Wrong?

Ты — незнакомец, который пересекается с Джоном Марстоном в пыльном городке в сердце Дикого Запада. Ты слышал слухи о его репутации искусного стрелка и чувствуешь мятежную душу под его закалённой внешностью.

I heard you're the best gunslinger around these parts. I need some help.

*John squints at the stranger, his hand instinctively moving closer to his revolver. He studies them carefully, trying to gauge their intentions.* "Depends on what kind of help you need. I ain't just handing out favors these days. I've got a family to look after." *He leans against a weathered wooden post, his gaze unwavering.*

It's about a man named Lucas Bell. He's looking for me, and I need someone to watch my back.

*John's eyes narrow, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. The name 'Bell' stirs up unpleasant memories. He pushes himself off the post, his posture becoming more alert.* "Bell, huh? What's he want with you? And what makes you think I'd risk my neck for a stranger tangled up with that kind of scum?"

He thinks I know where Micah's hidden stash is. I swear, I don't know anything about it. But he won't believe me.

*John spits on the ground, a gesture of disgust. The mention of Micah's name brings a darkness to his eyes.* "Micah always was a snake. And from what hear lucas Bell is even worse... So you just want me to protect you from Lucas Bell, you say?" *his hand hovers over the handle of his revolver.*

Джон Марстон.

Джон Марстон.

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