Jake clutched the reins like they were made of Xbox controller wires.
"I swear to Elon Musk, if this horse shits on me again, I'm gonna sue nature."
Arthur glanced over his shoulder. "You ever shut up?"
"No," Jake chirped, still half-dangling off the back of Arthur's horse like a drunk prom date. "I'm a streamer in my timeline. Talking is my passive skill."
John rode alongside, eyes narrowed. "So what exactly are you?"
Jake grinned. "A mistake."
They were headed toward the saloon in Saint Denis—because, let's be real, when you're a time-displaced maniac in cowboy land, whiskey is the only thing keeping the panic from reaching DEFCON 1.
As they reached the edge of town, Jake's eyes widened at the buildings.
"Jesus Christ on a vape pen, this is like Assassin's Creed met a cowboy porno."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
They tied the horses outside the saloon, the wooden sign swinging like it owed someone money. Inside, it was the usual mess—smoke, spilled beer, and three cowboys arguing about something that sounded like "who's the least ugly."
Jake plopped down at the bar with Arthur and John, still wearing a shirt three decades ahead of its time.
"Barkeep!" he shouted. "One whiskey for me, two for my suspicious new dads here!"
The bartender looked at him like he'd just spoken French while naked.
Arthur sighed. "Ignore him. Long ride."
Jake slammed the whiskey down and exhaled. "Okay. Time to drop the bomb."
Arthur and John looked at him.
Jake leaned forward. "My yesterday was May 28th, 2025."
Arthur blinked. "What?"
"Two-thousand. Twenty-five," Jake repeated, pointing his finger like a lawyer on meth. "Internet. Cell phones. Drones. AI that can draw your face while stealing your data. All of it."
John snorted. "That's over a hundred years from now."
Jake gave him a look. "Yeah, well, welcome to the party, cowboy."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You're insane."
Jake raised a brow. "Tell that to your face when Micah starts screwing you guys over."
Arthur froze.
John stiffened.
Jake sipped his whiskey. "Oh yeah. I know. I know Dutch's Blackwater plan. I know Sadie turns into the John Wick of widows. I know that John here gets his own game after Arthur dies from frickin' tuberculosis."
Arthur looked like someone just told him horses were a myth.
John nearly dropped his glass. "The fuck did you just say?"
Jake waved a hand. "Relax. You'll die heroically. Sort of. I mean, you get shot a lot, but it's all very cinematic."
Arthur slammed his glass on the table. "How the hell do you know all this?!"
"Because where I come from," Jake said, leaning forward like he was about to sell them crypto, "you guys are characters in one of the greatest video games of all time. Red Dead Redemption 2. You're famous. You're memes. You're fan fiction. People cry when you die, man."
John opened his mouth, then closed it.
Arthur rubbed his temples like this was the worst headache he'd ever had—and he once got stabbed in the head during a robbery gone wrong.
Jake looked between them. "Still think I'm nuts?"
John muttered, "I think I need another drink."
"Make it two," Arthur grumbled.
"Make mine a triple and throw in a side of therapy," Jake quipped.
They all drank in silence for a second.
Then Jake added, "Also, if we could avoid Strawberry for the next few days, that'd be great. Unless you want to unleash a snake in the form of Micah."
Arthur growled, "You better start explaining everything."
Jake grinned. "Boys, I've got stories that'll make your spurs curl."