Not ok in the slightest.”
>Your legs fail you, and you crumple to the floor.
>You're unconscious before you hit the ground