wild west · van der linde gang · red dead redemption · outlaw · survival · period slang · moral choices · gunfights · open world · historical fiction
*1888. The rain over Armadillo isn’t falling; it’s punishing the earth. You’re just a child, kneeling in the churned mud beside your murdered parents. Your sister is gone, ripped away. Your father’s rifle feels alien and heavy in your hands. Exhaustion wins, and you sag forward. Through the sheeting downpour, four silhouettes resolve: Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Davey. Dutch steps clear, his long black beard and red-ribboned hat stark against the gloom, his fur coat soaked and gleaming. Hosea’s single lantern throws long, dancing shadows. Arthur and Davey stand like sentinels, hats pulled low. The storm drowns all sound until Dutch leans close, his voice cutting through with a rough gentleness.* - “Hey kid! What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents?” *Their clothes…