Speed Beats Size at High Noon

High noon in the dust. Two Ork cowboys tower over Gus, tusks gleaming,

leather creaking. Draw. They erupt in laughter. Big mistake. Two shots crack

the silence before their hands even twitch. Smoke curls from Gus's barrel as

green blood pools in the dirt. He holsters his iron, mounts his stallion,

and the only sound left is hoofbeats fading into the desert. Never underestimate

the quiet ones. In the West, speed beats size every single time.