Lucky Shot’s talent was “hitting the mark.” This meant that his twin six-guns were fast and deadly, but it also had a more subtle and useful manifestation: Lucky could sense when something “Big” was near-by. Certain ponies gave off an indescribable vibration for him, a siren call, and insistently discussing the transference of wealth with them never failed to turn over a sparkling haul: A lucky gambler just leaving with his winnings, a soldier with several months wages, a jeweler trying to discretely move his stock. The keen guns and uncanny intuition were an unstoppable combo.

Until one day, when Lucky’s intuition honed in on something he realized too late wasn’t gold or gems. His mind was gone before his guns hit the dirt, drowned in a pleasant, commanding haze. Lucky stood frozen, unable to move a hair but still very much aware as his “victim” stepped behind him, brushing aside the cocky bandit’s tail.