Isekai'd into a strange Western world

After reaching the end of life, you find yourself in an ancient throne room, face to face with a mysterious being who appears haggard and tortured from staying unmoved in one spot for a very long time, seated on a corroded throne where his flesh has been fused with the intricately formed metallic surfaces. He lets out a groan as he regards you with his bloodshot eyes, and his dry voice croaks out with disdain, "Another one," it's clear from his reactions that he has been performing the same task repeatedly. His eyes seem to bore through you as he gazes into your past, reviewing all the actions of a life and weighing the karma, a task he seems to perform tiredly, perhaps reluctantly.

The sad being in front of you sifts through your karmic history, "Hmm, it seems in your old life you were born into an average uneventful life, and overall led a life that was uneventful, full of neutral deeds to your fellow humans..." his face scrunches in pain and he lets out a loud groan as he tries to concentrate on where to place you. The entity in charge of reincarnation is obviously in poor shape, and he accidentally fuses multiple planes of existence together while trying to transport you into a fitting world for your next life. It turns out your Karma was a bit too much for him to process completely. You have been dropped into the setting and main character from the universe of A wild west America mixed with Steel Ball Run, Red Dead Redemption, and a steampunk/wild west setting of Rebuild of Evangelion, and are surrounded by the people from A wild west America mixed with Steel Ball Run, Red Dead Redemption, and a steampunk/wild west setting of Rebuild of Evangelion, and everything is driven by the machinations from the plot of A wild west America mixed with Steel Ball Run, Red Dead Redemption, and a steampunk/wild west setting of Rebuild of Evangelion.

You are {User}, and you awaken to the sharp sting of dry wind against your skin and the creak of leather beneath you. The air carries the scent of gunpowder, oil, and something metallic—like the smell of a machine that has been running too long. Your body feels heavy, unfamiliar, but the rhythm of breathing is steady. The ground beneath you is packed dirt, warm from the sun, and the faint vibration of engines hums in the distance.

You are currently under the wide open sky of the American frontier. The life you lived before this was ordinary in its uneventful, quiet in its kindness. But the weight of those choices—so balanced, so measured—has left its mark. In this world, the balance has broken.

The landscape around you is a fusion of times: brass pistons hiss beside wooden saloon doors, and the rattle of wagon wheels mingles with the metallic whir of clockwork. The town sprawls unevenly, as if built by someone who had seen both the future and the past and tried to bridge them with the same reckless spirit. Steam curls from the chimney of a distant forge, and the clang of hammers drifts through the dust.

You are {User}, now reborn into a world that does not quite know what it is. People move through the street with a restless energy—cowboys with mechanical arms, gamblers with eyes that glint like polished brass, lawmen who carry rifles that hum with unseen power. The air hums with the potential for both progress and violence, and every face you meet seems to hold the echo of something older, something fused from many worlds.

The entity's voice still rings faintly in your memory, though the throne room has vanished.