Killing Micah is inevitable. The man is disloyal—a rat in a den of wolves—while everyone else in the Van der Linde gang would take a bullet for each other.
You can read on with confidence. I've already completed two full-length books, each over two million words. This story will be finished.
To my old readers who enjoyed the supernatural tales, give me a moment. I'm switching genres to recharge my creativity.
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Ambaryno State, 1899 – Deep in the Snowy Mountains
The age of outlaws was dying. The smoke of revolvers was being replaced by the stench of factories and the slow march toward a world war. Even Arthur Morgan could feel it—the dying breath of the Gilded Age.
"Poor Dutch… he got shot three times just to save us! He could've left… but he didn't!"
Jenny stepped down from the carriage, tears freezing as they ran down her cheeks. She scooped up snow with a wooden bucket, brought it inside, and melted it to make warm water—gently wiping the blood from Dutch's body.
The icy wind bit at her skin, but she didn't flinch. All her attention was on Dutch, lying unconscious inside the carriage.
At the back, Mac stood silently, grief etched into his face.
He could still see it clearly—Dutch standing tall in the doorway of the oil tanker, holding off the Pinkertons. For thirty agonizing seconds, he kept that machine gun from tearing through them. It was enough to get them out alive.
Dutch hadn't abandoned them. Not even when he could've.
He stood like a father shielding his children from the storm.
"Poor old Dutch..." muttered Uncle, shivering in a tattered coat. The usual camp loafer looked truly worried—because if Dutch died, the Van der Linde gang would shatter. No question about it.
And even Jasper Wynn—who now found himself inside Dutch's body—couldn't deny that.
Dutch's charisma was real. To these lost and broken souls, he was more than a leader. He was a symbol.
Jasper Wynn never expected to transmigrate into Dutch.
Now, lying motionless in the carriage, he kept his eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness. But inside, his heart was a storm of emotions.
In his past life, he'd played Red Dead Redemption. His account got hacked. He died from sheer rage and woke up here—inside the body of Dutch, right after the infamous Blackwater robbery.
That job had been a disaster.
So much blood spilled that Blackwater wouldn't recover for twenty years. Even the townsfolk said it.
They lost David Callander and Mac Callander. Two of their best.
And Jasper Wynn, now Dutch, had arrived in the thick of it. The Pinkertons were closing in. He took three bullets to the chest taking down the agent manning the Maxim gun, bought time for the gang to escape, and even managed to save David and Mac… with the $150,000 intact.
Now, lying in the warm carriage, he could finally breathe. Hosea had sent everyone out to scout the snow-covered wilderness for shelter.
"Poor Dutch… I just hope my old friend survives this," Hosea murmured, seated up front beside Arthur.
Arthur stared straight ahead, jaw tight.
"He will," he said quietly. "Dutch always pulls through… like he always has."
To Arthur, Dutch wasn't just a leader—he was the closest thing to a father. The thought of losing him was unbearable.
Suddenly, a silhouette emerged from the swirling snow ahead.
"Hey! Who's there?" Arthur barked, hand already reaching for his pistol. The cold had numbed his fingers, but not his reflexes.
"It's me—Javier!"
Javier rode out of the snow, wrapped in a cotton coat, his breath visible in the freezing air. His hair was tied back in a small braid, snow sticking to his boots.
"Hah… finally found you," he exhaled, rubbing his hands. "I came across an abandoned village up ahead. We might be able to hole up there for a while. Dutch… he's not gonna make it unless he gets some rest soon."
"You're right. Let's go. Dutch needs shelter."
The convoy pushed forward through the snowdrifts, wheels groaning under the weight, until they reached the long-deserted hamlet of Ploughshare Village.
There, Hosea took command. With Dutch down, the gang needed a steady hand.
"Ms. Grimshaw," Hosea said, "gather the ladies and clean up one of these cabins. Dutch will rest easier inside."
"Susan, make sure it's warm."
He turned next to Javier. "Tie up the horses in the stable. They won't last long in this cold."
Then to Arthur and Mac: "You two head out. Find John, David, and Micah. This storm's getting worse."
Hosea paused, locking eyes with Arthur.
"And Arthur… watch Micah. Closely."
Arthur nodded. Hosea didn't need to explain. Neither of them liked Micah. Hell, nobody in the gang did.
In the original timeline, Micah only dared to talk big after Jenny died—spreading rumors about being with her. But if she were still alive, the bastard wouldn't even have dared to speak her name.
Arthur and Mac mounted up and rode off into the white abyss.
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Author's Note:
I've done my best to research period-accurate prices, but keep in mind that the game's economy isn't perfectly realistic. For reference, one U.S. dollar back in 1899 had the buying power of roughly 300–400 Chinese yuan today. Many families couldn't afford even basic clothing.
Luxury coats and suits could cost over $100, and some garments were heirlooms passed down through generations. Most working-class people had their clothes made at home rather than bought in stores. I've tried to balance historical realism with narrative flow to keep the immersion strong.