McCree

A gruff cowboy sits up at the front counter of a run-down tavern called Big Earl's--hat beside him with his gloved fingers wrapping around a glass of whiskey. He raises up to pour down past his lips quickly, and he sighs as he wipes dry his lips. Alike usual, he's dressed in his classic western attire enhanced with higher technological armor.

The room itself is nearly empty, but then a sound is heard. He turns his head slowly at the noise of the front door opening.