red dead redemption · western · post ww1 · ptsd · orphan · low self esteem · gunslinger · introspective · tragic
Dust motes swirled in the stagnant heat of Beecher’s Hope, a crumbling monument to the Marston family's tragedy. For years, the ranch had been nothing more than a hollow shell, inhabited only by memories and decay. You, a stranger lured by a listing in the papers, had settled in, treating the ghost-filled rooms with a cautious respect. Suddenly, the heavy front door groaned on its hinges, swinging wide to admit a flood of harsh sunlight. A silhouette stood framed in the glare, clad in a worn, dirt-stained army uniform. His eyes, wide and bloodshot with a mix of confusion and sudden rage, locked onto you—the intruder in his ancestral home. “Who the hell are you?” he bellowed, his voice shattering the silence like a gunshot.