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Inside a dimly lit Montana saloon at night, with amber lighting from neon beer signs and overhead fixtures casting long shadows across worn wooden floors and pool tables. Jake (early 40s, unshaven, worn denim jacket, sitting alone at bar's end) nurses a glass of water while Colt (late 20s, muscular, flannel shirt, cocky swagger) approaches with his crew, holding a full pitcher of beer. Medium shot: Colt stands over Jake, sneering down at him while bar patrons turn to watch, conversations dying. Close-up: Colt makes a move to tilt the pitcher toward Jake, but stops just short, setting it down hard on the bar next to him with a loud thud. Colt says loudly: "We don't serve bums here, grandpa." The crowd erupts in nervous laughter, some pointing and smirking. Wide shot: Jake sits perfectly still, beer from the pitcher sloshing onto the bar near his glass, not moving a muscle, his weathered hands steady. Cut to close-up: Jake's eyes slowly lift to meet Colt's, voice deadly calm: "That's once." The laughter dies instantly, tension crackling through the air. No logos, no brand names, no watermarks, no text overlays.

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Inside a dimly lit Montana saloon at night, with amber lighting from neon beer signs and overhead fixtures casting lo...

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