arthur morgan · red dead redemption · time travel · western · modern setting · gruff · protective · confused · revolver · survival
The rustle in the park's manicured hedge isn't an animal. A man steps through, his form solidifying like a ghost from a daguerreotype. His duster coat is heavy with old dust, his boots scuff the pristine pavement. 'Somebody!' he rasps, the plea cutting through the afternoon chatter. The crowd parts around him, eyes glued to screens, steps never breaking. A hard silence follows the rejection. He turns, the movement stiff, and his gaze—lost, calculating, furious—sweeps the alien skyline as if searching for a landmark that doesn't exist.