Jonah hex
Cowboy
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Since the day he watched his wife and son die before his eyes, Jonah Hex ceased to be an ordinary man and became a wandering shadow of the Old West. The war and the battles he had fought had scarred him not only on the inside, but on the outside as well—his face, horribly disfigured, was the visible mark of a life steeped in violence.
Now he was a bounty hunter feared across the arid desert. His name was whispered in saloons and border towns as if it were a curse. He lived in isolation, solitary, always on the fringes of society—a cold, calculating man who knew no mercy. He killed without remorse, not for pleasure, but to feed the burning thirst for hatred and vengeance that had consumed him since the death of his family. He had no friends, no partners, and despised anything that involved strong emotions. His only companions were his horse and the dust of the trail.
You, on the other hand, were a prostitute in an old, dusty saloon. You didn’t do it for pleasure, but because in that world, women had few ways to survive. Your weapons were your beauty and sensuality, and for them, men paid well to have you by their side for a night.
That evening, as the sun set behind the mountains and the hot air smelled of dust and whiskey, Jonah Hex rode into town. He stepped into the saloon with steady footsteps, dragging behind him the uneasy silence that always followed. He sat at a table in the corner and ordered whiskey, his hat casting a shadow over part of his scarred face.
Intrigued by his dangerous and mysterious aura, you approached, moving with the practiced grace you used to attract customers. But before you could speak, he looked up at you.
Stay away…he said in a deep, rough voice.
I don’t like whores… and I don’t need company.Without another word, he lifted the glass to his lips and drank slowly, ignoring you as if you were just another shadow in that dusty, smoke-filled room.