If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!
Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12
___________________________
John walked up at that moment, swinging the half full burlap sack they'd stuffed with bills, watches, and jewelry. "My idea. Figured it'd keep our faces hidden. But Caleb here," he gestured toward the younger man, "he suggested we change our voices too. Rough it up, drop it low, sound like someone else. Just in case any of those rich bastards try to get clever and hire someone to match our voices with rumors or bounties."
Dutch gave a short, surprised laugh and clapped Caleb on the shoulder. "Son, you got brains on you, I'll give you that. I've been runnin' jobs for twenty years, and it never even crossed my mind. Smart, real smart."
Hosea chuckled. "Neither mine. That's the clever kind of thinking that keeps us ahead of the law."
Caleb gave a modest shrug, hiding the slight swell of pride behind a neutral expression. "Just thought it might help keep attention off us. This job was loud in terms of what we took, a train full of rich passengers and valuable cargo? Someone's gonna come looking. Better not give them more to go on than they already have."
"Exactly," Hosea agreed. "You boys left no prints, no names, and no faces. No bodies either. Just one warning shot, and a lot of empty pockets. Bunch of you are just like ghosts."
Dutch grinned widely, teeth gleaming in the firelight. "Ghosts who walk away with more money than this camp's seen in a damn season."
Arthur gave Caleb a sidelong glance, his smirk pulling higher on one side. "You're truly a great addition., Caleb. Fit right in with the way we do things. Dutch doesn't lose his touch in choosing people."
John snorted. "Hell, you might be too good for us."
Caleb let out a short chuckle. "Don't say that, or Dutch might start gettin' ideas."
Dutch raised a finger with mock solemnity. "No ideas, just recognition. Caleb here's got a mind for the long game. That's what I like to see."
With the praise still hanging in the air, the gang settled into the natural rhythm that followed a successful heist, counting loot, sharing drinks, and letting the tension melt away like snow in spring.
As the others busied themselves with inventory and celebration, Caleb stepped slightly away from the firelight, taking a seat on a log and letting the cool night breeze brush his face. His fingers brushed against the satchel at his side, feeling the weight of the two gold bars tucked safely inside.
He hadn't lied about sharing with the gang, he'd made sure one of the bars went into the communal haul, but he'd kept two for himself. Insurance.
"Better to have something stashed away," he thought, "just in case the whole world comes down on to the gang like it always does, and having my own secret stash of funds for my own activity."
His thoughts were interrupted as Charles walked up, quiet as ever. He stood for a moment, looking toward the fire before speaking.
"You handled yourself well today," he said simply. "Quiet. Efficient. Unlike the others in the gang, for example, Bill."
"Thanks, Charles," Caleb replied as he chuckled. "You too."
Charles nodded once. "Most people don't do as smooth as what you did in situations like that. And it's just like you knew what to expect."
Caleb shrugged. "I've... been through it before."
Charles gave him a long look, thoughtful, but didn't press. He simply nodded again and moved on, melting into the darkness like a shadow.
The night carried on, filled with the low hum of celebration. Javier strummed a lazy tune on his guitar. Uncle sat on the log, Pearson heaved a sigh of relief as he finished with the day's work, Bill was already half drunk, swaying next to Sean, who was loudly retelling the events of the robbery, despite not having been there.
"I kicked in the door," Sean said, holding up an imaginary rifle, "and said, Give us your gold or we'll turn your heads into soup!"
"That's not even close to what happened," John muttered, laughing.
"Let him talk," Arthur said, shaking his head. "He's just wishin' he got to join."
Dutch eventually called everyone's attention back to the fire. "Alright, listen up! Hosea's got the numbers."
Hosea stood, holding a ledger, glasses glinting in the firelight. "After expenses, stockpiling, and cutting a fair share for the four men who pulled this off, we're sitting on just shy of 1800 dollars, not including bonds and gold. That's without fencing the rest of the valuables."
A collective cheer erupted from the gang.
"And Caleb," Hosea continued, "you came out of this job with no casualties, creative thinking, and a quiet approach that saved us a mess of heat. I say you've earned your share and maybe a bit more."
Dutch raised his hands. "Seconded. Caleb, we'll keep the split even for now, but you've proven yourself. Keep this up, and you'll have as much say in this outfit as anyone."
Caleb dipped his head, accepting the praise with a quiet grace. He didn't need the attention, but it felt good to be recognized for more than just brute force or fast hands.
As the night wore on, Caleb eventually slipped away from the fire and walked up the edge of the cliff that helped look at what was below Horseshoe Overlook. He sat down near a patch of brush, looking up at the moon.
As he sat there looking at the moon, its pale light shimmering like silver across the tops of the trees and the rippling bend of the Dakota River far below, Caleb Thorne felt the strange and familiar ache of two lives pressing at his chest.
He wasn't the same man who had played Red Dead Redemption 2 from the safety of a couch, and he certainly wasn't the man these outlaws believed him to be.
Caleb had died, literally, and had somehow awakened in this world, twenty three and fit, with nothing but a vague user interface in his mind and the memories of a video game that felt more real now than it ever had on screen.
And now here he was, wrapped in the same air as Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, and the Van der Linde gang, legends and ghosts of a doomed story he once adored.
Footsteps crunched softly behind him. Reflexively, his right hand moved toward the revolver at his hip, but the moment he turned, he relaxed.
It was Hosea, looking at him with that warm, familiar smile the old man always wore when he wasn't scheming. The grizzled conman held a small stack of dollar bills in his right hand, fingers loose around them like they weren't even real money.
"Why are you alone out here, Caleb?" Hosea asked, his tone gentle and edged with concern. "Not in the mood to celebrate the cleanest train robbery ever done? Or bringing in the biggest cash for the gang after our disaster in Blackwater?"
Caleb chuckled and patted the log beside him. "It's not that I'm not in the mood to celebrate, Hosea. I just wanted to enjoy some quiet, white, and fresh time alone. The people we robbed today, they weren't Pinkertons or rival gangs or criminals. They were just… folks. Innocent folks. I need to adjust myself, that's all."
Hosea sat down beside him, giving a slight grunt as his knees bent. He patted Caleb's shoulder once with a knowing hand. "I understand, son. It's hard on yourself when you know the people you rob are innocent. But this is the life you chose. And at least you didn't kill any of 'em. No grieving children, no widowed wives, no revenge seeking husbands. That counts for something."
Caleb nodded, keeping his expression neutral, though inside, he felt a quiet satisfaction. Persuasion (Lvl 2) might've been doing its part here, but it wasn't just skill, it was experience. A well crafted lie told with a measure of truth.
Hosea was no easy man to lie to, as he was an experienced con man. The truth was, he just needed space. Time to think. The gang's energy, while infectious, could be overwhelming.
Outwardly, he sighed. "Of course, Hosea," Caleb said, meeting the older man's eyes. "It's just that I need to adjust, that's all." He hesitated, then ventured carefully," But… have you ever thought about leaving this life behind? Starting new somewhere else?"
Hosea's face stilled. For a long moment, the fire behind them cracked and popped while the camp celebrated. Finally, he let out a slow breath.
"I do," he said quietly. "In fact, before all the mess at Blackwater, I did leave this life for a while. I leave this life behind with the love of my life, Bessie. She understood me, Caleb. She knew me. But I just couldn't stay gone, I came back."
His voice faltered briefly. "Bessie understood. She supported me… even though it meant putting this damn life before her. And sometimes, I wonder, what if I stayed gone? What if we'd found a cabin in the Grizzlies or a patch of land near Saint Denis and just lived? Spending the rest of my days with her, just the two of us?"
Caleb turned to look at Hosea, heart tugging. He knew about Bessie, of course, the woman who'd tamed the legendary swindler's heart, how she died before the game truly began. He knew what Hosea lost… what Arthur mourned for him. But he had to pretend he didn't.
"You'll live a wonderful life with her, " Caleb said softly. "I'm sure of it. And… I'm sorry."
Hosea looked over, startled. "Sorry? What for, son?"
Caleb met his gaze, eyes somber and voice low. "The hurt, longing, and sadness in your eyes… It says it all. I know where she is now."
Hosea chuckled bitterly, the sound carrying the weight of years and regrets. He looked up at the sky. "She's in a much better place now. And I know… she'd have liked you. Just like she liked Arthur. If she were still here, she'd be sittin' right beside us, telling me to stop talkin' and just watch the moon."
He stood up with a groan and placed the money gently in Caleb's lap.
"Here's your share. 300 dollars. Don't spend it all in one place. And thank you for listening to an old man ramble."
Caleb smiled, taking the money and tucking it into his satchel. "Thank you, Hosea. Don't worry. I'll save it for now. And… no problem. Thank you for the company as well."
With a wave, Hosea walked back toward the firelight, joining the others in the chorus of songs, laughter, and drunken hollering.
Caleb looked back at the moon, his fingers still wrapped around the warmth of the bills. He made a mental note, "Tomorrow, I'll head to Valentine. Store the two gold bars and $300 in the safety deposit. Gold in the box, cash in the savings account. Better to keep it safe there, rather than bringing it everywhere with me."
The camp was quieter than usual. Most were still asleep, nursing hangovers or curled in bedrolls with snores echoing through the trees. The sky was clear, streaked pink with the promise of a new day.
Caleb rose early, packed his satchel with the two gold bars and his cash, and quietly saddled Morgan, his dependable horse. The horse gave a quiet nicker as he mounted.
Charles, who was on guard duty, gave him a wave from his post near the supply cart. "Heading to Valentine?"
"Yeah, I'm," Caleb said. "Need to do some things around and also about for some lead."
Charles nodded. "Ride safe."
With a final nod, Caleb urged Morgan forward and disappeared into the morning mist. He rode for tens of minutes before he reached the familiar town.
Horses clomped through mud caked roads, and the scent of manure, tobacco, and smoke filled the air. He tied Morgan to the hitching post outside the bank and stepped inside. The interior was cool and clean, the walls lined with polished oak paneling. Behind the barred counter stood a middle aged man in a vest, an eye monocle, and rolled sleeves.
________________________________
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 6/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 2)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
- Crafting (Lv1)
- Persuasion (Lvl 2)
Money: 1031 dollars and 61 cents and 2 gold bars
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets