Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur Morgan was not a good man.

Throughout his life as an outlaw, he had robbed, lied, murdered, hurt, cheated, manipulated and somewhat more recently, he had beaten a dying man into an early grave for a few bucks. So when an orphan from Strawberry asks him to go looking for his friend Clover, he can't quite explain why he finds himself climbing up Mt. Ebbot in search of a missing child. Maybe it was some sort of foolish attempt to do some good in his life after so many years of causing nothing but misery; like good and evil were some kind of scale, and you could balance out decades of killing and robbing by doing a few good deeds. Regardless of the reason, here he was, riding his way to the nearby mountain, when he really should be getting back to camp to prepare for Dutch's sixth or so 'final heist' he'd promised these last few months.

Arthur gently pulled on his Buell's reins, making the horse stop. Dismounting the creature, the outlaw tied the mount to a nearby tree.

"Wait here, boy," he spoke to the horse, giving him a few pats in the neck. "Be right back."

He figured the mountain was getting a bit too steep, and given how stubborn old Hamish's horse could be, Arthur preferred not risk getting thrown off and falling to his demise. Looking at the ground and focusing his senses, he quickly recognized the tracks. They were still fresh, and clearly belonged to a pair of small boots. 

The mountain had quite the reputation among the locals, from what Arthur had gathered. Legends said that whoever climbed it never returned. From what the kid back in Strawberry had told him, the local sheriff had straight up refused to send anyone to go looking for him. Arthur had half a mind to march over to the feller's office and punch him in the face for being such a spineless coward, but given how the man probably only had the position because Arthur and Micah had nearly wiped out the town's law enforcement after Dutch asked him to break the damn rat out of jail, Arthur elected against it, and decided to go look for the kid himself. Whatever demons might reside there, Arthur knew he had already faced worse.

The tracks were getting more recent. He must be getting close. Just up ahead, he could see-

"What the-"

Arthur's foot got stuck in a vine. The cowboy realized what had happened too late and lost his balance. Trying to regain his footing, Arthur stumbled forwards, only to fall into a hidden hole in the mountain. Arhtur had only a few seconds to scream as he fell further and further, the sunlight growing increasingly distant until his body hit the ground, and his vision immediately blacked out.

Some time later, Arthur awoke with a brutal coughing fit. He tried to stand up, but managed only to get on his knees, his coughed up blood staining the patch of yellow flowers below him; a grim reminder that the outlaw was living on borrowed time.

His coughting eventually ceased, and Arthur was able to get a good look at his surroundings. It seemed like he was in some sort of cave. A patch of golden flowers below him were being bathed by the sunlight coming from above; the only source of illumination in this place. 

Arthur stood up and wiped off some yellow petals off his clothes. He should start looking for a way outta here. In fact, since the tracks seemed to end near the hole...maybe the kid he was looking for had fallen here too? Arthur pictured the image of a scared, lost child, maybe around little Jack's age, wandering around through a dark cave. He'd best get a move on.

Taking a left turn, Arthur was shocked to find a doorway flanked by two man made pillars, and a small drawing of a circle surrounded by two wings with three triangles below it; a structure clearly made by men. Was there someone living down here? Arthur grimaced when he remembered Beaver Hollow, of them Murfree Brood freaks living in that cave, of that scared young girl, Meredith, locked up in a cell, barely able to speak after the bastards did God knows what to her. If those inbred yokels decided to move here, and if they had even so much as touched the kid...Arthur wasn't one for pointless cruelty, but he was not going to give them a quick death. He had left his heavier firearms in Buell, but the outlaw figured his trusty Cattleman Revolver safely tucked away in the holster on his hip was more than enough to deal with an ugly savage charging at him with a machette.

Arthur moved through a patch of grass illuminated by another beam of sunlight. Passing through another hole, what Arthur saw made his eyes go wide and left his mouth open. The dirt floor and walls of stone were replaced by some kind of purple brick. Two staircases next to a pile of red leaves led upwards to a doorway surrounded by two windows. This...this wasn't some improvised camp; it was god damn city, all under this mountain!

'The hell did you get yourself into this time, Arthur?' ,the outlaw thought.

Moving forward, Arthur passed through a room with six pressure plates and an opened door, with a lever and a sign at it's side, which Arthur promptly ignored. Passing through the doorway, Arthur entered a larger room, with a moat of water and a bridge over it to his right. More importantly, Arthur noticed someone; a tall person, wearing both a purple robe and some weird costume that made them look like some kinda goat person. Was this some kind of...cult? Arthur remembered rescuing Mary Linton's brother from some real weird fellers, but even they didn't wear animal costumes of all things. The person hadn't noticed Arthur; they were currently on their knees, fiddling with some kind of lever attached to the wall.

Arthur figured this might be his only shot at getting some info as to the kid's whereabouts. He decided to ask nicely first, and if that didn't work...well, then he'd go about it in a more forceful way.

"Uh...howdy?"

The mysterious person turned around and got to their feet (or paws? Arthur had to admit: weird as it was, it was a damn good costume).  

"Oh! Apologies, I was so busy repairing this puzzle I did not notice your presence" the person said, with a female, soft tone Arthur could describe as 'motherly'."How may I help-"

The woman brought a hand/paw to her mouth/muzzle and looked at Arthur with widened eyes.

"O-oh my! I...I did not expect another human so soon..."

Another human? Jesus Christ, these folks were the biggest weirdos he had met. And that was a very, very high bar.

"Greetings," the woman spoke, bringing her hands together. "I am Toriel, caretaker of the ruins."

"I'm, uh..." Arthur considered giving her one of his many fake names, like Tacitus Kilgore or Arthur Callaham before shaking the absurd idea out of his mind. There was no way his criminal past was going to follow him down here, of all places. "Arthur. Arthur Morgan."

Toriel offered him a handshake.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Morgan."

"Uh, likewise..."the outlaw said, electing not to shake the lady's hand. "Listen lady, you mind takin' off that mask of yours? I've got a few questions I need answered."

Toriel brought a paw to her muzzle and let out a giggle.

"A mask? I assure you, Mr. Morgan, this is my real appearance."

Arthur let out an annoyed groan.

"Yeah, real funny, lady. Listen, I ain't got all day, so I'd really appreciate it if you could just-"

Arthur moved his hand to the lady's neck in order to tear off the weird goat costume's mask...only to feel flesh attached to the silky white fur. Real, acutal flesh. Not a single gap separating the fur from the flesh underneath. 

Arthur took a step back, instinctively moving a hand closer to his revolver.

"What...what the hell are ya?!?"

"My kind are known as 'monsters'", Toriel calmly explained. "We have been imprisioned under this mountain for millenia. And I assure you, I mean no harm."

Arthur neeeded a moment to take all of this in. Monsters. Actual monsters; not the fake ones Abgail would tell Jack all about so he wouldn't wander off the camp. They were real. Arthur was staring at one of them right now. She had real horns. Real fur. She talked, like any other woman he'd met. 

What the hell? Unlike his...episode with Lenny back at the saloon, Arthur hadn't drunk a single drop of alcohol, so what he was seeing was actually real...

He shook his head and recomposed himself. He had to focus on finding the kid. This monster seemed friendly enough, but Arthur wasn't so sure if all of them would be like that. If anything, this made his mission all the more urgent.

"Right...so, uh...Toriel, was it? Ya seen a kid wander 'round these parts? Lil' feller, wearin' a hat and a yellow bandana?"

Toriel nodded, her worry showing in her goat-like face.

"As a matter of fact, I have. He came here shortly before you did. I tried to guide him throgugh the ruins, but..."

The goat woman closed her eyes and let out a sad sigh before continuing.

"...the floor beneath this lever cracked open, and the child fell down. I tried to warn him to stay there until I could fetch a rope, but I am afraid he must have wandered off. I take it you are looking for him?"

Arthur nodded in response.

"Yeah. Friend of his asked me to."

"That is very kind of you," Toriel said with a smile. "In that case, might I offer you my assistance in safely reaching the lower parts of the ruins? I figure you might find him down below."

"I'd really appreciate it, lady."

Toriel reached for a nearby rope and threw one end of it at the hole.

"And Mr. Morgan?" the woman called to him, facing the outlaw with a concerned look. "If you find the child...please look after them. Not all monsters down here are quite as friendly to humans."

"Don't worry. I will."

Holding the rope, Arthur descended down into the depths below.

The 'lower ruins', as Toriel had called them, weren't much different from the place above it. The same shade of purple. The same moats of water with wooden bridges. The same metal plates with four holes in them. Somehow, the place seemed even more abandoned than the one above. 

A monster had tried to attack Arthur here. Some weird, small creature with wings threw what seemed to be flies at a glowing, orange heart in his chest. Arthur had no idea what was going on, but he had been in enough fights to know one when he saw it, and most importantly, to know how to get out of one alive.

So with one slick move, he pulled out his Cattleman Revolver and shot the creature right in the head.

The monster didn't bleed, instead turning into a fine pile of white dust. Arthur had seen some of these around, but had thought nothing of them.

Maybe the kid ain't so defenseless after all, the outlaw thought. If the kid had taken out a few monsters himself, maybe he could just follow the dust and he'd be on the right path.

A few other monsters had tried their luck fighting Arthur, but he ended them all with a single, well placed bullet. They carried some coins, which Arthur pocketed. He wasn't sure, but they seemed to be made of gold. Might fetch a nice price once he got out of this place. It wouldn't get him and the van der Linde gang to Tahiti, but it would be something.

Arthur had also passed through some weird corn plantation that seemed more like a maze than a farm. How corn, or anything for that matter, could grow down here without sunlight was beyond him, but this was the least strange thing he'd seen today.

The outlaw eventually reached a small house, just beyond a bridge surrounded by shallow water. In the bridge, Arthur found a larger pile of dust, this one covering a long, brown cape, and a white shirt. There were no coins to be found, so Arthur just chose to ignore it and headed inside. The house was pretty small, with nothing of note except for a red baloon with a smiling face drawn on it inside an intimidating looking wardrobe.

Pushing on ahead, Arthur found a wide corridor leading to a worn out door. The floor was equally worn, and some of the boards made a loud squeaking noise as Arthur stepped on them. Taking a moment to adjust his hat, the outlaw opened the door and stepped outside.

Chapter Text

Arthur stepped into the freezing snowy biome ahead and began to shiver almost immediately. The outlaw felt like he was thrust into the West Grizzlies all of a sudden, and as luck would have it, he just so happened to have left his clothes for colder weathers in Buell's saddlebag. Arthur wondered how in God's name it was possible to snow down here, considering he was under an entire mountain. 

Wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to keep some measure of warmth, Arthur crouched down and took a good look at the snow. Sure enough, he found the same pair of small footprints he'd been tracking back on the surface. Not being so keen on freezing to death, Arthur decided to get moving, carefully watching the ground for any tracks.

The journey throughout the snowy region proceeded quite smoothly. A few other monsters decided to take a swing at Arthur, including an igloo, some weird cone thing with a floating orb, and what seemed to be an oversized worm on the verge of falling asleep, but the cowboy was quicker on the draw, and all these monsters had to show for their effort was a bullet from his Cattleman Revolver in between the eyes (or hole, in the case of the igloo creature).

After a few minutes of walking, Arthur found himself facing a large wooden building, apparently named "Honeydew Resort" if the sign outside was anything to go by. The monsters outside spared him a glance, but did no more than that. Arthur hoped this meant he could step inside to warm himself up without starting a fight.

The inside of the Resort could be best described as 'cozy'. An elegant, well built heater sat in the middle of the room, with various tables and chairs around it, and a stage at the back, currently occupied by a band of three monsters playing music. The place was rather empty, being occupied only by the band, three monsters standing around, and another pink bunny monster behind the counter.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief as the warmth of the fire washed away the freezing cold that had crept into his body. The monsters here didn't seem to mind his presence, but the outlaw kept a hand close to his gun, just in case. 

"W-welcome to the Honeydew Resort! Please, look around!", the pink bunny monster invited, with an obvious hint of nervousness in their voice. 

"Howdy, pardner," Arthur replied as he approached the counter and took a seat in one of the barstools. "Listen, I'm looking for a kid that went missing. Short feller, brown hat, yellow bandana. That ring any bells?"

"O-oh! Yes, someone like that came here a while ago!" the bunny said, raising a hand slightly above the counter. "B-Bought himself a pancake and a Honeydew Pin."

"He tell you were he went?"

The monster shook their head.

"N-Not really! But! I-If you wanna find them, there's a Royal Guard booth just up ahead! T-The post is occupied by a bird monster named Martlet. I-I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help find whoever you're looking for!"

Arthur nodded in response.

"Alright. Thank you kindly."

"Y-You're welcome! ...Um...w-would you like to order anything?"

The outlaw was about to leave, but he decided to indulge the bunny monster. It wouldn't really do for him to go back outside just to immediately freeze again. Maybe a warm drink could help him not freeze as fast?

"Yeah, actually. I'll have..." the outlaw paused to take a look at the menu. It seemed like they didn't accept U.S dollars here, but he had some local currency, courtesy of the monsters who tried and failed to kill him. "The 'Honeydew Coffee, please."

"C-Coming right up!" the bunny said, leaving Arthur to prepare his coffee.

A minute later, Arthur had a steaming mug of coffee on his hand. The coffee wasn't bad; sure, it had nearly burned his tongue off when he tried it, but once it cooled down a bit, it was actually pretty good, even if a bit sweeter than what he was used to. It was a bit...strange, though. Arthur could swear the drink would vanish the moment it passed a certain point in his throat. 

"S-So, um...if you don't mind me asking...i-is the child you're looking for...yours?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Nah. Just doin' a small favor for a friend, that's all."

The bunny monster gave a sympathetic smile.

"I see. I thought you two might be related, since you both seem to be the same kind of monster. And you dress the same too! S-Say...are you from the Wild East, by any c-chance?"

Wild...East? Sure, why not play along?

"Yeah. Real charmin' place, that one." Arthur replied, staring down into his mug of coffee. "You outha pay a visit sometime."

"W-well, I would love to!" the bunny responded, then pointed to their own pink fur "But...um...I don't...do very well on hot climates!"

The bunny monster tried to make some more small talk, which Arthur replied to without much thought. Eventually, the monster got the hint and decided to leave Arthur alone. He decided to use the time to write on his journal, occasionally taking sips of his coffee.

Some kid from Strawberry asked me to find a friend who's gone missing. Little guy apparently said he'd climb up Mt. Ebbot on a mission. His friend didn't know any more than that. 

As it turns out, place is filled to the brim with monsters. Not monsters like Leviticus Cornwall, or Angelo Bronte, or the Braitwhaites, or the Murfree people or the van der Linde gang. Actual monsters. Some of them look like animals. Others just look weird. A few of them tried to kill me. They pulled out some glowing orange heart thing from my chest and fired some stuff at it. Not sure what that was, but it hurt like hell.

I'm not telling the others about this. None of them are gonna believe me. Dutch's gonna say I finally went insane. Abgail's gonna laugh and maybe tell it to Jack later as a bedtime story. Charles, John and Ms. Grimshaw are gonna ask me how much I've been drinking lately. Micah's gonna ask if I slept with the goat lady.  

Hope I can find the kid soon. Seems like he passed through this Honeydew Resort place I stopped in for a coffee. It was pretty good.

 

Arthur finished this entry with a drawing of Toriel, the lady he'd met back at the ruins. He had drawn a few goats here and there, but never goat people. Still the drawing turned out pretty decent, in the cowboy's opinion. Feeling rejuvenated with the warm coffee, Arthur paid for his drink and waved the bunny monster goodbye, before leaving the warmth of the resort for the freezing cold outside.

Arthur took a moment to pick up Clover's trail again before continuing. The rest of the trip was short and uneventful; none of the monsters he encountered seemed to want to fight him. Maybe some of them didn't recognize him as human, like the bunny feller in the resort? Well, either way, he wasn't gonna complain.

The trail took him through a weird looking bridge that lowered and raised a few planks repeatedly, then another one of those weird contraptions with ramps he's been seeing lately. Since the path was clear, Arthur didn't spare it much thought. Eventually, Arthur reached what seemed to be that Royal Guard booth he'd been told about. It was currently empty, with a note written by that Martlet feller instructing passerbys to wake her up if she dozes off on the job.

Seems like getting help from these Royal Guard folks was out of the picture, then. Not that Arthur was keen on getting help from lawmen (or lawmonsters, as it were). Considering how some folks down here didn't seem to like humans like him much...maybe it was best to play it safe.

Arthur continued to follow the tracks. It went around the booth, then through a passage behind, leading into what seemed to be a river. The track ended just before the wooden pier that streched out above the river. There didn't seem to be any boats around. Arthur hoped the kid didn't just jump into this freezing river, but given the lack of a sense of self-preservation the kid showed by climbing up a cursed mountain...the outlaw had plenty of reason to be concerned.

Arthur stepped into the pier and looked further ahead. Maybe there were some boats somewhere down the river he could "borrow"? It wouldn't be the first time he-

Another coughing fit interrupted the cowboy's thoughts. Droplets of blood jumped from his mouth into the river, staining the waters red. His head began to spin, and before he noticed it, his foot was dangerously close to the edge of the pier. He tried to take a step back, but just as he raised his foot, anouther cough threw off his balance, and Arthur fell into the cold river below.

Ice filled his lungs immediately; a chilling cold spreading throughout his chest, wiping off any trace of the warmth that the mug of coffee had provided him with. Struggling to even breathe, Arthur fought as hard as he could to keep his head above the water. Time seemed to stretch out as the outlaw was carried along by the river stream, desperately trying not to drown. His mind began to get hazy. Arthur just barely noticed the change in scenery as deep blue rocks gave way to a glass tube above a lake of lava, then back into rocks until Arthur slammed into a boulder, instantly losing consciousness as he fell down into a waterfall.

Chapter Text

Arthur barely had the time to get up before his body decided to announce its disapproval of his recent actions via an agonizing coughing fit. Completely drenched in water, the cowboy stumbled a few steps forward, placing a hand on the nearby stone wall to maintain his balance as he coughed, a few droplets of blood falling onto the floor. It was the second time he had jumped into a river in recent months, and suffice to say, his tuberculosis was not  happy with him. At least he didn't have to worry about being shot by the U.S. Army this time. Small mercies, Arthur supposed.

After a few moments, the coughing subsided, and Arthur took a deep breath. More than just his TB, it was his lifestyle that was killing him. The doctor back in Saint Denis had told him he might have had a chance if Arthur was willing to retire somewhere dry and warm; yet Arthur insisted on getting into firefights every other day, jumping off cliffs and into rivers with Dutch, among other dangerous and exhausting activities his life as an outlaw demanded, so here he was. 'Men are not punished for their sins, but by them.', Reverand Swanson had once said. It applied to his situation pretty well, Arthur thought bitterly.

Arthur took a moment to check his belongings. He opened his pouch and was relieved to find his diary, various bottles of medicine, some dried meat he had hunted the day before, among other odds and ends he'd collected throughout his travels, all mostly dry. This waterproof pouch had cost him a small fortune, but it had saved his belongings from getting wet more and more often these days.

Next, he checked his holster and grimaced when he saw his Cattleman Revolver completely drenched. The gun itself would probably be fine after a good cleaning or two, but the ammo...bullets did not like being submerged in water, and the last thing Arthur needed was for his weapon to fail him in the middle of a fight. He pulled out the rag he used to clean his weapons from his pouch and applied a vial of gun oil he had looted from some Pinkerton agent back when his gang had finally dealt with Leviticus Cornwall and his private army. Arthur finished cleaning the revolver and put it back in its holster. It would have to do for now...though maybe he could find some new ammo down here? It would be worth a try, at least.

Arthur took in his surroundings. He was currently in a small pool of water inside some sort of tunnel, and he could see a few planks scattered here and there, along with a sign with the word 'AVIATOR' written in it. Behind him, a small wooden chest half-submerged laid on the floor, apparently empty. Up further ahead, Arthur could see light coming into the tunnel. Figuring this was his only way forward, Arthur crouched down to grab his hat, shaking it to get a few droplets of water off and approached the light source.

Outside, Arthur was forced to cover his eyes to avoid being blinded by the sunlight. He had no idea how it was possible for there to be sunlight inside a mountain, but Arthur had long since given up on making any goddamn sense of this place. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, Arthur lowered his hands and looked at his surroundings. If someone had told him he had somehow ended up in California or New Mexico, Arthur might just have believed it. The cowboy could see sand as far as the eye could see, as well as some cacti growing here and there. The place seemed rather hot too, but after being submerged in a freezing river, Arthur was grateful for it.

Just the type of place the doctor recommended, Arthur thought with a chuckle.

Arthur crouched down and looked down at the ground beneath him. Maybe he wasn't so unlucky falling here after all; the outlaw could see the same set of small footprints he'd been tracking, meaning the kid did go through this place. Getting back on his feet, the outlaw started following the tracks.

He was able to fire his gun twice at two different sand monsters before it jammed. The third monster he encountered, some sort of snake creature in a jar, was able to get a few good hits in until Arthur realized what had happened. Luckily for Arthur, he wasn't just good with firearms; he'd been involved in more fistfights than he could count, and more knife fights than one should, so he'd pulled out his hunting knife and charged at the monster, cutting off the snake's head with a well-placed slash. To his surprise, both the snake AND the jar had turned into dust...somehow.

Other than the monsters who attacked him, the trip didn't have much to it. Arthur did spot a few weird contraptions; some oversized fans that he didn't dare touch, and some machines placed higher up that continuously dropped tumbleweeds, much to the outlaw's inconvenience. He passed through some mines filled with monsters equipped with hardhats and pickaxes. Except for the bull monster, none of them bothered Arthur, so he returned the favor and didn't bother them with their work either.

Eventually, Arthur noticed something strange on the floor while following Clover's track. At a certain point, a second pair of footprints seemed to join his. They were considerably bigger, and, to the outlaw's confusion, seemed to come out of nowhere...like whoever made them just appeared right there out of thin air. And, more alarmingly...these footprints seemed to follow the kid's. Arthur grimaced and picked up the pace; no doubt some monster had chased the kid. He only hoped that the boy was alright.

Arthur passed through a small town, which he didn't pay much thought, to since he was in a bit of a hurry. The tracks on the road led through a broken wagon, then into another small town, maybe a bit smaller than Valentine or Strawberry. And right in the middle of town was a human kid, his back turned to a star-shaped monster dressed in a poncho. With four other monsters behind him watching the pair, the two began to take steps forward.

Now, the age of the Wild West; the age of gangs, outlaws, and gunslingers was already coming to an end by 1899, becoming nothing but pages in a history book. Even still, Arthur had lived enough of it to recognize a duel when he saw one. Two men, one or both of them usually being drunk, would get into a dispute over some lady's affection, or the fairness of a particularly high stake round of poker, or who owed who how much money, and one of them would challenge the other to a duel. The two would meet in the center of town at high noon, surrounded by most of the town's inhabitants, and would turn their backs on each other. Ten paces later, one of them would be bleeding out on the muddy ground, and the other would walk away with a smug smile on his face.

Arthur couldn't begin to imagine what reason one could have to settle a dispute with a child in that way, but he did not care. He would have drawn his gun on the monster here and there, but given its current condition, Arthur settled for the next best thing. He quickly grabbed his lasso and began to spin it. After a few spins, he threw it in the star monster's direction.

The lasso landed perfectly around the monster's neck, and Arthur pulled, sending the monster to the floor, his gun falling into the sand. Arthur continued pulling, bringing the monster closer to him as he took a few steps forward.

"W-whoa! What in tarnation are you doin'?" the monster spoke.

"Stoppin' you from hurting a kid, that's what," Arthur replied as he began to hogtie the star monster, who unsuccessfully tried to struggle against his grip. "What the hell was you thinkin'? Challenging a kid to a goddamn duel? Ain't there no decency 'round here?"

Just up ahead, an androgenous-looking fish monster spoke up.

"See, Star? I told you it was pronounced 'duel'!"

Much to Arthur's surprise, the kid quickly rushed up to him, standing in between him and the monster currently tied up.

"W-wait! This is all just a big misunderstanding, mister!" the kid cried out, waving his hands in front of him. "North Star wasn't gonna hurt me!"

Arthur looked at the child and narrowed his eyes.

"Kid, I don't know what they've been tellin' ya, but a duel usually ends with someone hurt real bad."

"No, I wasn't in any danger!" the kid responded, shaking his head fervently. "This gun isn't even real. Look!"

The child pointed the gun down at his feet and fired. Much to Arthur's surprise, no blood came out; instead, a pellet bounced harmlessly off his boot.

"See? I told ya it was just a misunderstanding!" The sheriff spoke. "This is all part of Clover's trainin', y'see?"

"Huh...that so? Guess that's settled, then," Arthur replied, crouching down to cut the star monster free. "Uh...I'm...real sorry 'bout ruinin' your...duel." 

The monster got up from the floor, and then dusted off his poncho, removing a few grains of sand that got stuck in the cloth.

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. You were just lookin' out for Clover 'ere. I'd have done the same in your shoes. And from one cowboy to another...that was one mighty fine lassoing, mister!"

The squirrel monster dressed in green and purple giggled.

"Yeah! I bet you could give even Star some lassons!"

The sheriff gave Arthur a warm smile and offered a handshake.

"The name's North Star. This 'ere's my posse, the Feisty Five!", the star monster declared as he shot a finger gun. "Our name stands for:"

The large pink monster, the fish monster, the squirrel, and the masked feller all took turns striking a pose and saying a line. 

"Fearlessness!"

"Excellence!"

"Intuition!"

"Sneakiness!"

"Toughness!"

"Youthfulness!"

"Justice!", their leader added. Arthur Morgan raised an eyebrow. He wasn't counting, but he was pretty sure these were 7 letters, not 6. "...the J is silent."

Not sure how to respond to...whatever the hell that was, Arthur decided to just introduce himself.

"Uh...Arthur Morgan."

North Star shook his hand enthusiastically, a wide grin on his face.

"Pleased to meet ya, Arthur! Say...have you met our future sixth member here?", the sheriff said, pointing to Clover. Arthur just shook his head in response.

"Nah. Actually, he's the reason I'm here. Speaking of which..." Arthur turned to face Clover, who had been looking at him and North Star with curious eyes. The outlaw crouched down to the child's level. "Hey, you're Clover, right? Friend of yours asked me to look for you."

The kid's face changed to one of shock and disbelief.

"What? But...but you don't even know me!"

"Well, think of it as me doin' my good deed for the day.", the outlaw said with a shrug.

The kid seemed pensive after that. Arthur turned his head around and saw that the sheriff had stepped away from the two humans, and was currently retrieving his gun, and cleaning it of any sand. He then turned back to Clover and spoke with a hushed tone.

"Uh...kid, you absolutely sure these folks ain't gonna...try to hurt ya? I met quite a few not-so-friendly monsters on my way here."

"I did too," Clover replied with a nod. "But they seem pretty friendly, I think. And...I kinda wanna stay here for a while. But I'll move on soon. I just need to get them to release Martlet first."

"Alright. You just holler when you're about to leave, and I'll come with you, okay?"

Arthur figured the other monsters probably wouldn't try anything. And if they did...well, it wouldn't end well for them, so long as he was around. Clover gave Arthur a small, thankful smile and nodded. Arthur felt like he was about to cough and took a step back; the last thing he wanted was for the kid to catch his TB. The coughing didn't develop into a full-blown fit like before, but it was enough to grab the attention of nearby monsters.

"Say, you don't look so good, pardner..." North Star commented, then pointed a finger at the large building at the back of the town. "How about you go grab yourself something at Dina's saloon, over there? A fine place for anyone lookin' for a meal or a drink. If that don't fix ya...well, you could always try the doc. I ain't so sure he can help ya with human sickness, but...might be worth a try."

"Yeah, I'll -*cough*- ...I'll do that. Could really use a drink right 'bout now."

"Alright. Come on, Clover. Let's continue. Ten paces, turn around, and fire."

The sheriff and the human child continued their practice duel as Arthur walked towards the saloon.

Chapter Text

The saloon wasn't much different from what Arthur was used to. An armadillo-like monster (named Dina, from what North Star told him) cleaning a mug stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a rectangular bar table with chairs, on which a few customers sat, including a brown raccoon monster in a strange blue suit, a purple-haired monster looking rather sorry for themselves, and a fox monster at the back side of the table. Further back, Arthur could see a stage with nothing but a small stool, surrounded by a gallery filled with monsters of all kinds. To his right, Arthur found a group of weird-looking monsters playing what seemed to be poker.

Honestly, all it was missing was a drunk man trying to win some lady's favor and a brawl over some stupid nonsense, and Arthur would have felt right at home.

"Howdy," Arthur said as he approached one of the chairs and sat on it.

This seemed to grab the armadillo monster's attention, as she set down the mug and looked at him.

"Howdy Howdy. Here for some food? Or maybe a drink?" 

"Yeah. Sheriff told me 'bout this place."

Dina let out a small chuckle.

"Only good things, I hope." The armadillo pulled out a menu from under the counter and slid it over to Arthur. "What'll it be?"

Arthur read over the options. There weren't exactly many of them, so he settled for what seemed to be a meat sandwich, from what he could gather.

"I'll have... one of 'em...'Feisty Sliders' right here and..." Arthur squinted as his eyes passed through the drinks section. One item in particular stood out to him. "...the hell's an 'Adult Soda'?"

"Yeah, I get that reaction a lot from newcomers. It's just plain ol' beer."

Arthur looked up from the menu and raised a curious eyebrow.

"Why's it called like that?"

Dina's lips curved up in a small smile.

"It's a bit of an inside joke. There's this little girl that comes here every so often, y'see. She kept askin' her mom what the others were drinking. She said it was 'Adult Soda', and since she ain't an adult yet, she can't drink it. She asks again the next day, and her mom tells her the same thing, but she ain't buying it no more. So the next day, she comes up to me and demands to see the menu. Saw it coming from a mile away though, so I changed the beer to 'Adult Soda' the day before. Never really changed it since."

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at the story.

"Sounds like a real rascal."

"She is," the armadillo monster says before her smile is replaced by a pensive look. "She ain't been here a while though. Wonder where she went... Anyway, ya wanted one Feisty Slider and an Adult Soda, right? That'll be 50G."

Arthur dug through his pouch and set down the coins on the table. The monster gave him a thankful smile.

"Just gotta ask one thing first...ya old enough?"

Arthur gave the monster an unimpressed stare.

"How old do I look like?"

Dina shrugged in response.

"I ain't so sure with ya humans. You ain't wearing no striped shirt, but neither was the lil' human who came before you. And I ain't a betting monster, but I'd wager good G that he's a kid."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I'm 36, miss. That's old enough where I'm from," Arthur said. In truth, any age was 'old enough' where he was from. A few states here and there didn't take kindly to selling booze to minors, but there was no federal law prohibiting it. Not that Arthur cared much for laws in general. The armadillo analyzed him momentarily, then let out a small hum.

"Alright, I guess I'll take 'yer word for it. I'll go get your soda, then get started on that Slider."

The monster left grabbed a mug and filled it with beer...or 'Adult Soda', as it was called here. She slid the mug to the outlaw, who took a swig. It was a pretty good beer. It was weird, like everything down here, but it gave him the same feeling of being energized as the coffee he had in that resort. Arthur set down the mug and took a breath, then spoke up.

"So, you mind if I ask you a question, miss?"

"Shoot," Dina said before wrinkling her nose. "...not literally. Star already leaves more bullet holes in my ceiling than I'd like."

"You recognized me as a human. How come you ain't pulled that orange heart thing outta my chest and started shootin' things at it?"

Dina gave a dry, humorless smile.

"Didn't receive the warmest reception, I take it?"

"Nothing I ain't used to."

Dina stayed silent for a moment before responding.

"Truth is...most monsters ain't too fond of 'yer kind. A long time ago, humans locked us up down here with a spell. That 'orange heart thing' you mentioned? That's your soul. Our king, Asgore, declared he'd kill any human who fell down and use their souls to free us all."

Huh...so that explains all the monsters trying to kill him. Arthur looked at the monster with suspicion.

"And what about you? You ain't gonna rat us out to them...what were they called? Them Royal Guard folks?"

Dina shook her head.

"Nah. Way I see it, we got everything we need down here. Sure, seein' the sun would be nice and all, but it ain't nothin' worth killin' for. And folks in this town are more curious about humans than anything else, so you ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout us."

Arthur said nothing in response, so Dina went off to prepare his Slider. She came back with it a little bit later, and Arthur dug in.

"Not bad," he complimented, then chuckled after swallowing a bite. "Better than Pearson's cooking, that's for sure."

Dina raised a curious eyebrow at him.

"That a friend of yours?"

"Yeah. He's the cook for my camp. We're a band of...traveling bounty hunters," Arthur said. In his defense...this wasn't a total lie. He had dabbled in bounty hunting here and there to fill his pockets.  You don't hire a saint to catch a sinner, the sheriff from Valentine had told him.

"That so?" Dina questioned. "You and your band must get up to a lot more than our local sheriff and his posse. Is it just you and a couple other fellas?"

Arthur normally wouldn't speak so openly about his gang...but these people were trapped here for ages. They weren't going to report him to the law any time soon, so Arthur decided to indulge the woman.

"Well, there's the Marstons: John, Jack, and Abigail. Pretty little family, even though I feel they should really get off this line of work. There's Charles, one of the few of us with a decent head on his shoulders. There's Miss Grimshaw; everyone's momma. Pretty sure everything would have fallen apart by now if it weren't for her keepin' us in line. There's Sadie, a girl you won't want to get on her bad side if you wanna live a long life. There's Micah...and...well...the less you speak of him, the better. There's Javier and Bill. Pretty good shots, one of the best ones I've met. And then there's...Dutch."

Arthur let out a long sigh and took a swig of his drink. He thought of his early days with the gang; of looking to Dutch and Hosea for comfort whenever the memories of his father came back to him. He thought of his more recent days; of that army man trying to stab him as Dutch watched and did nothing. Of Dutch chewing him out for rescuing John from prison. 

"Our leader. Took me in when I was 14. Pretty much my father. Saved my hide more times than I can count. And yet...nowadays, I feel like I don't even know him no more..."

Dina gave a sympathetic nod.

"Sounds rough."

A few moments of silence passed. She seemed like she was going to say more before another customer called for her. The armadillo monster left to attend to them, leaving Arthur alone with his almost-finished sandwich. Shoving the rest of the food into his mouth, the outlaw pulled out his journal; he figured he might as well kill the time writing a new entry. He began to write, occasionally taking a glance outside to see Clover and North Star's mock duels. It seemed like Clover was having a little trouble drawing his gun fast enough.

Found the kid in this little town called 'The Wild East'. Weird name, but looks like a pretty normal settlement. Place is run by this monster named 'North Star' and his posse. Weird feller, but Clover seems to like him. 

The local bartender told me why everyone's out for my head: apparently, we humans locked up monsters down here long ago with some kind of spell. I would have thought it was something from one of Jack's books if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. This means some of these monsters might go after the kid. None of them seemed very tough so far, but I'll have to keep an eye out just in case.

Arthur decided to finish this entry with an illustration of the sheriff. The star monster was considerably easier to draw than the goat lady; with the hat and poncho, he just looked like any old cowboy from back home, only with a star for a head.

"Hm. Not bad," a feminine voice spoke from behind him. Arthur turned his head around and saw the fox monster standing there, casually glancing at the page on which his drawing of the sheriff was. "You captured his childlike excitement pretty well."

Arthur turned in his chair to face the fox woman.

"You know the sheriff?"

The fox monster nodded. "He's an old friend of mine. I'm not with his posse though. Too rowdy for my taste."

"That so? He running some kinda circus over here?"

The woman chuckled.

"In a way. He's really into human culture. Must be having the best day of his life, meeting two humans in a single day and whatnot. He's got his eyes on Clover right now...but I wouldn't be surprised if he put you on his training regimen after he's done with the kid. Turn the Feisty Six into the Feisty Seven." The fox lady offered him a handshake. "My name is Ceroba."

"Arthur Morgan," the outlaw responded, shaking her paw.

"Say, Arthur, I couldn't help but notice how similiar you two look. You and Clover, that is. Is he your son, by any chance?"

Arthur shook his head and looked at the floor.

"Nah. I ain't got no kids..."

Not anymore, Arthur thought, as the memory of a wrecked house with two crosses placed outside came back to him . Of Eliza and little Isaac, buried six feet under the soil. Robbed and murdered...all for ten bucks...

"I...see. I'm...very sorry to hear that," Ceroba said, with a low, sad voice and a sympathetic look, and Arthur realized he had spoken that last part out loud.

"It's fine. I-"

Arthur heard a loud, dramatic yell come from outside. He recognized the voice as the sheriff's. He stood up and turned towards the exit.

"There's no need," Ceroba warned him. "I can guarantee it's all part of Star's antics."

"I'm gonna go and take a look, just to be sure."

Arthur adjusted his hat and stepped outside.

Said scream turned out to be part of Clover's 'Emotional trauma test'; some kind of act to see how well Clover would take hurting someone else. Not very well, as it turned out. As soon as the sheriff and his posse left, Arthur took one look at the kid and could tell at a glance he was shaken. Arthur crouched down to the boy's level and looked him in the face.

"Hey, kid...you alright?"

"I...I'm fine. It's just...I...I really thought I'd hurt the sheriff for a moment back there..."

Arthur placed a comforting hand on the child's shoulders.

"The sheriff was just messin' with ya. I'm sure he weren't in no danger."

Clover responded with a shaky nod. Arthur waited for the kid to calm down a bit. Once he seemed okay, Arthur rose to his feet.

"I'm gonna go speak to him. There's something I need his help with."

Arthur turned around and headed towards the saloon, where North Star said he'd wait, with Clover following behind. Inside, Arthur found the sheriff at the back of the rectangular bar table, next to another fish-like monster.

"Howdy, sheriff," Arthur greeted.

"Howdy, Arthur," North Star greeted back, gently tipping his hat. "What can I do for ya?"

"My bullets got all wet when I got here. Was wonderin' if you know where I can find some more?"

The star monster grinned and made a finger gun.

"Well, well...a cowboy without a working gun? That won't do at all...lucky for you, pardner, I know just the place! Old Blackjack has all the bullets you'll need! Tell 'em you're a friend of mine. He'll give ya a fine discount!"

Arthur heard Dina snort at that.

"...more like jack up the price."

Ignoring the armadillo's comment, North Star continued.

"In fact, I have a better idea! Come on, Arthur. I'll introduce you to 'em."

With that, Arthur, Clover, and North Star left the saloon. The star monster led the two humans to a rather run-down shop next to a firing range. North Star and Arthur stepped inside, while Clover waited outside. Behind the counter, Arthur could see a purple-headed monster with a fine, silver moustache, wearing a pair of glasses and a black hat.

"Howdy, Blackjack."

The purple monster, Blackjack, let out a long, painful sigh.

"What do you want this time, North Star? Sell a gun to another child? ...I mean, not that I'll do it. But if I did, I'd charge AT LEAST 600G."

North Star shook his head vehemently.

"No sellin' guns to kids this time! Only real, bona fide human adults, y'see?" North Star stepped to the side, allowing Blackjack a better look at Arthur. "Mr. Morgan here needs some new ammo."

"Mr. Morgan needs new ammo."

"Correct!"

"You don't need any new ammo!"

"Right on the money!"

"Mr. Morgan has business with me."

"Absolutely!"

"You don't have any business with me."

"Not this time!"

"Mr. Morgan needs to be here."

"I'd bet on it!"

"You don't need to be here."

"For sure!"

...

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...

...

...

"...get the hell out of my shop or I'm charging you double for your next ammo box."

Arthur barely had the time to blink before North Star vanished from the store. Blackjack cleared his throat and turned his head to face Arthur.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, mister. North Star has an unfortunate tendency to break things around here. Anyways, you're looking for ammo, correct?"

Arthur nodded, pulling out his Cattleman Revolver and setting it on the table.

"Yeah. My ammo got soaked when I was travellin' 'round here. Was wonderin' if you got any?"

Blackjack glanced down at the gun sitting on his counter. He opened the cylinder and loaded a bullet from under the counter into the gun. Spinning the cylinder in place, the monster aimed at a target on the other side of his shop and pulled the trigger. The gun made a clicking sound but did not fire.

"...hm. As I suspected. I'm afraid none of my bullets will work with your guns, Mr. Morgan."

"Why's that?" the outlaw questioned.

"Gunpowder," the monster responded, placing a bag of gray powder on the counter. "It works differently down here, you see. It's mostly just highly concentrated magic. You could even use it to heal yourself in a pinch."

Arthur hummed in thought, as an...unpleasant memory came back to him.

"You mean, like usin' it to cauterize wounds 'n stuff? I did that once...it weren't pretty."

The monster shook his head.

"No. I meant eating it."

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...

The outlaw stared at the monster with widened, confused eyes.

"...what?"

Blackjack spun Arthur's revolver with a finger before setting it back down.

"I'm serious. I did it once when I shot myself in the leg by accident. The taste was...questionable. But my leg? Good as new!"

"...right. So, you got any guns that do work?" Arthur asked the vendor.

Blackjack pulled out another revolver and handed it over to Arthur.

"Right now? I got this little beauty right here: the Wild Revolver. Six rounds, good accuracy, good range...everything you want in a gun, all for 200G!"

Arthur frowned. He didn't need to count to figure out he didn't have enough money. He briefly considered just straight-up robbing the feller...but decided against it. It wouldn't do to cause a ruckus when the kid was still here. And besides...these people did seem like decent folks. The monster must have noticed his predicament, as he spun the revolver in his hands and spoke up.

"Not enough money, I take it? In that case, I have a proposal for you," Blackjack offered, putting the Wild Revolver in his hand right next to Arthur's Cattleman. "How about we exchange your gun for this one. I'll even throw in some fine silver bullets for it, free of charge. You get a working gun, I get this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study human firearms...sounds like a pretty good deal, no?"

Arthur offered the monster a handshake, which he promptly accepted.

"Deal."

The Cattleman was an outdated gun, and the outlaw had better weapons tucked away in Buell's saddlebag, anyway. Not expecting a fight, he had taken it without much thought once he dismounted near Mt. Ebbot. Though really, he should have known better. Nearly everything he did nowadays ended up in a shootout.

The monster picked up a box of ammo and put it next to the revolver.

"Enjoy your new gun, Mr. Morgan! Just...be careful with it, will you?" the monster spoke. "...unlike a certain sheriff I know."

"I will, I will," Arthur replied, taking the ammo and putting the gun in his holster.

Outside, Clover and North Star were waiting for him. The sheriff shot him a finger gun, and a tiny white star appeared around his head, vanishing soon after.

"Lookin' real fine there, Arthur. A new gun always makes a man or a monster look as good as new!"

"I suppose," Arthur responded without thinking.

"Now, how about a lil' challenge?" the sheriff offered, moving a few steps to his left, closer to the firing range. "Let's see how well you can use 'yer new toy, Mr. Morgan!"

Arthur followed the sheriff into the firing range. He wasn't usually much of a showoff...but maybe the monsters around here would think twice before hurting the kid if they knew what he was capable of.

"Sure. Why not?"

The sheriff beamed at him, then pointed to the three dummies.

"Great! Now, aim at those dummies over there and take 'yer shot! They ain't alive or anything, so you can shoot 'em up as much as you like without being haunted by an angry ghost!"

Arthur had no idea what the sheriff was talking about, but he just figured it was monster weirdness. The outlaw prepared for a trick he often used in the many shootouts he and the gang got up to.

Arthur focused as hard as he could. Time around him seemed to slow down. He visualized himself pulling out his gun, and firing two bullets at the leftmost dummy's head. Two bullets at the center dummy's head. His final two bullets at the rightmost dummy's head.

Then, he fired.

The bullets all flew exactly into each of the three dummies' two eyes. He turned his head, a smug smile on his face, and saw the sheriff, eyes wide in shock as he held his hat. Clover had his mouth hung open in disbelief. The kid, usually quiet and reserved, approached Arthur and looked up at him with a wide smile.

"W-wow! You fired so fast, and still hit the dummies right in the mark! How...how did you do that, mister? Are you a sheriff? Or a deputy?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Was a deputy once. Nowadays, I'm just a bounty hunter."

The child's smile widened even further as he looked at Arthur, his admiration clear as crystal.

"That's so cool! Did you catch a lot of criminals? Oh! I know one who has this huge bounty on his head!"

Arthur chuckled.

"Nah. I ain't goin' after those big shots no more. Mostly just cattle thieves and scam artists. I'm just a washed-up bounty hunter who spends his time lookin' for kids lost in a mountain."

"That's not true at all!" Clover shook his head, an angry look showing on his face. "...You're way better than my town's sheriff, for one!"

Arthur couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"Heh...guess I'll have to agree with you on that one."

Arthur casually glanced in North Star's direction. He was looking at the pair, with something in between admiration and jealousy in his expression.

"W-well, that was some might fine shootin', but can ya do this?" the sheriff challenged, shooting a finger gun at the dummies. Numerous mini-trains appeared out of nowhere, running on flying tracks in the direction of the dummies, knocking them on the floor. "See? That's pretty darn cool too, ain't it? I-"

Arthur began to cough. Again, and again. He began to feel dizzy. He heard North Star call out his name and ask if he was okay. Arthur took a step forward, but lost his balance and fell to the floor. His mind could barely register the sheriff calling for a doctor and someone named 'Ed', as well as Clover, standing beside him, concern evident on his face. He tried to tell the kid to stay away, but all that came out was more coughing. A few moments later, the outlaw felt a big, pink pair of hands carrying him through the town center and into a clinic and placing him on a bed. Some weird monster dressed like a doctor spoke to him. Arthur couldn't understand what they were saying, much less respond. The outlaw coughed a few more times until his dizziness turned into tiredness and he blacked out.

Chapter Text

Arthur Morgan woke up, not in a patch of flowers, not in a puddle of water, but in an actual bed this time. Lifting his head, the outlaw was forced to cover his eyes with his hand to protect them from the blinding light coming from outside. Once his eyes had adjusted somewhat, the cowboy took in his surroundings. It seemed he was in some sort of makeshift clinic. There were three beds on both sides of the room, with two of the beds on the opposite side being occupied by sleeping monsters. Strangely, Arthur didn't start immediately coughing this time...

"Ah...finally awake, are we, Arthur?"

The voice came from the doorway. Arthur turned to look to his right and saw an odd-looking feller dressed in a black two-piece suit, a gray vest, and a top hat on his head, his back turned to Arthur. The stranger's clothes reminded him a lot of Trelawny, though the voice was clearly different.

"Who are you? You a doctor?"

"The opposite, I'm afraid," the stranger declared, turning around. To Arthur's shock, this person was not a monster, but a human, just like him. The man had an elegant mustache and ashen skin, with a pensive gaze that gave him the impression that the man was staring into his very soul. "I'm an accountant. And as an accountant, it is my duty to keep track of those who owe debts. And you, Arthur, owe quite the debt."

Arthur frowned at the strange man, then let out an amused chuckle.

"I must owe you a lot, for you to be followin' me all the way down here to collect it."

The man shook his head dismissively. "The debt is not on your behalf, but on your gang's. However, the one responsible, namely one Dutch van der Linde, is far too preoccupied with....well, other pursuits. Meaning repayment now falls unto you."

Arthur gave his best impression of a confused look. "I think you got the wrong man, mister. I ain't ever know this Dutch feller you talking about."

The man raised an eyebrow at him, staring at the outlaw curiously. "Is that so? I suppose you've never known Hosea Matthews either? Nor Sean MacGuire, nor Lenny Summers, nor Kieran Duffy, nor John Marst-"

"Yeah, yeah, you got me." Arthur interrupted the man, waving his hand dismissively. A man who looks a lot about Trelawny, coming all the way down this mountain, just to talk about some debts? This was probably some figment of his imagination, or maybe his conscience. It wasn't unheard of for people with tuberculosis to start going a bit crazy after a while. The man seemed to let out a satisfied hum at Arthur's words. "So, what exactly do I owe you?"

The man took a few steps in Arthur's direction, his gaze carefully examining the outlaw. "I never said you owed me anything, Arthur, merely that you had a debt. That debt is to one named Clover Mc-"

"Clover," Arthur repeated, suddenly remembering what he was here for. "Where is he?"

"Being judged," the strange man replied, turning away from Arthur and towards the doorway leading outside, his hands behind his back. Arthur took a few steps forward to stand at the man's side.

"Judged? What did the kid do?"

The man turned his gaze towards the outlaw.

"Why, only the greatest crime a human such as him can commit down here, of course. Being alive. "

The man paused for a while and looked towards one of the nearby cabinets, where Arthur's hat and gun were placed, presumably by the people who brought him here. "He's currently at the town's edge, just along the path leading to that gunsmith's shop. I am told you are rather adept at evading the law. Why don't you...head over there, and see if you can help him with that?"

Arthur let out a frustrated huff. Whoever and whatever this feller was, it seemed to him like he had no intention of being anything but mysterious. Still, Arthur could tell that the kid might be in danger, so the outlaw quickly put on his hat and placed his holster and gun around his hip. Arthur walked out of the building, ignoring the man completely.

"I'll see you around, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur quickened his pace, passing through the small town. He noticed Ceroba talking to some blue bird monster in front of the local jail, but Arthur sprinted past them without much thought. The outlaw passed through Blackjack's shop, and through the gate that was previously closed, then through some bridge in dire need of repairs. Up further ahead, Arthur could hear a gunshot, though not the loud explosions he was used to. It sounded a lot like the noise made by Blackjack's guns; way quieter, but still clearly identifiable. Arthur grimaced and quickened his pace. And just further ahead, Arthur could see Clover facing North Star, both having guns in their hands. The sheriff was crouched down, clutching a wound in his chest.

"Ah...guess I had this coming. If only I wore my safety goggles, heh..." the sheriff muttered out, his voice growing weaker with each word. "I...I can't lie...I'm not ready...let my parents know...I'll be away for a while. Arthur...Clover...I'll...see you around..."

With that, the sheriff collapsed into a fine pile of dust, which was quickly blown away by the wind, along with the sheriff's hat and poncho. Clover was left staring at the ground where North Star once stood, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Hey! Clover! Arthur!", Ceroba's voice called from behind them. The fox monster approached them, a worried gaze in her eyes. "Have any of you seen Starlo?"

Arthur shook his head in response. Clover spoke up, a quiet, meek voice on the edge of tears.

"I'm sorry..."

Ceroba mustered a smile as she looked down at the child.

"Don't be. None of this was your fault. Still...I'm concerned. I haven't seen him anywhere since the breakup. That's the most upset he's been in quite some time. I'm worried."The fox monster paused for a while, looking behind Clover. "I'll speak to his family up ahead, maybe they know something. I'll see you two later."

With that, Ceroba walked past the two humans and left them. Arthur was about to speak to the child when he heard another voice.

"Clover! Clover!"

The bird monster from earlier came into view. Despite being a bird, her blue feathers were accompanied by an equally blue hair for some reason, and she wore a blue shirt and blue shorts. An orange pair of boots covered what Arthur assumed to be her talons, but given how weird monsters were, the outlaw wasn't so sure.

"Was that Ceroba?" the bird monster asked, a quizzical look on her face. "I wonder where she's off to in such a hurr-"

The bird seemed to finally notice Arthur, as she turned her head to look at him with widened eyes. "Oh! Hello! I don't think I met you before. I am Martlet, of the Royal Guard! Are you a friend of Clover's?"

"Sorta. Someone asked me to go lookin' for him when he disappeared. Went to this mountain lookin' for him...now I'm tryin' to get us both outta this mess." Arthur shot the monster an intimidating glare, his hand hovering over his holster. "You said you worked for the king? If you're here to try and take the kid's soul, you'd better-"

"Oh, no, no!" Martlet denied, fervently shaking her wings in front of her. "I'm not, promise! I was actually escorting them before you came along...but...um...I don't think I'll be able to continue doing it? I know I promised not to leave Clover's side and all...but then this crazy detour happened. And if I don't clock in soon...the Royal Guard will grow suspicious. Plus, I've got to fix Ava. But I'll only be gone for a while! Plus...you've got...um...what is your name?"

"Arthur Morgan."

"You've got Arthur here to accompany you! So I guess it all works out in the end! Again, I'm so-so-so-SO sorry about this but I'll cya later!"

The bird turned back around and left, flying up to the sky in quite a hurry. Arthur turned around and crouched down to look Clover in the eyes.

"Hey, kid...you okay? What...what happened back there?"

Clover's normally blank poker face broke down, and tears began to spill from his eyes.

"N-North S-Star h-had a f-fight with his p-p-posse...h-he s-said if he took my soul...h-he'd b-be r-respected b-b-by e-everyone a-again...", the kid spoke in between sobs.

"Jesus Christ..." Arthur muttered out. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"

Clover shook his head in response. "N-no...b-but I killed him, Arthur! I...I k-killed North Star! I..."

"You did what you had to. He knew what he was gettin' into. It ain't your fault, kid."

"B-but I k-k-killed the sheriff...t-that's w-what outlaws d-do! I...I..."

The child was unable to continue, and simply stood there, crying out all his tears. Arthur let out a painful sigh. It was such a simplistic, child-like worldview...good lawmen, bad outlaws. None of the complex mix of self-righteousness and hypocrisy he had always witnessed throughout his life. None of the friendly lawmen who would be more than happy to overlook a crime if the victim was black, or an Indian, or if someone else was simply rich enough to make a generous donation to local law enforcement afterward. No outlaws who claimed to be righteous crusaders against the evils of modern civilizations, who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, who called his gang a family but then left John to die when he-

No, Arthur thought. Stop thinking about Dutch. You gotta focus on helping the kid now.

"Listen kid...the truth is...the law...it ain't always right. You ever hear stories about the civil war?"

The child wiped a few tears with his small hands, then nodded shakily.

"Well, before that, the law said people could have slaves. Was they right, enslaving colored folk like that? Just 'cause of how they were born?" Arthur questioned, silently hoping whoever educated Clover wasn't some stuck-up, bitter southern landowner still pissed that he had to actually pay people to harvest his cotton. It was already becoming common sense that owning people like they're propriety was evil, but some folks simply refused to change, like that old drunk man he found sleeping on a bench in Rhodes' Train Station.

"N-no..." the kid muttered weakly.

"Then it weren't right for the sheriff to do what he did to you just because you're human. And you weren't wrong to defend yourself. It ain't your fault."

This seemed to calm Clover somewhat, as his sobs grew slower and weaker, and he nodded his head, speaking with some hint of trepidation in his voice.

"I...guess that makes s-sense..."

Arthur gave the child some time to recover before standing back up.

"Come on, let's get outta here. Your folks must be real worried 'bout you by now."

The outlaw's words seemed to make Clover shake slightly.

"I...don't have parents," Clover said with a low, sad voice, and Arthur immediately wanted to bite off his tongue. The kid who asked him to go looking for Clover was an orphan. He really ought to have considered the possibility that he was also one. "Dad left us when I was little...and m-mom...mom was k-killed a few months ago on a boat during a robbery in Blackwater..."

...

Arthur's blood ran cold. His eyes widened. His hands trembled slightly. A robbery in Blackwater...there was only one thing this could mean, and the picture it painted shook Arthur to the core. He wasn't there, of course; he and Hosea were running a real estate scam. But he'd heard from the rest of the gang, and he'd read about it in the newspapers.

'The Blackwater Massacre', the press had called it: the result of a botched robbery his gang attempted. The casualties included several lawmen, three outlaws, those being Mac Callander, Davy Callander, and Jenny Kirk...as well as a single civilian. An innocent mother, by the name of Heidi McCourt, who just so happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.  He wasn't there, but he heard enough to know one thing: the one who had killed her was none other than Dutch van der Linde himself.

He never really learned exactly what happened on that ferry. Dutch had said it had been necessary and refused to speak any further than that. Javier had called it a 'bad situation', but didn't elaborate further. Hosea argued with Dutch about it for a while but got nothing out of their leader. John was the one who seemed the most bothered by it. He talked about the event once around a campfire, trying to make sense of Dutch's actions, his words seeming unable to convince even John himself.

An uneasy feeling washed over Arthur the unnerving truth settled into his mind. Dutch van der Linde, his leader, his compatriot, the man who took him in as a child, who looked after him for all these years had killed Heidi McCourt. And here Arthur was, staring at her child as he seemed to struggle to hold back tears. Arthur wanted to say something, to offer the kid some comfort...but what right did he have to do that? He was part of the gang that had taken everything from this child. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat.

A few moments of silence passed by.

"They...still haven't caught the one who did it," Clover added with a low, angry tone, his hands curled up into fists. "Some criminal called Dutch van der Linde. His...his gang even came into my town one day...k-killed pretty much every lawman there...just to get one of their own out of jail."

Arthur suppressed a shiver as he was reminded of that particular event. All to get Micah Bell, of all people, out...Lately, he'd been wondering if he should have just left him to hang. He probably should have. Dutch would have scolded him for it, but it was better than letting that bastard worm his way into his head.

"Adults...adults are useless," Clover continued, his fists trembling slightly. "They couldn't catch the outlaw who killed my mom...they couldn't stop them when they came to my town...they wouldn't help me look for...o-oh..."

The kid looked up at Arthur with an embarrassed look.

"I...didn't mean you, Arthur. I...think you're really nice!"

Arthur scoffed at that idea.

"Well, I'm afraid you don't know me so well, kid..."

Clover shook his head in response.

"No, I'm serious! No one else would climb up this mountain...they were all afraid. But you...you went up here just to look for me! B-besides mom...no one ever did anything like that for me...and you have one hell of an aim too!"

Arthur couldn't bear to hear any more praise towards him come out of the kid's mouth. Some part of him screamed at him to be a man and stop lying to the kid; to tell him the awful truth that he was no bounty hunter, that he'd protected the one who killed his mother for years. But...Arthur also knew that this might just result in him running off. To his death, probably. As disgusted as the thought made him...he'd have to keep on hiding his past, at the very least until they got out of there.

"Well, don't thank me yet, kid. We still ain't out of this mountain. Come on, let's get a move on."

Clover nodded, wiping away the last of his tears from his face, then nodded at Arthur with a determined look. The two humans then turned towards the narrow path leading out of the town and resumed their journey out of the underground.

Chapter Text

Arthur and Clover followed the path leading through a rather pretty-looking corn farm; most likely owned by North Star's parents, if Ceroba was to be believed. The outlaw couldn't help but notice how Clover seemed to flinch and look away as they passed through it...how they seemed to walk just slightly faster as if wanting to leave the farm as quickly as possible.

After being interrupted by some flying whale monster who informed Clover of some sort of new transport service, the two humans made their way to a heavy steel door . The door was quite unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. It was round, much like a bank vault, but a strange pink glowing orb was placed in the middle. At the door's left side was a panel filled with nine pink buttons.

"That door looks kinda heavy..." Clover commented. "I'm not sure how we're gonna open it."

"Well, it's a door, ain't it?" Arthur responded as he approached the door. "There's gotta be some way to get it open..."

The outlaw began to search the door, inspecting it up close with his hands. It seemed similar to a bank vault, and thanks to his past, Arthur had more than a little bit of experience getting those open. Still, the cowboy searched the door for an entire minute but found no mechanism to open it. He had some dynamite on him...maybe he could blow it open? Although the door  was  quite heavy...maybe the explosives he had on him wouldn't be enough to-

Arthur heard something crash to his left and quickly turned. The panel with all of the pink buttons had been damaged, sparks of electricity flying from button to button. After a few seconds, Arthur could hear steam rushing into the door, some of it managing to escape through small holes in the doorway. Within moments, the door opened on its own, forcing Arthur to take a step back to avoid being hit.

"Thing just opened outta nowhere!" Arthur said, turning to face Clover. "Did...did you do this, kid?"

Clover replied with a shake of his head, which caused Arthur to narrow his eyebrows.

"Then who?"

"I think it was a friend of mine," Clover clarified. "His name is Flowey. I met him just after falling down here. He's been...helping me so far. I don't think he likes to be seen by others though...he only ever shows up when I'm alone."

Arthur scoffed at the name.

"Flowey? What kind of feller names their son that?",  the outlaw questioned, not getting any response from Clover besides a shrug. "So, this Flowey feller...you sure he's trustworthy?"

"I don't see why he wouldn't be," Clover responded. "I mean, he helped me a lot so far. I don't think I'd have survived up until now without him."

Arthur frowned. Someone willing to help a complete stranger, seemingly at no cost, but didn't want to be seen...in Arthur's experience, if something seemed too good to be true, it's because it was. Still, he didn't say anything, opting instead to turn around and go through the doorway, with Clover following close behind.

The door outside was certainly strange to Arthur, but this...Arthur had never seen anything like it. A complicated-looking machine was in the middle of the room; dirty and slightly rusted, the whole place looked like it had been abandoned for years. Now, Arthur was by no means a technology expert: he'd played with that little boat you could control from far away back when he met that inventor in Saint Denis , and he'd helped the feller in setting up some lightning rods outside his lab later, but that was where his experience ended. Still, the outlaw could tell this was way beyond anything they had in America. 

Clover seemed quite fascinated by the place, given how he already had begun exploring every last nook and cranny. Arthur turned his attention towards the machine in the middle of the room. Maybe it opened the door further ahead? It was worth a look, at the very least. Approaching the machine, Arthur found a small glass panel in front of a series of buttons, each labeled with a letter. The letters didn't seem to be in alphabetical order for some reason; first was Q, then W, then, E, then R, then T, and so on. To the right, Arthur could see a few levers and buttons.

Arthur decided to fumble around with the machine for a bit. First, he tried pulling on the levers to the right.

Nothing.

Maybe one of the buttons below them?

Still nothing.

Arthur tried pressing some of the letter buttons at random.

Nothing again.

Arthur let out a frustrated huff. Why was this so difficult? He ran around the machine, hoping to find some lever labeled clearly, but had no luck. He went back to the front of the machine. Maybe he needed to press some of the lettered keys in order? He tried pressing 'O', then 'P', then 'E', then 'N'.

Nothing happened.

Shaking his head in defeat, Arthur looked around the room. Maybe there was some other way out of here? Or he could try the dynam-

Arthur suddenly heard a loud noise coming from behind the machine. Stretching his head to the side a little, the outlaw saw the door open, and Clover came out of a right turn a few moments after.

"Oh, it actually worked!", the child proclaimed once he saw the opened door.

"Huh...don't know what you did, but...good job, kid." Arthur complimented, making Clover smile with pride. "Come on, let's get goin'."

The two humans proceeded through the doorway, which led to three intersecting pathways. The north path was blocked by yet another door. The left path led to what seemed to be a laundry room, with multiple strange machines with round glass windows, most of them containing clothes of some sort. There was a piece of beef jerky sticking out from some pants in one of the machines. Arthur could swear he saw Clover eye the piece of meat. He seemed to want to grab it before Arthur told him to come along with him to explore the right path. This worried Arthur a bit; maybe it was just innocent childlike curiosity...or maybe it was something much worse. Arthur knew his standards for edible food weren't particularly high before Dutch and Hosea took him in.

The rightmost path led to another strange machine with a lever. Seeing no other option, the humans elected to pull it. As soon as they did, the whole place seemed to come to life: distant machinery was activated and began to release steam , while their current location was lit up with pink lights. From the distance, Arthur could hear the now familiar sound of a metal door opening.

The newly opened doorway led to an even stranger part of the building. Ruined metal structures floated over some strange pink liquid, so abundant that it created a small lake under the metal walkways the two were standing on. Arthur made a mental note to keep an eye out for the kid; he didn't know what this liquid was or if it was safe, and frankly, he did not want to find out.

After crossing a few vents blowing out dangerously hot steam (which Arthur insisted on crossing first, earning him a few burns on his hands for his trouble), Arthur and Clover reached a corridor with multiple plaques lined up on the walls. These seemed to be awards for the people who worked here. One name in particular stood out to him: Chujin Ketsukane. Same last name as the fox lady back at the saloon...in a place as small as this, Arthur figured it wasn't a coincidence. It seemed like the feller wasn't very good at his job either if the award was any indication...

The two humans walked further along the corridor. From a door to their right, a strange creature made entirely of metal came out, moving via a single wheel underneath its body. It seemed more like a living machine rather than a monster.

"AXIS MODEL 014 READY TO GUARD AND PROTECT. INTRUDERS SPOTTED. STEAMWORKS EASTERN BRANCH. YOUR CRIMES ARE AS FOLLOWS:"

"Whoa, easy there, feller," Arthur tried to reason with the machine. "We ain't lookin' for tr-"

"-TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPRIETY. UTILIZING MACHINERY WITHOUT PERMISSION. AND INTERRUPTING MY SPEECH. HUMANS, HOW DO YOU PLEAD TO THESE ACCUSATIONS?"

"Look, mister, we're just lookin' for a way outta here. If you just let us pass-"

"AVOIDING THE QUESTION IS AN ADMISSION OF GUILT. YOUR CRIMES WILL BE REPORTED TO AN AUTHORITY. OH WAIT, THAT IS ME. ENJOY YOUR ISOLATION, HUMANS."

Arthur was about to protest when the ground beneath them suddenly opened. He barely had the time to scream before he fell down into the depths below. To the humans' luck, they just so happened to land on a series of vines, which broke their fall. Arthur stood up and looked at Clover, who was dusting off their pants.

"You okay, kid?"

Clover replied with a nod while he held the tip of his hat.

"Must be the third time I fell down a hole in these last few hours..."

Arthur let out a chuckle.

"For a feller named Clover, guess you ain't so lucky."

"Heh, guess that's true..." Clover conceded with a smile. A few moments of silence passed by. "...so what was that metal thing? I've never seen anything like it...and it didn't look like a monster either."

Arthur let out a contemplative hum.

"I've seen somethin' like it once," Arthur declared, catching the child's attention. "There was this feller in Saint Denis, Marko Dragic. I helped him out with a demonstration of a little miniature boat you could control from a distance."

Clover's eyes immediately brightened up in awe.

"Really? That's so cool! How did it work?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Ain't got no idea. I think he said somethin' bout...waves? Anyway, the feller invited me to his lab in Doverhill, and I happened to be around one night during a thunderstorm, so I decided to make a visit. He asked me to help set up some rods for him. Turns out, it was all to power this big man made of metal, kinda like the one we just ran into, but bigger and with actual legs. Feller only managed to take three or so steps before fallin' down and goin' out cold."

"Oh...that's a shame," Clover said with a hint of disappointment. "So, did Mr. Dragic ever manage to finish his invention?"

"Uh...yeah..." Arthur said, looking to the side to hide his nervous look. He wasn't going to tell the kid what he actually saw, though...the good professor, murdered in his lab. His invention up on that mountain, covered in blood and muttering to himself. " Visited 'em again after a few weeks. Like father and son, these two."

"Oh, that's good. I'm happy for them," the kid replied, before he brought his hands together and looked at Arthur briefly, then at the floor. "Um...Arthur? Can I...ask a favor?"

Arthur raised a curious eyebrow.

"What is it?"

Clover shifted in place a bit before answering.

"Um...could you...teach me how to shoot like you?"

Arthur frowned at the kid.

"What? You want me to teach you how to shoot?"

Clover gave a shaky nod.

"Y-yeah...you shot those dummies so fast...and didn't miss a single bullet! I've never seen anything like that! Can you...teach me how to do that?"

Arthur shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to expose the kid to even more violence...God knows he's already had enough of that with little Jack.

"Listen, kids your age ain't supposed to be playing around with guns."

"B-but there are monsters here who want to kill us!" Clover argued, his hands curling up into fists. "I need to defend myself."

"You ain't need to worry about any monsters," Arthur reassured, crouching down and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Any of 'em come after you, I'll deal with 'em."

"B-but what if we get separated?" Clover countered, a determined look on his face. "O-or what if you start coughing again and pass out? I'll need to defend myself then!"

Arthur opened his mouth to argue...but the kid did have a point, didn't he? Who's to say his tuberculosis wouldn't strike, and leave him unconscious? Hell, who's to say he wouldn't drop dead in the next hour or so? If that did happen, then the kid would need to protect himself from anyone trying to take his soul. At the very least, he should probably make sure the child knew what he was doing just so he wouldn't shoot himself in the foot by accident.

"Alright, but you gotta promise me somethin' first," Arthur conceded as he stood back up.

"Anything."

"Stay behind me, and let me deal with any trouble that comes our way," Arthur demanded, giving the kid an intense, serious look. "If you can get a few shots in, great. But you gotta keep yourself safe first, okay?"

Clover beamed and nodded excitedly.

"Yes! Now come on, let's get started!"

The child was quick to begin searching around the room for something to use as target practice. He used the various mysterious machines around to create some improvised dummies. Clover was surprisingly good at assembling them; 'Building Block Toys', he said, when Arthur asked him about it. After a few minutes, they had a row of three dummies, all made of discarded machinery and garbage.

"Alright, so before you even draw your gun, the first thing you gotta do is focus. As hard as you can."

"Focus?" Clover questioned, giving Arthur a quizzical look.

"Yeah. First, figure out exactly where you wanna shoot. You got six bullets; how many of 'em go to each target? Then, imagine yourself drawing your gun, carefully linin' up each shot, then pullin' the trigger. Once you've got a good grip on what you wanna do, you just ...do it."

Clover nodded, then looked away from him and towards the dummy. The child's hands rested just over his holster, flexing each of his fingers as he seemed to stare at the dummies intensely...

Then, he drew.

The first shot hit the dummy in the chest. The gun's recoil messed up the kid's aim, and the second missed entirely and hit the wall. The third one barely grazed the third dummy's head.

Clover let out a frustrated huff. Arthur approached him and placed a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Hey, 's okay. You did well for someone your age. When you get real good at it, it'll kinda seem like time's slowing down for you. Then it'll be real easy."

Clover showed a grateful smile, then reloaded his revolver and holstered it. He began trying again and again , his aim steadily improving with each attempt, with Arthur occasionally stopping him to correct his posture, or give him some tips. He was pretty good for a beginner...though Arthur could tell he woul dn't stand much of a chance in an actual gunfight. The outlaw could only hope he'd have no use for the skills he was teaching him once they got out of here .

The two humans made their way through the building, apparently called the 'Steamworks' if the sign at the entrance was anything to go by. They found no monsters but did run into a few machines that tried to attack them for whatever reason, but Arthur made short work of them. Even Clover joined in, as his aim seemed to get just a bit better with each encounter. Arthur himself had taken a few hits, but he had managed to shield the kid from most of the attacks.

Currently, the two of them were sitting on some large, fish-like machine, that had offered to carry them over the strange pink liquid. The two humans casually glanced around the place as the fish carried them, with Clover occasionally giving out instructions on where to go next. Ruined beyond repair, the whole place had turned into a real maze, as signs and instructions had apparently disappeared, leaving the two humans with no idea of where to go next. After going around in circles for about half an hour, Arthur realized that Clover seemed to have the best sense of direction of the two , so Arthur let him call the shots on where to go next.

"Hey, Arthur?" the kid called out as he sat on the fish, his legs curled up to his chest.

"Yeah?"

"You said you were a bounty hunter, right?"

Arthur flinched at his question but nodded anyway. Lucky for him, the kid didn't seem to pick up on his nervousness.

"You've got any cool stories about your work?" the kid asked, his eyes bright with excitement. Arthur merely shrugged in response.

"Like I said, kid, it ain't as excitin' as you think it is. It's mostly just bringin' in cattle thieves and blabberin' drunks."

Clover didn't seem convinced by that, as he crossed his arms and pouted.

"If it's about you having to kill people, I don't care. I'm not stupid, you know. I know these posters say 'dead or alive' for a reason."

Arthur suppressed a curse. The kid was smarter than what he gave him credit for. The outlaw didn't really want to expose the child to more violence than he'd already seen...but maybe a bit of levity here and there wouldn't hurt? He did do some bounty hunter work here and there, but those ended with a shootout more often than not, like most things he did nowadays. He scoured his brain for some job that did not end that way...and one particular case came to his mind.

"Well, there was this feller...I think his name was Benedict Allbright. He was sellin' some fake medicine around Valentine...made a lot of folks real sick. So the local sheriff puts up posters offerin' fifty dollars to anyone who can bring 'em in alive. Says he's been seen around this gorge north of town, so I head there. I found a feller who looked exactly like the man on the poster...but he's mighty suspicious of me. So I tell him I really need some medicine for my momma..."

Clover stands up and looks at him, enthralled by the story.

"A-and? Did he fall for it?"

"Hook, line, and sinker," Arthur told him with a smirk. "Feller gave me this bottle of 'medicine', he says. Threw it right in the river and pulled my gun on him."

Clover let out a laugh.

"Oh man, he must have pissed himself when he realized who you were."

Arthur smiled at the kid's enthusiasm and chuckled.

"Well, I don't know 'bout that, but you may be right. Feller must have been in a real hurry to take a bath considerin' what he did next."

"What did he do?" Clover asked, eagerly awaiting for Arthur to continue.

"The scoundrel jumped straight into the river."

Clover raised his eyebrows in shock.

"What? No way!"

"Yeah. Seemed to regret it real fast, considerin' how he was screamin' for help right after. Rode down to the river, saved him from drownin', and turned him in. Easiest fifty bucks I've earned in my life."

Clover spent a few moments laughing at his story while Arthur smiled contently. He was glad to see the kid in high spirits after what happened back in that 'Wild East' town. After a few seconds, Clover calmed down and sat back down. A few moments of silence passed by before Clover spoke up again.

"I think...I think I wanna be a bounty hunter like you when I grow up, Arthur..."

The sudden declaration caught Arthur off guard, and he coughed a few times.

"A bounty hunter? Why?"

Clover looked to the side, at the pink liquid below them.

"Well...it seems like a perfect job. You get to put troublemakers and criminals in their place, and get paid a lot for it too." Clover's expression lightened up a bit. "I hear Dutch van der Linde has a 10000 dollar bounty on his head...and they'll pay 5000 for one of his henchmen! If I had that much money...I could just buy my own house and never deal with the people at the orphanage again!"

Arthur couldn't help but feel a surge of worry at that last remark...or at the kid's dream in general. He had to stop himself from chuckling from the sheer irony too...thanks to Mr. Milton and Mr. Ross' visit to their camp, he had a pretty good idea as to who that 5000 dollar bounty belonged to...

"There are easier and safer ways to make money, you know...ones where you don't risk gettin' shot by some lowlife."

"I know...but...it's not just about the money..." Clover continued, his voice becoming lower and angrier. "...I...I just can't stand it. Knowing that Dutch and his gang are walking free...enjoying the money they got f-from...f-from killing my mom...it's n-not f-fair...it's not fair at all..."

Arthur suddenly felt a pang of guilt...and didn't know why. He didn't kill this kid's momma. He wasn't there on the boat that day. So why...why did he feel like this? The desperate need to make things right...even when he knew it was impossible. Heidi McCourt was dead, and there was no bringing her back. He couldn't give Clover what his gang had taken from him.

Why? He'd killed plenty of men before and didn't so much as bat an eye. Why did he care now? He'd felt like this too, when he found Ms. Downes working as a prostitute of all things just to make ends meet. And he knew he'd beaten her husband into an early grave while collecting his debt. But this? Arthur only knew the man who murdered Clover's mother. This was the full extent of his involvement with her death.

(A part of him called himself out on his lie. He protected the man responsible from the consequences of his crimes. He wasn't on that boat...but he would have let it happen even if he were.)

"Look kid," Arthur said with a sigh. "Most people who follow this life get gunned down before they do anythin' worth rememberin'. You ain't ever hear the stories of bounty hunters who die before they can bring in their first big target. Revenge...revenge is a fool's game. It just ain't worth it. And I've seen lots of good folks get killed for it."

Clover looked down at his feet for a while before responding.

"...it's not just about revenge either. H-how many people is he going to kill until he's caught? H-how many people will lose their children...their siblings...t-their parents...how many people are going to be like m-me...because of him?!?"

Clover's shaky voice turned into full-on sobbing. Arthur was at a loss as to what to do...so he did what Hosea and Dutch did for him when he was little, and nightmares of his father would come back to haunt him. He adjusted himself atop the fish to stand beside Clover...and gently pat the kid's back.

"There, there...you ain't gotta be the one to right all them wrongs in the world, you know? Dutch...he'll get what's comin'. You don't get to live a bad life and hope good things happen to you . That ain't how the world works."

This was something Arthur could say he fully believed in...he was living proof, after all.

"T-thanks, Arthur..." the kid muttered out as his sobbing stopped.

'Don't thank me', Arthur wanted to say.

"Don't mention it," Arthur said.

The walking machine they met back at the entrance, Axis as it called itself, was a lot more durable than his compatriots, as it turned out. Arthur tried shooting at it with his gun, but the pellets didn't seem to cause much damage. This left running as their only real option. The machine had chased them throughout the entire god damn place, only being stopped when it accidentally melted the floor underneath him with some vial of green liquid. The same liquid that Clover had been eyeing thirstily a few minutes back...

The two humans continued their journey through the Steamworks, being occasionally attacked by a few machines. In an area covered by white plants, they had fought a larger, stronger one, who seemed to be not very pleased with Arthur stepping on a flower. Right now, they found themselves in front of a mail station as Clover read a letter he'd received. Once he finished reading it, Clover put the letter in a bag he'd been carrying around , a bag with an uncanny amount of space, judging by all the things Arthur had seen Clover shove in there.

"So?" Arthur asked.

"It's from Martlet." Clover clarified. "She wants to meet me at the apartments' rooftop."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"You think that's a good idea? Ain't it her job to kill you?"

Clover merely shrugged in response.

"She already tried. But she apologized after, so it's okay."

Arthur was dumbfounded. If her simply saying sorry after attacking the kid made her okay in his book...what did that say about the people he knew?

"Anyways," Clover continued. "It would be rude to just leave and keep her waiting. We should at least hear out what she has to say."

"I guess you're right," Arthur conceded. "But we gotta get outta here first. Come on."

The solution to their problem, as it turned out, was dynamite.

Axis had been waiting in the furnace room up ahead, not very pleased with its own constant failures at capturing both of them. After giving the kid a trashcan lid and claiming it was a weapon, Axis proceeded to attack them with a barrage of energy spheres. Their guns did little to stop the machine. Arthur wondered if the steel contraption was just  that  resistant, or if he'd been sold a piece of crap gun. Turns out , the latter was true , as Clover told him Mr. Blackjack's guns were designed to be non-lethal as he ducked behind a trashcan lid to avoid an energy sphere. The purpose of a gun not designed to kill was beyond Arthur.

Arthur's approach to combat had generally involved staying behind cover and occasionally peeking out to take a shot. There was no cover available, meaning he had to rely on dodging. And while his experience with fistfights did give him some idea as to what to do, he still got hit. A lot. Clover kept him healthy by giving him a steady supply of monster food, ranging from normal to borderline unedible. He even took up Blackjack's suggestion and swallowed up a bunch of gunpowder. It worked, even if Arthur felt like puking afterward.

Still, Arthur knew Clover's supply wouldn't last forever. He needed a plan to end things fast. So, he got up close and personal with Axis, pushing the machine to one end of the room. Then, once he figured he had enough distance, he pulled a few sticks of dynamite from his bag, threw them up high in the air, and ran to the opposite side of the furnace room. With one swift motion, Arthur pulled out his revolver and fired.

When the smoke cleared, Axis' head was nowhere to be found.

After exiting the Steamworks, the two humans found themselves in a lava-filled region named Hotland . As its name suggested, the place was  hot . If Snowdin felt like the Grizzlies, this felt like Guarma. Lucky for him, being the wanderer he was , Arthur had brought some lighter clothes for hotter weather. Unlucky for him, he had also left them in Buell's saddlebag.

This unbearable heat caused the two humans to quicken their pace in search of the so-called apartments. Arthur wasn't really sure about meeting with the bird lady...what if this was all a trap? Still...he could probably deal with whatever monsters sent at them. Probably.

After finding the apartments, Clover wasted no time in climbing the stairs to the roof, and Arthur followed behind. Sure enough, just as she had said in the letter, Martlet was there, her back turned to both humans. When she heard their footsteps, the bird monster turned around.

"Ah, you got my message."

The bird monster turned around, looking at some distant, incredibly complex machinery that reminded Arthur of the Steamworks...only more advanced.

"That large facility in front of us is the CORE...the main source of power for the Underground. Behind that is New Home. The capital city...King Asgore's castle."

Martlet turned around once again, her eyes turned to the kid.

"Look, I haven't been 100% honest with you, Clover. My whole life, I was taught that humans are the enemy. And...maybe they were right."

Arthur's hand moved closer to his holster, the bird monster failing to notice. He really should have known better...

"And I'll admit, you're not shy about defending yourself. During our journey, I sensed an alarming aura in you....and especially in Arthur."

The bird pulled out a syringe out of her pocket containing some unknown blue liquid. Arthur mentally began lining up a shot at it, followed up by another one at the bird's head. He twitched the fingers on his right hand in anticipation...

"...I had this backup plan in case you two ever started a rampage...but thankfully, you never did."

The bird woman threw her syringe behind her, the object falling down into the depths below. Arthur relaxed his hand.

"Phew...that feels liberating..." Martlet said, with a relieved smile. "I'm sorry for keeping that from you but you know how things are..."

"Huh...so after failin' to kill the kid, now you decide he deserves to live? How magnanimous of you, miss..." Arthur said with a mocking tone as he adjusted his hat.

Martlet winced guiltily at the accusation.

"I...wasn't trying to kill Clover, I swear! Just capture him! But...that still doesn't excuse what I did. Asgore's plan...the way we treat the humans that fall down here...it's all wrong. And this...this is why I asked you two to come here."

Martlet looked down at the floor and paused for a bit before continuing.

"Asgore needs seven human souls to break the barrier. And if two of them casually walk up to his castle? I don't think he'll show mercy...you two would fight back, and well..."

The bird monster took another pause , then took a deep breath and continued, looking at Clover with a warm, loving, almost motherly look.

"I know this isn't the path you intended but...let's put all of this behind us. End the conflict. You can come stay with me. Live out a happy, violence-free childhood. You don't deserve to die this young, Clover. And you too, Arthur...I know my home isn't exactly the biggest, but...we can make it work, somehow. I can tell you care a lot for Clover. And...Clover seems to care a lot about you. He deserves better than being constantly on the lookout for monsters out for his soul...don't you agree?"

Arthur adjusted his hat slightly and began to ponder. Martlet had a point. As someone who was constantly on the run from the law, he could tell that this lifestyle wasn't healthy for a child. But he still wasn't quite sure the bird lady could be trusted. He decided to get Clover's opinion on the matter first. The outlaw crouched down to Clover's level and turned to speak to him in a whisper.

"Hey, kid? What do you think 'bout all of this?"

The kid turned to look at him, a conflicted expression on his face.

"I... I think I wanna stay..."

The outlaw's eyes widened in shock. He didn't expect the kid to agree so quickly.

"You sure you can trust her? I mean...ain't she a Royal Guard? What if this is all some setup so they can get your soul?"

Maybe it was just paranoia. Or maybe it was just his experience with Dutch talking. Dutch had taken him under his wing when he was young, and look what he'd turned into. Maybe that was what made Arthur so apprehensive of the idea of Martlet doing the same in a more literal fashion.

"I...I think she gave up on that. She seemed really sincere back there. And..." Clover shifted on the spot uneasily, looking at the floor for a bit, then back at Arthur. "...I know you probably have people waiting for you...but...i-if you stayed...I'd...really appreciate it."

Staying was out of the question for Arthur . He still had to make sure John and his family got out of this mess alive. After that...well, Arthur wasn't sure if there was going to be an 'after that' for him, considering how his disease has been acting up as of late. 

But maybe...maybe this was for the best? Arthur could tell Clover didn't have exactly the best life up there. If Clover saw these monsters as better company than the humans he knew...did Arthur have any right to stop him? Especially after what his gang did to him?

Arthur let out a long sigh and stood back up. "Well, I can't stay with you, kid...but it's your call. If you think stayin' here is best for you, then by all means."

Clover shot the outlaw a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Arthur. For...for looking for me. For protecting me, all this time. Even though you didn't know me...even though you had no reason to..."

"Don't thank me," Arthur said, giving Clover a single pat on the back. "Come on, that bird lady's gonna wanna hear what you have to say."

Martlet would never get to hear Clover's decision, however. A single vine, covered in thorns and with a red spike on its edge flew through the air. It pierced the bird straight through the chest, impaling the monster. Martlet looked down at her chest and spoke up, her voice growing weaker with each syllable.

"W-what is this? Clover...Arthur..." The bird began to tremble, her voice wavering into an almost inaudible whisper. "...run..."

The vine lifted Martlet further into the air. Particles of dust began to fall off her body...until her entire form dissolved into nothing but a fine pile of dust. The vine retracted. Where Martlet once stood, a yellow flower with a very annoyed face had appeared, his glare fixed on Clover.

"You gotta be kidding me!" the flower spoke with an irritated tone . "I just knew something like this would happen! And after all we've been through...I tried for so long. I thought this was the run...a new human, and an adult at that ! Someone to stop you from dying over and over again like the pathetic wimp you are! With someone around to babysit you, surely now you'll get to Asgore! But noooooo! You just had to-"

Arthur had heard enough. He couldn't say he'd been particularly attached to the bird monster , but this flower clearly had some not-so-nice intentions toward the kid. The cowboy pulled his revolver on the flower.

"Alright, that's enough, you damn weed! Tell me why you killed the bird lady, and what you want with the kid. I ain't gonna ask you again."

The flower gave an amused smile.

"Nuh-uh-uh! Trigger happy, are w-"

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"W-what?" the flower said, his smug expression replaced by one of utter bewilderment. "No...there's no way your determination could overpower mine! Unless..."

The flower's gaze shifted from Clover to Arthur. He seemed to examine the outlaw for a while, until he spoke up, his voice changing from a friendly tone to an utterly demonic one, his expression changing from confused to a sadistic smile.

" YOU! JUST HOW MANY PEOPLE DID YOU KILL TO GET THAT LV? HAHAHAHAHA! YOU THINK I'M BAD, CLOVER? YOU THINK I'M EVIL? I'M A SAINT COMPARED TO ARTH-"

The flower never got to finish that sentence. Six shots rang out through the rooftop. As they did, six holes appeared in the flower's face, crushing the plant's demonic face into a regular, wilted flower. Arthur looked to the side and saw Clover, revolver in his small, trembling hand, and smoke coming out of the kid's gun.

Six shots fired in quick succession. Six shots, all perfectly accurate. Exactly how Arthur had taught him.

The cowboy's mouth was left agape. The kid had gone from fumbling around with a gun to being able to give even someone like Javier a run for his money, all in the span of a few minutes. For a while, nothing but the howling of the wind could be heard as it blew away what little remained of Martlet's dust, plus a few petals from the flower's lifeless corpse.

Then, Arthur felt a weight on his leg. He looked down and found Clover, desperately clinging to it, his whole body trembling.

Clover began to cry. More than he did after his confrontation with North Star. More than he did on the fish-like boat at the Steamworks. He began sobbing uncontrollably, staining the cowboy's pants with his tears. Clover tried to say something, but all that came out was an unintelligible mess.

"A-A-A-Arth-thur...-A-Ar-th-thur...-s-s-s-sh-sh-she...M-Mar-Mar-Mart-...I-I-I-I...G-G-Go-Gone...I-I-I-I..."

Arthur immediately crouched down and wrapped his arms around the crying child, gently tapping the kid's back.

"'s okay...'s okay...I got you..."

Clover buried his head in Arthur's chest, soaking the outlaw's shirt, but he could not care less. He continued to do what Hosea and Dutch would do for him when he was young...to offer whatever comfort he could to this poor kid who had gone through so much...and yet, nothing seemed to calm him down. He continued wailing for what was probably a few minutes but seemed like an hour. Then, Clover's sobbing began to slow. His voice began to grow weaker and weaker...until the kid finally went limp in Arthur's arms.

Chapter Text

Arthur brought the sleeping kid to the apartments, carrying him in his arms. He mustered whatever G he could find among his own belongings and Clover's, then set it on the receptionist's counter. The monster took one glance at the sleeping child he was carrying and threw him a key to a room. The outlaw went up the building through a rather modern-looking elevator, then opened the room he'd rented. The room was modest but comfortable: a single large bed in the middle, surrounded by two drawers on either side. Arthur put the kid on the right side of the bed and sat on the right. He pulled out his journal and began to write.

The sheriff tried to kill Clover, and he killed the sheriff in self-defense. Seemed very upset about it too. I don't know what happened, but apparently, he wanted the kid's soul to earn his friends' respect. The ruler of this place orders his troops to kill any humans that fall down to collect their souls. Clover and I are both outlaws down here...and the kid didn't even do anything wrong.

We went through some old abandoned building called 'The Steamworks'. Place was covered in this odd pink liquid. Didn't care to find out what it was. This walking machine made of metal ambushed us. Reminded me a bit of Mr. Dragic's invention. The thing was very tough, our bullets didn't even scratch it. Fortunately, I managed to blow it up with some dynamite.

Just before that, we received a letter from that bird monster, Martlet. She said she wanted to meet us at the rooftop of this apartment building. I thought it was a trap, but the kid wanted to go see her. She offered to look after Clover, and the kid seemed interested. I thought it was a trick at the time, but in hindsight, I was probably just being paranoid.

Then, this flower creature came out of nowhere and stabbed her in the chest. Clover filled it with bullets before I got to ask what's going on. Kid seemed real upset about the whole thing. Guess he must have cared a lot about her.

🕇MARTLET

Arthur concluded the entry with an illustration of the blue bird monster. The drawing didn't come out very well; Arthur had observed her for less than five minutes in total, and well...he couldn't exactly ask her to pose for him now.

With his journal entry finished, Arthur simply stared at the wall, lost in thought. The outlaw glanced at the child sleeping behind him. He did not seem to be having a peaceful rest, judging by how he squirmed and shifted in his sleep.

Arthur thought back to the revelation of how Clover lost his mamma. The idea of Dutch murdering an innocent woman had bothered him at the time. He'd tried to get answers from their leader but to no avail. Dutch refused to say anything about it beyond 'it was necessary'. Arthur had put the incident out of his mind; he thought to himself maybe it really had just been a 'bad situation', as Javier put it.

Then, Dutch began to change. He left John to hang. He murdered that old lady in Guarma. He used the natives as pawns in his schemes. He left him to die back at that oil field. And now...now Arthur wondered if what happened at that boat was just the early warning signs of a man who just...wasn't the same anymore. 

Standing up against the evils of civilization. Fighting for freedom. Sticking it to Uncle Sam. Arthur had killed for these ideals, be it fellow outlaws, bounty hunters, soldiers, or lawmen. It was easy to believe that whoever stood against them was just some faceless enemy that needed to be destroyed for their continued survival, that they didn't have families and loved ones too. Arthur had believed it, once. Now, with a child who was left orphaned because of one of their heists, being tormented by nightmares less than five feet away from him...it was impossible. In the end, was Dutch's entire ideology was just an elaborate excuse for them to act like savages?

Arthur covered his face with his hands and let out a long, painful sigh. He wondered why he had even come here in the first place. Was it some attempt to make up for his lifetime of stealing, murdering, and lying? Some foolish hope of redemption? He knew, logically, that it was impossible. It would take several full lifetimes to make up for even a fraction of what evil he'd done. Thanks to his TB, Arthur didn't even have one to his name. How many people were left without fathers, without brothers, without sons, because of him? How many in a single heist? How many in his life? How many Clovers had he created? What did it change, if he saved a single child from having his soul taken by monsters? At best, he'd be removing a single drop in the ocean of blood he spilled. His bag, holding nearly two thousand dollars, almost no cent of it earned by honest means, felt a lot heavier all of a sudden...

Clover...Arthur wondered what he was going to do with the kid when they got out of there. From what little he spoke about himself, Arthur could guess he didn't really have the best of childhoods. Arthur could tell, because he'd been in more or less the same situation. After his father died and before the gang took him in, he'd eat whatever he could get his hands on, regardless of how edible it looked. Sending him back to that life felt...wrong. But what was his other option? Arthur couldn't take him back to the gang, because one, the kid would never agree to it, two, Dutch would never agree to it, and three, Arthur didn't particularly feel like involving another child with their lifestyle. As much as it pained him, his only option was to send him on his way. Maybe he could leave the kid with some money. Arthur knew a few hundred dollars could have helped him a lot back then.

But that was for later. Right now...right now, Arthur had to make sure Clover got out of this damned place alive. And he would do exactly that, even if it was the last thing he'd do.

Clover lay still inside the dark suitcase, his head resting on a crumpled-up pile of shirts. He wanted out. He wanted some fresh air. The entire suitcase was covered in the heavy scent of a strong perfume, which made breathing very difficult. Mom had spilled some when she hurriedly emptied the suitcase's contents before telling him to hide. This, combined with the waves of the ocean occasionally moving the boat, was making Clover nauseous.

He was worried about her. He wanted to go out and find her. Mom had told him to hide; that some bad men were robbing the ferry, and that there was something she needed to do. She made him promise that he wouldn't come out until she came back. But it had been so long, and she still hadn't come back. He was worried. He wanted to find her. But he had promised to wait for her. So he waited.

A few minutes passed by. Clover heard some shouting. He peeked out of a small keyhole in the suitcase, and his heart jumped at what he saw. His mom was there, being shoved by a man with a thick, black mustache and slick-backed black hair, dressed in elegant clothes and with a revolver in his right hand.

"Dutch! Dutch, we don't gotta do this!", yelled a second man, just behind the first one. The man had collar-lenght, right-parted dark hair, with a slight goatee on his chin.

The first man, Dutch, shoved his mom into a nearby wall. She had her hands bound by a rope, and her mouth gagged. She tried to say something, but all that came out was a muffled sound. 

"Oh, come on, John, we've killed lots more folk to get here," a third man spoke to the long-haired person, apparently named John. He had shoulder-length blond hair, and a thick horseshoe mustache, along with two side whiskers on his cheeks."What's one more?"

John turned back to a fourth man; a Mexican, with a strong complexion and a shaved mustache.

"Javier...tell them. We...we ain't like this. We're better than this, damn it!"

Javier merely shrugged in response.

"It's Dutch's call, John. You know that."

John gave the man an annoyed frown, then turned back to Dutch and the blond man.

"Dutch...Micah...this ain't who we are...these men? They were lawmen. They knew what they were signing up for? But this girl..."

"I don't like killin' pretty ladies either, John," Micah responded with a dismissive shrug. "But she heard the plan. We let her go, she tells on us, and the law will chase us from here all the damn way to California."

John shot Micah a furious look, before turning back to Dutch with a pleading expression.

"Dutch...Dutch, we don't gotta do this..."

Micah also turned to face Dutch, the three men's attention focused exclusively on the well-dressed man.

"I...I..." Dutch muttered to himself, his shaking hand fiddling with the cylinder of his revolver.

"Dutch, if we don't, it's over for all of us."

"This ain't like us! We don't kill innocent folk."

"Quit your yappin', Marston! Listen, Dutch, if you don't wanna do it, I'll do it."

"That's not the point, damn it! This ain't right!"

"Oh, John, what do you think this is? We're outlaws. We kill folks for money."

"We're outlaws, not savages, Micah!"

"Dutch, listen-"

"Dutch, we don't gotta-"

Dutch raised his revolver. The sound of a gunshot rang out through the air.

His mom fell down to the floor, her back turned to a blood-stained wall. A single thread of tendon connected her eye to her exposed skull. Some pieces of her brain were plastered on the nearby wall. The eye hung from her eyesocket...looking directly at where Clover was hiding. The image immediatelly burned itself into his mind.

Clover wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to yell. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to grab that man's gun. He wanted to fill his body with the five remaining bullets. He wanted to dump his corpse into the sea. He wanted to see the other three men hang from a gallow. 

But he could do neither of these things. If he made too much noise, the four outlaws would find him. And he knew he was just a kid. He knew he would be killed if he tried to take them on.

(A part of him wanted to try it anyway. Just to be with his mom again...)

So Clover suppressed his urge to scream. He suppressed his urge to cry, instead merely whimpering uncontrollably as the loud noise coming from the arguing outside covered any sound he was making. He suppressed the cry for justice from deep within his soul.

The suitcase began to suffocate him. The perfume became intoxicating. The darkness became unbearable. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't-

Clover was no longer in the briefcase. He was no longer in the boat. He was in a police station. He was sitting on a chair. There was a man with him. His name was Edgar Ross. He worked for something called the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. He wanted to know about the people who killed his mom. Clover did his best to answer them. He could only hope he would catch the people responsible.

(He wouldn't. In the following months, Clover would sometimes sneak out of the orphanage off to the Strawberry police station. The wanted posters for Dutch van der Linde would always be there, offering ten thousand dollars to whoever brought the man to justice. No one ever came to claim the reward.)

(Adults...adults were useless.)

Clover was no longer in the police station. He was on the rooftops of the UG Apartments. That's right, he needed to find out what happened to the five missing kids. The local sheriff certainly wasn't going to do anything about it.

Martlet was there. She turned to face him. She told him about the king, how he wouldn't stop until he had his soul. She pulled out a syringe; and told him how she had this plan to stop him if he ever went on a rampage. She tossed the syringe out into a nearby lava lake below.

She offered to let him stay with her in her home. Clover almost can't believe it. He knows he should refuse...he knows he needs to free those kids' souls...but a part of him just wants this to be over. A part of him wants to stop having to fight off a monster after his soul every 15 steps he takes. A part of him wants to stop wondering if he's going to have enough food to eat tomorrow. A part of him wants to stop dreading the day he'll turn 18 and be tossed out alone into the world.

So he mutters out a 'Sounds good' to the bird monster. She's very happy to hear his response. She wants to bring him back to Snowdin. She wants to take him to her home. She calls him 'roommate.' She looks at him with warm, kind eyes. She reminds him of her mom so much.

She's impaled by a thorned vine.

Flowey is there. He's angry at him for not making it to Asgore. Clover's angry at Flowey for killing the one monster that cared for him. For taking away his one chance at a happy childhood.

Clover draws his gun at the flower. Time itself seems to bend to Flowey's will, and Clover's gun is back in its holster. White pellets of magic surround him...

Clover turns to Arthur.

He isn't there.

The pellets begin to close in.

Clover was no longer on the rooftop. He was...somewhere. Somewhere dark. Flowey's face appears. He tells him how he's been watching him for hundreds of runs, whatever that means. He sees himself sitting next to Toriel, wearing a comfy sweater. He sees himself leaving the ruins.

He sees himself dying. To some monsters in Snowdin. To an armored guard and her blue energy spears. To some orange and blue beams of light.

He sees Flowey, tampering with a switch in the Ruins.

He tries to fight him. He has no gun. He has no body; he looks down and sees a vague, yellow outline of what he looked like.

He tries to run. Vines are coming out of the floor. He runs. He runs throughout the Dunes, throughout Snowdin, throughout the Steamworks, and through other places he knew, but now doesn't. The vines keep chasing him. He...

He finds Martlet. She has his back turned to him. She turns around. Clover's heart (he has no heart) skips a beat. She dashes forward and wraps her wings around him in a hug. She says she has no idea what's happening. She says she remembers that they were going to her home in Snowdin. She says she doesn't know the way to her house from here, but they can find it together. She says she's so glad she's found him.

She found him.

Found him.

H E  F O U N D  H I M.

Martlet begins to melt. An eyeball replaces her head. Clover sprints past her and hops onto Ava. Flowey is there, on the other side. He's a huge flower made of petals and vines. He's made of paper. He's made of clay. He's made of cloth. He's made of flesh and blood. He's made of metal. He's made of all of those things, and Clover shoots them all down with his soul.

Flowey is upset. He cuts him a deal. Flowey says he'll 'reset'. That he'll bring him back to the beginning. He tells him that he's supposed to make different choices. He tells him that he'll help him get the other children's souls...whether he wants to or not.

Clover is back in the ruins. He's back on the Wild East and Starlo is trying to shoot him and there's a gun in his hand and Starlo is bleeding dust from a wound and he's back in the Steamworks and Axis is chasing him and he's back on the rooftop and Martlet is hanging from a vine through her chest and he's back on that ferry in Blackwater and Heidi McCourt's eye is hanging by a thread of tendon and her brain is plastered over the wall and-

Clover opened his eyes. He was no longer in a black void. He was no longer on a boat. He was no longer on the rooftops. He was lying on top of a large bed inside a dark room. 

He tried to remember what happened. Then, the memories of him and Arthur meeting Martlet on the rooftop came flooding back, and he shivered. He remembers how the bird monster was impaled by a vine right in front of him, as he was powerless to do anything about it. He remembers Flowey, popping out of the roof where Marltet once was. He remembers focusing as hard as he could, just like Arthur taught him; how time seemed to slow down around him, letting him carefully line up each shot. He remembers filling the flower with bullets, how satisfying it had been...before the crushing realization that Martlet, the one monster who cared about him, was gone.

Clover looked to the side. Arthur was there, his back turned to him, sitting on the other side of the bed as he stared at the wall.

"...Arthur?" Clover called out in a whisper.

"Hey, kid," Arthur said as he turned around to face him, his expression turning worried once he saw Clover. "Bad dream?"

Clover responded with a shaky nod, the child shifting under the blanket. 

"Don't worry. These'll go away after a while. Or at least get better," he reassured, sounding like he was speaking from experience.

Arthur Morgan...extraordinary bounty hunter and gunslinger of unparalleled skill. Clover thought Arthur was probably the coolest person ever after his mom. He bet he could even catch Dutch van der Linde! He came all the way down here just to look for him, and Clover didn't even have to fight him to get his help. He's shy to admit it...but Clover kind of wishes his father had been like him, instead of leaving him and his mom when he was young. 

And yet, as he looked at the man, a small twinge of dread lurked in the back of his mind. The same dread he felt when Arthur had passed out from a coughing fit back in the Wild East. The same dread he'd felt when he saw his mom get shot when he saw Starlo collapse into a pile of dust, when he saw Martlet hanging from a vine up on that rooftop.

"Arthur...do you think I'm...cursed?"

Arthur raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Cursed? Can't say I'm much of a superstitious feller, but...what makes you say that?"

Clover looked down at the sheets and began twiddling his thumbs.

"W-well...my m-mom d-died...I had to k-kill Starlo, and...and M-M-Martlet..." Clover wiped away a single tear forming in his eye before continuing. "It...it just feels like everyone around me keeps...dying...a-and I'm worried it will happen to y-you too..."

Arthur let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a bit. 

"I ain't goin' nowhere, kid. Trust me. Not until after we get outta this mess. After that, though...we'll have to go our separate ways, I'm afraid."

Clover nodded in understanding. Arthur probably had his own people to get back to. He had already asked a lot of him without giving anything in return. Wanting even more was selfish.

"How long did I sleep for?" the child questioned, looking back at Arthur.

" I reckon 'bout half an hour or so," Arthur replied. "You tired? You can sleep some more if you want."

Clover shook his head in response.

"We really shouldn't. I don't know when they'll send monsters to investigate...what happened at the rooftop."

"Hm...good call, I 'spose" Arthur replied as Clover got off the bed. Both humans put on their hats and wrapped their holsters around their waists. Clover wiped off a few tears that had been forming in his eyes. Now was not the time for that. He remembered the reason why he came here, his mission.

With the help of Arthur, he would free those poor children's souls. He would make their killer answer for his crimes.

Justice would be done.

Chapter Text

The two humans walked through the king's castle, quietly observing their surroundings as they passed. Arthur had to admit, during all his travels, that he had never seen anything like the monster capital before. Instead of the spread-out community of Snowdin, or the small town of the Wild East, the capital stretched out across the horizon, easily matching and surpassing even some big human cities like Saint Denis. From here, Arthur could see various monsters going about their business, walking through the streets of the mostly gray city. 

"It's strange....to think there was an entire civilization down here all this time..." Clover commented, having stopped to observe the city. 

"Yeah," Arthur agreed. "Don't think we should be tellin' any folks 'bout what we saw, though. Best case, they think we're crazy. Worst case, someone gets curious and climbs that mountain to see if it's true."

"That's probably a good idea," Clover assented with a nod. The two humans began to walk again, stepping into a fancy-looking elevator. As they waited, a question popped into Arthur's mind.

"Say, kid...how'd you find this place anyway?"

The child's expression turned grim all of a sudden. He looked away for a moment, nervously scratching his arm. After a few seconds, the kid spoke up.

"...I was trying to find some kids that went missing from my village since none of the adults wanted to look for them. I even had a poster with their faces and all, but I lost it in the Ruins," the child explained. He lowered his gaze even further before continuing. "...after I fell down, Flowey...that flower monster from earlier...he told me they were...gone. The...the king...Asgore had k-killed them and taken their souls..."

...

...

...

Oh...

...

Arthur Morgan was not a good man. He'd been stealing from people before he was even a man in the first place. And living his life as an outlaw had taught him some things. Mostly practical knowledge, like how to crack a safe, how to pick a lock, how to stick up a stagecoach, or how to survive in a shootout. But also some unexpected things, like the unwritten, implicit rules of the outlaw lifestyle. There was a certain set of rules any criminal was expected to follow. Chief among them: not harming children.

It wasn't particularly difficult to understand why. If there was a thing in common among almost every outlaw, it was a rough childhood. There was an implicit agreement among them to try and avoid causing children any harm; to try and allow them to have a better life than theirs. Adults were fair game; you could cheat them, rob them, beat them, kill them...but not children. Never children.

So when you saw someone willing to get children involved in their mess, like that Braithwaite woman, that's when you knew you were dealing with a real bastard. Not someone who had fallen on hard times and did what they had to to survive. Not someone who just made some poor choices in life, no. You were dealing with the bottom of the barrel, the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low, the scummiest of scum.

A snarl appeared on the cowboy's face as he pictured five terrified children falling down this mountain, being hunted left and right for their souls, being killed by some monster, and having their souls trapped somewhere for God only knows how long. His anger served only to provoke another coughing fit, a few droplets of blood staining the floor of the elevator, whose door had just now opened.

"Arthur! Are you okay?" Clover asked the outlaw, his expression full of worry and concern. Arthur raised a hand to stop him from getting too close.

"I'm fine, don't worry," the cowboy assured as soon as the coughing stopped. Taking a moment to adjust his hat, Arthur looked at Clover. "Come on. Let's go and pay Mr. Asgore a social call."

After wandering through yet more gray corridors, the two humans found themselves in front of a large throne room. Yellow buttercups spread out around a large, golden throne. In front of this throne stood a tall, elegantly dressed figure, wearing a long, purple cape, and a crown above his head, marking him as the king of this whole place.

"Dum dee dum...", the monster hummed to himself as he watered a few flowers in front of the throne. "Oh! Is someone there? Just a moment. I have almost finished watering these flowers.

Arthur waited, impatiently tapping his foot against the floor as the king watered the plants. He glanced to the side and saw Clover staring at the king, a mix of apprehension and determination evident in the kid's expression. He shot Clover a reassuring smile, which Clover responded to with one of his own. After a few moments, the king set down his watering can.

"...Here we are!" Asgore declared as he began to turn around. "Howdy! How can I-"

"Howdy, yer majesty," Arthur said with a tone of mocking irony, his arms crossed as he gave the king a very unamused glare. "We've been lookin' for some people that went missin' round here. Lil' kids, 'round this young feller here's age. You seen any of 'em?"

The king closed his eyes in response and let out a sad sigh.

"...I see. I suppose this was inevitable, was it not?" the king pondered, opening his eyes. "...I suppose I ought to count my blessings, that one of you is not a child. You both know what we must do. When you two are ready, follow me into the next room."

"Bastard..." Arthur muttered to himself. He was tempted to pull out his revolver right here and there and shoot the king in the back. But he didn't; not out of any sense of honor or respect for his opponent; God knows someone who murders children doesn't deserve any. Arthur knew Blackjack's revolvers didn't pack enough punch to kill with a single well-placed shot like human weapons did. Instead, the outlaw followed the king into the next room.

Asgore led the humans through a narrow doorway at the end of a small corridor. Once the two were inside, the king spoke up.

"This is the barrier. This is what keeps us trapped underground."

After a few moments, the goat monster turned around.

"I feel like it is important I show you two something."

Out of nowhere, seven glass cylinders popped out from the floor. Five of them contained colorful glowing hearts: green, orange, cyan, blue, and purple. Two of them were empty, no doubt reserved for Clover and Arthur.

Arthur stared at the colored souls, and his blood began to boil. He imagined someone like little Jack, falling here into this place. Being murdered and trapped in one of these jars. Abigail crying back at camp over her missing child. John drinking his sorrows away. Five children that would never get to grow up. Five parents that would never see their children again...

...five too many.

Arthur glanced to the side. It seemed he was not alone in his anger; Clover was shaking furiously, gritting his teeth as his gun was trained on the king.

"You know, Mr. Asgore... cough cough ... I've met some real bad folks in my life," Arthur declared, drawing his knife and pointing it at the monster. "...Killed some of 'em. Shared a campfire with others. But you...you're somethin' else." Arthur waved at the contained souls with the knife. "Least the bastards I met let their victims rest in peace after they were done with 'em."

"I understand your anger, but..." the king spoke, with a melancholic tone that only made Arthur more furious. "...this is how it must be. Grim as it may be, as king, this is my duty to my people. Monsterkind must be fre-"

"I don't care if it was your duty, or what you needed them souls for, those were kids, God damn it! Boys are off limits!" Arthur yelled out, repeating something Hosea once said and earning a few coughs for his efforts. Narrowing his eyes, the cowboy wiped his mouth before turning to Clover.

"Kid, stay back 'n try and get some pot shots in. Let me handle him."

The child gave a determined nod, taking a few steps back, just out of the king's reach. Asgore meanwhile, had somehow pulled a large red trident from God knows where, and was staring down at the two humans, a visage of resignation on his face. The king stood there, waiting for Arthur to make his first move.

So Arthur did.

The outlaw knew his gun would be useless, especially in close-quarters combat like this. Fortunately, he knew how to use a knife pretty damn well. He thrust his arm forward, trying to jam his knife straight into the king's muzzle. Arthur's hope for a quick end to the battle was shattered when the king simply stepped back, dodging the thrust with clear expertise. It seemed like his majesty had been in a couple of fights or two.

With children, most likely.

...Bastard.

The king responded by swiping his trident at Arthur. He barely managed to avoid being slashed by it by ducking under the weapon. Sensing an opportunity, Arthur attempted to slash the goat monster's face, but out of nowhere, bright, hot balls of fire appeared just behind the king, flying toward Arthur's exposed soul. The outlaw jumped to the side in response, giving up his opportunity to attack the king. 

A gunshot rang out through the room. Clover tried to get a hit in but managed to nail only the king's wide shoulder pads. Fortunately, the goat monster seemed to mostly ignore the child and focused exclusively on Arthur, recognizing him as the greater threat.

Or maybe he wanted to save the kid for last. Like some sort of sick, twisted dessert.

Bastard.

Arthur took a moment to recover and sprinted forward. He needed to close the distance between them; Asgore's weapon might be longer, but he was easier to manage. The outlaw knew he'd have the upper hand in close combat. Unfortunately, the king seemed to know this too. He pointed his trident forward, making small thrusts with the weapon, probing Arthur's defenses and daring him to come closer.

Arthur took the challenge. Swapping his knife from his right hand to his left, the outlaw grabbed one of the ends of the trident with his dominant hand and shoved it aside. This gave him an opening to close the gap, making it difficult for the king to use his weapon and the human was granted an opportunity to swing his knife at the king's face. One cut landed just below his muzzle, and another one cut his cheek and nicked one of his floppy goat ears, small amounts of dust pouring out of the wounds. The king tried to swipe at Arthur with his claws, managing only a small cut on Arthur's forehead. Arthur attempted to stab again but was forced back by yet another fireball.

"What's wrong? Cough... ain't used to fightin' adults?" Arthur taunted, earning nothing but an inaudible mutter from the king. The goat monster's eyes flashed blue, then blue again, then orange, as he quickly swiped his trident three times at Arthur. For a moment, Arthur could swear the weapon passed right past him until he tried to move away, at which point he felt a sharp pain coming from his chest as the trident came into contact with his soul. Meanwhile, Clover had attempted to take a few shots, with varying degrees of success: some hitting the king's armor, others hitting his horns, a few landing on his head, but none of them dealing too much damage.

Arthur once again swapped his knife from his right to his left. He grabbed one end of the trident and immediately felt Asgore pull the weapon downward, trying to compensate for his attempt to push the weapon away, the king's massive paws gripping the trident a bit closer to the head of the weapon to get a better grip. But Arthur wasn't stupid enough to try the same trick twice; instead of pushing it away, Arthur pulled it towards himself, stepping to the side a bit to make sure not to stab himself in the process. This caught the king off guard, and got him just close enough to stab at the king's paws, chopping off his index finger as the limb disintegrated into dust. The sheer shock made the goat monster's grip on the weapon tighten, and Arthur pressed the assault. Asgore moved his trident upwards, trying to defend himself, but Arthur quickly stashed his knife and grabbed the trident with both hands, tearing it out of the king's grasp.

Quickly pulling out his knife again, Arthur attempted to resume his assault, attempting to stab at the disarmed king, but lost his balance when a poorly timed coughing fit struck him. The king managed to recover and tried to send a few fireballs his way. Arthur had to cover his face with his hand just to not get hit in the head by a fireball. He shouted in pain as a few flames hit him, the force of the blast sending his knife flying out of his grip. Monster magic wasn't as effective when striking a human's body as opposed to their soul, Arthur had figured out from his many encounters with hostile monsters, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt. And the king's fire magic, while not as painful as actual fire, still singed Arthur's arm. 

Spitting a mix of saliva and blood onto the floor, Arthur raised his fists in a defensive stance. He went in for a right hook, landing the blow directly at the king's face. The outlaw followed this with a left hook, then another right hook, and finally an uppercut.

"Can't even kill a dying man..." the cowboy taunted, once again earning no verbal response. Instead, Asgore threw a wave of fire at him, forcing him to block with his arms to avoid being struck in the soul. He screamed out as he felt the hot fire burn his arms. Asgore used the opportunity to close the gap, swiping at Arthur with his claws, creating three large slashes on his cheek. With his right paw, Asgore grabbed Arthur's throat, pinning him against the wall. With his left, Asgore began to charge up a fireball, the flame growing larger and larger as Arthur struggled against his grip.

A shot rang out through the room. Then another, then another. The shots landed on Asgore's cheek and his shoulder pad, doing not much other than inconveniencing him. Clover attempted a third shot, but his gun clicked, signaling it was out of ammo. The child then rushed forward, hitting the king's leg repeatedly with his revolver. Without even looking, the king kicked the child away, and Clover's back slammed against the wall.

Seeing the goat monster hurt the child galvanized Arthur's resolve as he slammed his elbow directly into the arm holding his neck just as Asgore unleashed the charged-up flame. The hit managed to throw off his aim enough to the point where all the fireball managed was to burn a couple of strands of Arthur's hair. Arthur slammed his elbow again, and the king finally loosened his grip enough for the outlaw to escape. Taking a deep breath, Arthur started to feel his body's disapproval; his tuberculosis was draining his energy fast. Arthur had to put an end to this murderous king quickly.

Taking a step forward, Arthur swung his arm in a right hook. The king blocked it, but Arthur grabbed each of the monster's paws with his hands, opening him up for a headbutt. As the king staggered back from the blow, Clover finished reloading his weapon and focused, then fired six bullets in quick succession at the king's face. This dazed the goat monster enough for Arthur to press the attack, as he landed one left hook, then a right, then another left, then another right, followed by a jab straight to the face. The king was sent tumbling down into the floor. 

Arthur and Clover both approached the fallen king. The outlaw grabbed the king by the neck, readying a punch, while the child reloaded his revolver. Suddenly, Asgore raised his right paw, and a huge storm of fire swept across the room, sending Arthur and Clover both flying into the nearby walls.

The king stood up, his large shadow looming over Arthur as he lay on the floor. Asgore bent down to grab his trident and began walking towards Arthur to finish him off. Outside the room, Arthur began to crawl towards his knife, feeling the immense pain of both the burns in his body and the injuries in his soul.

"It is over, now," the king spoke. "With the help of your souls, we will finally be free. Goodbye, humans."

"No... cough.  Only one who's goin' free is Clover... cough... " Arthur said, his voice beginning to crack. He desperately began to crawl towards his knife while the king approached, even as his lungs felt like they were about to give out on him. "There ain't no freedom... cough ...not for the likes of us..."

The knife was tantalizingly close now. Arthur pushed on, despite his body's protests, despite his growing exhaustion, despite his tuberculosis demand that he stop and rest. With a bit more crawling, Arthur reached the weapon just as the shadow of a raised trident loomed over him. One shot...he would have one shot at this. 

A single shot rang out through the air. The bullet from Clover's gun hit the king straight in the chest, but his armor protected him from the bullet. However, it caused the king to falter for the briefest of moments, to quickly glance to the side, where Clover was, back turned against a wall and gun raised.

It was enough.

Arthur picked up his knife, and with all his might, threw it at the king. The sound of something sharp piercing flesh was heard, and when Arthur looked up, he saw Asgore's shocked face, staring down at the blade piercing his neck. His expression of shock turned into one of both exhaustion and acceptance, as the king took a few steps back and sat down just in front of the glass jars, dust pouring rapidly from his neck. With one last breath, the king closed his eyes, and his body disappeared into dust, leaving only his armor and a white, upside-down heart floating above it.

Chapter Text

Arthur began to crawl back into the barrier room. With the king dead, a wave of exhaustion hit him all at once. And yet, he pushed on; he had one more thing to do: send the kid out of this awful place. After that...

...Well, Arthur felt he wouldn't have to worry about what happened afterward.

Making his way into the room, Arthur sat down, his back turned to a wall. The kid was staring at the white, upside-down heart that Asgore had left. Suddenly, the heart began to move, floating in Clover's direction and sinking into the kid's chest, making the child shudder.

"Arthur...we did it! We got the king!" Clover turned his gaze to his left and found Arthur sitting with his back to the wall. He must have noticed the sorry state Arthur was in, wheezing and coughing out, struggling to even breathe. "A-Arthur! Are you okay?"

The child rushed to Arthur's side, looking at him with an expression of pure despair. 

"Arthur! Come on, let's get out of here! We...we gotta find you a doctor!"

"No..." Arthur managed to wheeze out. He would have sighed, had his lungs allowed for it; he would have explained to the kid how there's no cure for what he has. "No, I think I pushed all I can..."

"D-don't...don't say that..." Clover meekly muttered out, fidgeting nervously with his hat. "Come on, Arthur. We can make it!"

"No, you get out of here..." Arthur replied in between coughs, looking at Clover with a pleading expression. "...go..."

"I...I'm not leaving!' Clover declared, his hands clenching into small fists. "Not without you! After all, you did for me...I c-can't..."

"Here, take this," Arthur said, taking off his satchel and wrapping it around Clover. He had to bend it a bit to fit the child's smaller size, but in the end, it rested just beneath Clover's other bag he always carried around. "There's...money in there. Enough for you to just...get away from everythin', if you ever need to."

"No!" Clover cried out as he fumbled with the bag's strap, trying and failing to take it off. "I...I can't take this! I...I..."

"It would mean a lot to me..." Arthur pleaded, his voice cracking further and further with each word. He grabbed Clover's hat, fallen from his head during the battle, from the ground, and put it on the child's head. "...please..."

"B-but...you promised, A-Arthur..." the child whimpered out, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I-it's not f-fair...y-you promised you wouldn't..."

Arthur shook his head. Damn this kid and his stupid sense of justice. His stupid lack of self-preservation. At this rate, Clover wouldn't leave before someone decided to consult the king for some business or another. He was almost tempted to try and drag the child out by force, but he knew he didn't have the strength for it anymore.

A thought crossed Arthur's mind. There was...one way of convincing Clover to leave. The outlaw knew it would make Clover hate him. The outlaw knew it would hurt him. A lot, most likely.

And yet...an injured child was still better than a dead one. Arthur swallowed and spoke up, his tuberculosis being only half the reason he struggled to get the words out.

"Listen, there's somethin' I gotta tell you. I...I lied to you...I ain't no bounty hunter..."

The child's eyes widened in surprise.

"W-what?"

Arthur broke into another coughing fit. After recovering, he cleared his throat and forced himself to continue.

"I...I was Dutch van der Linde's right-hand man. Been ridin' with his gang for nearly twenty years....man was practically my father."

Dozens of different emotions flashed through Clover's face in a single instant. Shock. Denial. Sorrow. Anger.

...Betrayal...

"We robbed folks...killed folks. Decent folks... evil folks...didn't matter to us...long as we got paid."

A moment of soul-crushing silence passed by. Nothing could be heard, except the quiet hum of the barrier, Arthur's ragged, wheezing breathing, and eventually, Clover's quiet sobbing, the tears that had threatened to spill from earlier falling from his eyes.

"...W-w-w-w-wh-why...?"

"Oh, I ask myself that every day, kid..." Arthur admitted with a shake of his head. "Why didn't I quit while I had the chance? Why didn't I notice how far off Dutch had gone sooner? Truth is...I was a damn fool. Don't...don't be a fool like me, you hear? You get out of here and stay away from...from all this. Gunsliging...violence...fighting...all of it. Please..."

The boy continued to sob uncontrollably. After a few moments of silence, a silence that seemed to judge Arthur for each and every one of his sins, Arthur saw the gun in Clover's hands...pointed directly at him, along with a furious snarl on his face.

...He hoped Clover wouldn't do it. Not out of any sense of self-preservation; Arthur knew he wasn't long for this world. Clover had killed up to this point, but only because he had to. Killing someone because you wanted to...it took something away from you. A little spark of innocence that you could never get back, no matter what. 

Clover began to squeeze the trigger.

Arthur closed his eyes.

A shot was fired. 

...but the pain never came. Arthur opened his eyes and saw that Clover had turned his revolver to the glass jars at the last moment, shattering the one containing the green heart and freeing the soul within. With a precise aim, Clover did the same with the remaining four jars, landing precise shot after precise shot in quick succession. Soon, the souls were all freed, floating gently above the ground in front of the barrier.

Clover made his way to the souls, who seemed to float around the boy as if following him. He turned his head around and took one last glance at Arthur.

"Go on, kid..." Arthur muttered out, coughing a few times. "I'll...I'll be okay."

With that, Clover turned back to face the barrier and walked away. The white light began to engulf him and the souls, the image of Clover with the floating hearts growing dimmer and dimmer, until it disappeared completely, leaving Arthur alone.

Arthur slumped against the wall, his body finally starting to give out. He'd done it. He'd gotten the kid out...even if he himself would never leave this place.

His thoughts turned to the people back at camp; to John, Jack, and Abigail. Arthur's only real regret was not being able to help them get away from the fine mess that had become the van der Linde gang under Micah's influence. Still, what's done is done. Arthur could only hope that John would listen to his advice to leave and not look back when the time came.

Arthur heard a few footsteps coming from his front. Another monster, here to investigate maybe? The outlaw dug out his revolver and pointed it...

What he found was no monster. Instead, a beautiful buck stood in front of him, its pelt being bathed by the golden sunlight coming from the barrier as the animal stared at him. It looked at him with what almost seemed like a smile. The cowboy closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Arthur Morgan was not a good man...

But maybe...Clover still had the chance to be.

Chapter Text

Clover ran out of the Underground, with the children's souls following behind him and fresh tears falling from his face. The sun nearly blinded him, having spent so much time inside the mountain, and Clover was forced to cover his eyes. Once his sight had re-accustomed itself to the light, Clover laid down with his back against the mountain and sobbed.

Arthur Morgan...the man who saved his life, at the expense of his own. The man who protected him in a land filled with people out to murder them, all for nothing in return. Someone he trusted, someone he cared for...was an outlaw. Not any outlaw, but Dutch van der Linde's right-hand man. In the end, he was with the same people who took away his mom.

How could he? He trusted him! Not once in his life had Clover felt so betrayed. Even North Star's attempt on his life felt like nothing compared to this. He knew, of course, that his mom wasn't the only victim of the van der Linde gang. Countless other people had been killed, both in the Blackwater Massacre and by other heists by the gang, so much so that a small fortune was being offered to whoever brought the gang's leader in. Clover wondered how many of these were from Arthur's hand? How many families were left in mourning because of Arthur? How many hated Arthur just as much as Clover hated Dutch?

The human child buried his face in his arms and continued to cry. A swirl of emotions passed through the young human's mind; betrayal, pain, regret, anger...then, once his tears dried up, a wave of tiredness and exhaustion overtook him and washed away most of those feelings. The sun was beginning to set...apparently, his little tantrum had lasted longer than he realized. He used his sleeve to wipe the last few tears off his eyes and saw that the souls had simply vanished. Did they move on, somehow? Clover hoped they did. Those poor kids deserved it after being trapped for so long.

His mama had told him that the souls of good people went to heaven after they died. Clover hoped they would meet them there. He thought they might like someone to look after them.

'For what it may be worth, young one...I am sorry.'

Clover froze in shock when he heard the king's voice. How could this be? He and Arthur had killed the goat monster...Clover was sure of it. He'd seen the king's body collapse into a mist of fine white dust with his own two eyes. He suddenly recalled something Flowey said. To escape the underground, he'd have to absorb Asgore's soul. Maybe that's what happened when the white, upside-down floated into his chest? That would explain how he could hear his voice.

A terrible thought crossed his mind. If the king was still there after his soul was absorbed...if a soul retained its owner's consciousness after their death...what did it mean for the five humans who came before him? Were they aware this entire time? Trapped in a glass jar for years...unable to move, unable to see, unable to feel...Clover felt a chill run up his spine.

'...can you not hear me, child?'

The thought singlehandedly shifted all of Clover's fury from Arthur to Asgore. Not content with murdering those kids, he intended to use them as tools so he and his people could escape, then force them to watch from within his body as he enjoyed a happy life on the surface, a happy life at the expense of their own. And so, Clover decided right then and there that he was going to use the king's own plan against him. He is a tool for Clover to escape the Underground, and nothing more. He will not respond to his voice, nor will he so much as acknowledge the goat monster's existence. He is a tool and nothing else. Other people may call it petty. Clover thought it was poetic justice.

'...I suppose not. Perhaps it is for the best.'

Clover looked down from the mountain at the nearby town of Strawberry. His eyes fixated on the sheriff's office on the other side of town. He supposed the first thing to do was to report what happened to the authorities. Maybe they can do something to stop more people from falling into the underground. Who knows? Maybe by finding out what happened to the missing children, he'll even become his town's hero! Maybe he could even become a local deputy someday...wouldn't that be nice?

Clover left the sheriff's office, huffing in frustration. The sheriff had just dismissed his story as a prank or some sort of childish game and ordered him to go home, because God forbid Clover actually meets more than one useful adult in his life who isn't a criminal. His only consolation is that Asgore finally learned his place and stopped trying to talk to him.

...Oh well, if the authorities won't do anything, then Clover supposes he'll just have to do it himself. If someone falls down, Clover supposed he could just go back and rescue them.  He could build some signs near the hole he fell into, warning people to be careful. Or maybe board up the hole entirely. He has the money to buy the necessary materials, thanks to...

No. Clover doesn't want to think about Arthur right now. He focuses his thoughts back on his plan. He...doesn't really have any experience working with wood, now that he thinks about it.

...

...

...

Martlet knew some woodworking.

...

...

...

If Flowey hadn't...killed her...maybe she could have taught him...

The thought makes Clover let out a sad sigh. Maybe he could shelf that plan for later. Right now...he had to find somewhere to hide Arthur's satchel. He went through it while he descended the mountain. It contained several items, including various bits of cooked meat and other preserved foods, a large collection of plants and flowers of different types, a few bottles of medicine, a collection of some of these cards you can find in packs of cigarettes, and the two items that interested him most: two thousand dollars in cash, and a brown notebook, apparently Arthur's journal. The child had looked at the first page, outlining his gang's...finances, and immediately shut the book. He didn't want to read about Arthur bragging about how much money he made from robbing and killing people. 

As for the money...Clover knew it wasn't his to keep. But to his shame...he can't bring himself to part with it either. So he decides to push the can down the road and hide it, and decides to bury it under a tree near Mt. Ebbot, so he can decide what to do with it later. Right now, after all the ordeals he went through...Clover is tired. He just wants to return to the orphanage, make up whatever excuse he can to explain why he had been missing the entire day, endure whatever punishment he's given, and go to sleep.

And so, Clover returned to his pitiful life as some orphan in a small town in West Elizabeth.

Clover McCourt is not a good man. He knows this the day before he becomes a man in the eyes of the law; the day before his 18th birthday. He makes sure to leave the orphanage on this exact day, just to deny the women who run the place the pleasure of kicking him out. They always treated everyone there terribly. 'Suffering builds character', they said, and Clover thought it must be true. They never suffered. They weren't the ones spending the night hungry in a cold shed because a plate slipped from their hands and broke while washing the dishes. It only stood to reason that they had no character whatsoever.

He immediately ran to the tree where he buried Arthur's satchel and dug it up. The young man found both the diary and the money still intact, the other items having been discarded by him. Two thousand dollars, earned through murder and robbery...

Clover supposed that the just thing to do was to return the money to their rightful owners. However, he knew that it was simply not possible. To no one's surprise, neither the van der Linde gang nor Arthur kept detailed records of who they stole from, how much they stole, and when. A good man would instead have donated the money to a charity or a church, hoping to repair some of the harm that these outlaws had caused...but Clover was not a good man. He knew that if he's stuck working in a mine for 12 hours a day, getting his lungs filled with coal dust all in exchange for a pitiful salary so he can eat some barely edible stew made of half-rotten meat and stale carrots, all while the mining company lends him some ran-down shack filled with cockroaches and rats in front of some dirty street filled to the brim with horse shit to live in...then Clover won't be able to do what he needs to do. He won't be able to go after Dutch van der Linde and bring him to justice.

So, his first purchase was a hammer, a small box of nails, some planks, and a saw. He then climbs up Mt. Ebbot, traversing the same path he did 7 years ago when he was still a naive child hoping to be a hero and finds the hole he fell through. He set down his materials and began working on some signs, warning nearby hikers to watch out for holes. He also boarded up the hole he fell through and the tunnel he left the Underground from, just for good measure. By the end of the afternoon, his hands were sore, his boots and pants were covered in sawdust, and he'd smashed his finger against a piece of wood about five times, cut his hand with a saw about four, and dug out about seven small splinters of wood from his palm, but he's done it. Hopefully, this means no one else will ever fall down this mountain ever again.

Working on this makes him think of a certain bluebird he met seven years ago, who also enjoyed woodworking...he wondered what Martlet would think of this. Would she be happy that no innocent children would ever be sacrificed again? Would she be sad that monsters will likely never be free? Both?

He shelved the thought for later. Maybe after he's brought his mother's killers to justice, and Dutch van der Linde and his gang's corpses were hanging from a gallow, he'd go back to the Underground and investigate what became of the place. If whoever is in charge decided to abandon Asgore's old policy of murdering any terrified child who fell down...then maybe he'd bring back the corpses of a few murderers and ne'er-do-wells with him. America had no shortage of people with rotten souls that the monsters could put to better use.

His second purchase that day consisted of a LeMat model revolver, a holster, a Rolling Block rifle, a scope, several boxes of ammunition, some gun oil, a lasso, a Dutch Warmblood horse, and a saddle. By the end of the day, he's gone through about a fourth of Arthur's money, but he's ready. With his new horse and his new guns, he heads to the sheriff's office and grabs the first wanted poster he can find. Some lowlife by the name of Moses Lowson is wanted for petty theft and was last seen near Blackwater, according to the sheriff.

One ride around the outskirts of Blackwater, one lassoing, and one ride with a man tied to his horse back to the sheriff's office later, and Clover is 100 dollars richer, and all earned through honest means.

It's far, far from Dutch van der Linde's ten thousand dollar bounty...but it's a start.

Clover spent the next year working as a bounty hunter, hunting down criminals and outlaws for money. He's surprised to find it's nothing like Arthur's described it. Granted, the man was lying through his teeth, but still, the picture he painted made it out to be a rather dull job. The reality Clover found was that most criminals he hunts down would rather take their chances in a gunfight rather than swing from the gallows or spend a not insignificant amount of their life rotting in prison. Unfortunately for them, Clover has been fighting for his life since he was 11, dodging magic bullets and returning fire with a toy gun, so he's quite the formidable opponent. For most of his early bounties, he brought corpses back to the local sheriff's office. He quickly learned how to shoot a man's gun off his hand using the shooting technique Arthur had taught him. Living targets usually paid more, since the local law enforcement preferred to make an example of the target to discourage any future would-be criminals whenever possible.

He was 19 years old and reading a newspaper in a saloon in Valentine when a particular article caught his attention. The U.S. Congress had grown critical of the government's repeated use of private agencies to investigate criminal organizations. For this reason, the U.S. government founded the Bureau of Investigation, a fully staffed federal agency with jurisdiction to investigate crime across the entire country. America was to become a land of laws; there was no room in this country for delinquents who preyed on the innocent, like Dutch van der Linde or Arthur Morgan. From what he read, former Pinkerton agent Edgar Ross was to be appointed the newly formed organization's head, and the Bureau's first headquarters was to be located in the Blackwater Police Department building. 

Edgar Ross...Clover knew the name from somewhere. He spent a few minutes searching his brain for any information about the feller when he finally remembered. He had met the man in 1899, shortly after Clover's mother was killed in the Blackwater Massacre. Mr. Ross had questioned his 11-year-old self for any information that might lead to the capture of the van der Linde gang. After that, the man had arranged for Clover to be sent to the orphanage in Strawberry, and Clover had never seen him again.

The newspaper article stayed on his mind for the next two weeks. He tried to investigate the whereabouts of the van der Linde gang on his own for a bit. Apparently, the gang had mostly split after a botched robbery on a train seven years ago, but that was about all he could find. The gang had seemingly been quite careful in erasing their tracks. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to track down their remaining members.

If Clover had access to the government's resources, however, that might change things...

And so, Clover found himself riding all the way to Blackwater, entering the Blackwater Police Department building, and asking for a job. This only gets him laughed at by the other B.O.I agents. Some bounty hunter with less than one year of experience who just recently entered adulthood wants a spot at the federal government's top investigative agency? Clover was promptly told that the very idea is preposterous, and is pointed in the direction of the exit.

Then, he challenged one of the agents to a duel, old west style: ten paces, first to their gun wins. Not with actual guns of course (he'd never kill a man for such a petty reason), but with fake ones, much like the gun he carried when he first descended Mount Ebbot. One agent decided to humor his request. Ten paces, and the man had been hit in the back before he could even fully turn around.

Another agent decided to try his luck. He barely had time to reach for his holster before a harmless pellet hit his chest. Then, another agent challenged him. Then another. Half an hour later, he's beaten two-thirds of the agents there to the draw, including people who worked with the Pinkertons for years and men who served in the army.

Then, a man arrived at the building. An older man, with a thick, gray mustache and a receding hairline, who the other agents quickly identify as Mr. Edgar Ross himself. The old man narrows his eyebrows at the sight of all the agents gathered around the first floor, turning to an agent on his left.

"Agent Carson, may I ask you what the hell is going on here?"

"Mr. Ross, sir, this feller 'ere wants a job. Challenged and beat nearly half the force to a duel, too."

"Is that so?" the man, apparently Edgar Ross himself, said, as he examined Clover. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Clover McCourt, sir," the young man introduced himself, straightening his posture. "I think we met already...after the Blackwater massacre in 1899. I was on the ferry back then, and you questioned me during the investigation."

"Hmm..." the man pondered for a bit, humming to himself and pacing around the building before continuing. "Ah yes, I remember now. You're the child of that woman who was killed on the ferry, aren't you? Come to take your revenge on the outlaws and lowlives of this land? Like Red Harlow and his great quest for vengeance against Governor Griffon?"

"Something like that," Clover replied, to which the man gave a satisfied nod.

"Very well, then. Mr. McCourt...Mr. Fordham...let's go to my office to...discuss the finer points of the art of bringing liars, murderers, and thieves to the gallows."

Clover followed Mr. Ross and another agent to his office upstairs. It was decently decorated, with an elegant red carpet, filled bookshelves on the walls, numerous paintings, and one of those new electric fans cooling the room. Mr. Ross gestured for him to take a seat on the other side of his desk, and so Clover did. Meanwhile, the other agent, Mr. Fordham, stood next to the doorway.

"Now, Mr. McCourt..." the older man said, sitting down on his own chair. "Your little display down there was quite impressive, but I do hope you realize that there's more to catching criminals than being good at shooting a man in the head. You need to figure out exactly which man you need to shoot in the head...otherwise, you're gonna end up making some other kid an orphan."

"Well, I've been bounty hunting for almost a year now," Clover declared. "I know how to find a man."

"So you say," Mr. Ross responded, reaching for something in a drawer under his desk. "But I'm a man of actions, not words, Mr. McCourt. Hmm..oh, here it is."

Edgar Ross pulled out a folder of papers from the drawer and placed it on his desk. He then pulled out a cigar and lit it.

"Now, Mr. McCourt...how would you feel about a little field test?"

Clover shrugged in response.

"Sure, why not?"

From the folder, Mr. Ross pulled out the photo of a man with medium-sized black hair and a thick beard that covered his neck.

"This man here, Melvin Spinney, is wanted for murder and robbery. Allegedly, he's been spotted wasting his...earnings, if you will, on poorly thought-out poker bluffs in Thieves' Landing. I want you to go there and see if you can bring him in."

Clover narrowed his eyes.

"Thieves' Landing? Ain't that outside the federal government's jurisdiction?"

Edgar Ross scoffed and rolled his eyes in response, taking a whiff of his cigar.

"Please, Mr. McCourt. You do show some promise, but the job isn't yours just yet. As of right now, you're a private citizen. Nothing more, nothing less. That's the reason why I'm asking you to do this."

"I see...fair enough, I guess."

The older man cleared his throat before he continued to speak.

"Now, as I was saying, I'd like you to bring this man here. Alive. The police chief keeps pestering me about trying out that fancy new 'electric chair' of his he bought last month, you see, so I'm hoping this will get him off my ass for a bit. Do that, and both the bounty on the man's head and the job are yours."

"Alright. I'll do it."

The older man then shook his hand and bid him good luck. Clover went outside and mounted on his horse, then made his way to Thieves' Landing. Sure enough, he found the man playing poker in front of the local saloon. Clover was fairly certain he saw him slip a card from the sleeve of his shirt to his hand. No honor among thieves, he supposed.

He could just pull out his gun on the man right here and there...but he figured it wasn't the best idea. A shootout in an enclosed, populated space like this would likely result in someone innocent getting shot. Well...someone  relatively innocent; no one in Thieves' Landing was truly fully innocent, and Clover would bet good money that he could pull any man from a crowd here and he'd be wanted for something. Still, that didn't mean everyone here deserved to die, so he decided to stick around for a few days, renting a shoddy room next to the saloon. He observed Melvin Spinney for some time and noticed that the man quite enjoyed bathing in the San Luis River just east of town, and did so religiously at 9:00 A.M each day. After that, it was a simple matter of setting up an ambush at the right time and lassoing Melvin Spinney from the river, holding the man at gunpoint as he got dressed.

One ride back to Blackwater later, Clover had earned himself 150 dollars as well as a job as an agent of the Bureau of Investigation, with Edgar Ross serving as his mentor.

The next four years of Clover's career went extremely well. Edgar Ross taught him the fundamentals of investigation, like questioning witnesses, following on leads, and interrogating suspects, among other useful skills. On its own, this, combined with the fact that Clover has been fighting since a young age, already made Clover quite skilled at his work. Still, Clover has a secret trump card.

He doesn't know how, doesn't know why, doesn't know what makes something like this even possible...but somehow, Clover can see into the memories of others, and see their wrongdoings with his own two eyes.

Clover obviously never told anyone of this; at best, they would think it was a joke. At worst, he'd be accused of witchcraft and shunned...if he wasn't burned in a pyre by some angry, superstitious mob. Thankfully, he's been able to pass it off as having an uncanny ability to detect lies.

Because of the fact that few men can beat him in a gunfight, and because of the fact that no one can lie to him, Clover rapidly rises through the ranks of the Bureau of Investigation, quickly becoming one of their top agents. By the end of his first year, he's already brought in more criminals than some have in lifelong careers of law enforcement. He earned himself quite a decent salary at a young age. Most men would save up some money, maybe invest some of it in one of those new automobile companies, then retire with enough funds to buy anything they could ever want, and then some.

Clover isn't 'most men'. He still doesn't have the one thing he wants: justice for Heidi McCourt, justice for his mother. Dutch van der Linde and his accomplices still roam free, as if nothing had ever happened. As if everyone would just forget their crimes, and they'd get to retire to a nice countryside farm somewhere isolated.

He's tried doing some investigating on the side, but still, he has nothing. He's even read Arthur Morgan's old journal, an idea that came to him when he decided to finally dig up the man's bag and donate whatever of the blood-soaked money he'd been given to some charity organization that had opened up recently. He stared at the brown book for five full minutes, fidgeting in place and scratching his hair before sighing and sitting down on a chair in his living room.

Clover isn't quite sure what made him open up those worn pages. His first thought was that maybe something here would lead him to the van der Linde gang members' whereabouts, but he knows this isn't the case. At best, he'd find the son of a nephew of a friend of a brother of someone who sold Dutch van der Linde an apple ten years ago. 

...maybe, in the end, this is just for himself. The closure he needs to finally close the chapter of his life that was his time spent with Arthur Morgan in the Underground.

The first few pages consist of mostly ledgers, lists of people who contributed to the gang's finances, and how much. After that, there were a few pages describing the gang recruiting a few new members, Jenny and Micah, and Arthur's thoughts on the two. Arthur then spent some time discussing possible scams with a man named Hosea, one of the leaders of the gang who Clover knew was killed in a bank robbery in Saint Denis in 1899.

His fingers began to tremble when he reached one particular page. Dutch and Micah had planned to rob a ferry in Blackwater, and Clover had to stop himself from ripping the page apart from sheer rage.

Dutch shot a girl, I am not too sure if by accident or design, and seems like it might have been a setup.

The worst day in Clover's life...for the van der Linde gang, his mother's death was worth exactly 24 words. Of course it was! For them, there was nothing different about the entire ordeal. Kill people to steal money and get rich. Just a regular, normal day of work, of pretending that this innocent girl or the dozens of lawmen they killed had no families, no friends, and no one who would miss them. Just one of the many robberies the gang had been involved in...just one of the many lives Dutch van der Linde and his men had sacrificed for riches.

Clover came very close to lighting up his fireplace and tossing the entire thing into the flames right there, but he calmed himself down and kept on reading. The young man spent a few hours sitting there, reading all about Arthur's life. It reminded him a bit of when he was a child, hungrily devouring every book about famous gunslingers and bounty hunters he could get his little hands on...only this time, the main characters were all terrible people instead of brave heroes. Clover read about the gang's time in Horseshoe Overlook, then their feud with the Braithwaite family in Rhodes, and their trip to Saint Denis in search of Jack, the child of two other gang members. After rescuing the boy and being betrayed by a local mafia boss, apparently, the gang found themselves on a little island called Guarma, in which they squabbled with some man named Fussar.

Tuberculosis. This, apparently, is what was did Arthur in. Not his years of murder, theft, and fighting. A disease he got from beating up some poor farmer for his debts. From the way he wrote it, Arthur seemed just as surprised as Clover.  He knew from the time he spent with Arthur that the man was sick. Arthur would suddenly burst into a coughing fit, and Clover could occasionally see blood spill from his mouth. At the time, his 11-year-old self thought it was just a bad flu or something, but as he grew older and became aware of the deadly disease, Clover began to wonder if that was what afflicted the outlaw. Seemed like he finally got his confirmation.

At the very least, the diagnostic seemed to have changed the man for the better. Arthur seemed to realize what a terrible person Dutch van der Linde was, writing that he 'felt like he didn't know him anymore.' Or maybe Dutch had somehow managed to become even worse than he already was? Clover wasn't sure if that was even possible. Arthur seemed genuinely remorseful for the things he'd done too, almost to the point of wishing for death. On his final few days, he'd gotten into all sorts of trouble to help strangers he'd never met and had recorded the encounters in his journal.

And then...

Some kid from Strawberry asked me to find a friend who's gone missing. Little guy apparently said he'd climb up Mt. Ebbot on a mission. His friend didn't know any more than that. 

As it turns out, place is filled to the brim with monsters. Not monsters like Leviticus Cornwall, or Angelo Bronte, or the Braitwhaites, or the Murfree people or the van der Linde gang. Actual monsters. Some of them look like animals. Others just look weird. A few of them tried to kill me. They pulled out some glowing orange heart thing from my chest and fired some stuff at it. Not sure what that was, but it hurt like hell.

I'm not telling the others about this. None of them are gonna believe me. Dutch's gonna say I finally went insane. Abgail's gonna laugh and maybe tell it to Jack later as a bedtime story. Charles, John and Ms. Grimshaw are gonna ask me how much I've been drinking lately. Micah's gonna ask if I slept with the goat lady.

Hope I can find the kid soon. Seems like he passed through this Honeydew Resort place I stopped in for a coffee. It was pretty good.

Huh...so Arthur had written about his time in the Underground too. This first entry also included an illustration of that goat lady Clover followed for a minute or two when he first fell. He couldn't quite remember her name. For an outlaw whose most developed skill had to be shooting people in the face, Arthur's drawings were surprisingly decent. Had he chosen a different path, maybe the man could have become a famous artist instead.

Clover turned the page.

Found the kid in this little town called 'The Wild East'. Weird name, but looks like a pretty normal settlement. Place is run by this monster named 'North Star' and his posse. Weird feller, but Clover seems to like him. 

The local bartender told me why everyone's out for my head: apparently, we humans locked up monsters down here long ago with some kind of spell. I would have thought it was something from one of Jack's books if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. This means some of these monsters might go after the kid. None of them seemed very tough so far, but I'll have to keep an eye out just in case.

This entry contained an illustration of that star monster he'd met at the Wild East, North Star, real name Starlo. The same monster he'd killed in a duel to the death. At the time, Clover had felt extremely guilty about it. Bad people killed lawmen, Clover had killed a lawman, so that made Clover bad. It made perfect sense to his childish mind. Didn't help that he genuinely had fun goofing around with him and his posse. Now...Clover just felt kind of bitter towards the whole ordeal and towards Starlo himself. The sheriff had made his friends upset because he played favorites, and instead of doing the reasonable thing any adult should have done and apologizing, he instead decided to try to murder him for his soul so he could become a hero, and had gotten himself killed for it. Arthur had tried to console him afterward, saying that the law wasn't always right. Clover sometimes wondered if the outlaw might have had a point.

He still felt a bit sorry for his friend, that fox monster. What was her name again? Ceroba, right? Clover didn't talk much to the woman, but he wondered what became of her...there were no witnesses to his and Starlo's duel, but surely she had to have figured out that her friend was dead at some point, right?

Clover looked at the next page.

The sheriff tried to kill Clover, and he killed the sheriff in self-defense. Seemed very upset about it too. I don't know what happened, but apparently, he wanted the kid's soul to earn his friends' respect. The ruler of this place orders his troops to kill any humans that fall down to collect their souls. Clover and I are both outlaws down here...and the kid didn't even do anything wrong.

We went through some old abandoned building called 'The Steamworks'. Place was covered in this odd pink liquid. Didn't care to find out what it was. This walking machine made of metal ambushed us. Reminded me a bit of Mr. Dragic's invention. The thing was very tough, our bullets didn't even scratch it. Fortunately, I managed to blow it up with some dynamite.

Just before that, we received a letter from that bird monster, Martlet. She said she wanted to meet us at the rooftop of this apartment building. I thought it was a trap, but the kid wanted to go see her. She offered to look after Clover, and the kid seemed interested. I thought it was a trick at the time, but in hindsight, I was probably just being paranoid.

Then, this flower creature came out of nowhere and stabbed her in the chest. Clover filled it with bullets before I got to ask what's going on. Kid seemed real upset about the whole thing. Guess he must have cared a lot about her.

🕇MARTLET

His heart nearly skipped a beat when he saw the illustration of a bipedal, blue-feathered bird monster at the end of the page. It was a rough sketch, but Clover could immediately tell it was Martlet.

Martlet...Clover still thought of her from time to time. He still wondered what might have been, had he been fast enough to stop that vine from piercing her chest. With the experience he had dealing with liars, cheaters, and other fine citizens of this country, it was obvious in hindsight that the flower had never really been on his side. A flower monster who just so happened to be at the exact place he'd fallen in at the exact time, who just so happened to have the power to bend time itself to his will, who just so happened to be immediately willing to lend him this power in exchange for nothing at all, and who just so happened to not mind Clover killing his fellow monsters when they attacked him? His adult self would have immediately known something was off...but his naive child self had trusted him, and Martlet had paid the price for it with her life.

Clover turned the page. It was blank, and so was the next one, so was the next one, indicating that the person who this journal belonged to didn't live to finish it. Clover closed the brown notebook and sighed, leaning back on his chair as he placed the journal on a nearby table.

When Arthur had confessed to being a member of Dutch van der Linde's gang...no, to being his top enforcer, Clover had  hated  him. Not once had he felt so betrayed in his life. Not when Starlo turned on him for fame and glory, and not when Flowey turned on him for...whatever it is he wanted. He'd kept his hatred during the entire time he'd spent at the orphanage in Strawberry. The whole experience had made it difficult for Clover to trust someone for the next 6 or so years. Now...now Clover wasn't sure how to feel about the man.

Arthur Morgan. Dutch van der Linde's right-hand man. Career outlaw who had, along with his gang, terrorized countless people, stolen thousands of dollars, and ended dozens upon dozens of lives. The man who had beaten a dying man to death because of an insignificant debt. The man who had shot up an entire town just to save a single criminal from prison. The cause of grief of many, many families of lawmen and bounty hunters in America.

Arthur Morgan. The man who had spent his last few days on this earth trying to atone for a lifetime of sin. The man who recovered a nun's crucifix from a gang of thieving kids without harming them. The man who taught a grieving woman how to survive in the woods. The man who saved a photographer from being eaten by various wild animals multiple times. The man who had saved an old Civil War veteran, and looked after his horse when his owner passed away. The man who had beaten up a bunch of workers for harassing the son of the man he'd killed. All of this expecting nothing in return.

Without him, the world would have been a better place. Without him, Clover would be nothing but a soul trapped inside a glass jar under the floor of a king's castle. If Clover didn't forgive him, he'd feel like an ungrateful piece of shit. If Clover did forgive him, he'd feel like he was saying all of the people he killed didn't matter at all.

Clover leaned back on his chair and let out a tired sigh. He dug out a pen from his pocket and began to write.

Not sure what possessed me to start reading Arthur's old journal, much less start writing in it. Maybe the irony of the journal of an outlaw being finished by a lawman of all people is amusing enough to justify it.

Arthur Morgan saved my life and died for it, and I spent the last 12 years wondering if I should have killed him myself. Still not sure if I should have.

Can a man who murders the innocent ever be forgiven? If I asked the local pastor, he'd say yes, that through the grace of God, any and all who are willing to seek salvation can achieve it. I'm not much of a religious man, so that never really sat right with me. The killer gets to live out the rest of their life, but what about the people he killed? They just... disappear, and that's that? Like what happened to them didn't even matter in the first place? You could argue that hanging the killer or whatever won't do much to help the dead, which...fair enough, I guess. But it still doesn't feel right.

Why can't people just choose one or the other? Just choose between being good or being bad, instead of this complicated mess of sins and good deeds we call a man? Maybe it's childish to want things to be this simple, but it would make my job a lot easier.

Arthur is a murderer of many and a savior of few. He helped the man who killed my mother for years, and he stopped others from killing me. He's a criminal whose death is poetic justice for that farmer he beat to death, Mr. Downes. He's a man who was like a father to me for the few hours we spent together. He's all of those things at once, and now I don't know what to think of him anymore.

Clover set down Arthur's journal...now his journal, and looked at the bag. It contained nearly one thousand dollars, just a bit under half of what he'd been given all of those years ago. Something born from violence and bloodshed, now being re-purposed to heal instead of harm, to save instead of kill. ' Much like Arthur himself on his last few days' , Clover thought.

Clover stepped into Mr. Edgar Ross' office. His boss was sitting on his chair, smoking one of his cigars while he read a newspaper.

"You called for me, sir?" Clover questioned the older man, who looked up from his newspaper, folding it and setting it on the table.

"Ah, agent McCourt...sit down, please."

Clover sat down on the chair on the other side of his desk. He waited for his boss to speak. Then waited. Then waited some more. After half a minute of silence, Clover decided to speak up.

"Uh, sir? What exactly did you need me for?"

"Considering you're asking me this instead of begging to be assigned to the case, I take it you haven't heard the news?"

"No, I haven't, sir," Clover replied. He usually read the local newspaper during his break for lunch, but it was currently early in the morning.

Edgar Ross slides the newspaper across his desk, and Clover grabs it. His eyes immediately widen upon seeing the headline, and his heart nearly stops.

BILL WILLIAMSON'S GANG TERRORIZES THE POPULATION OF NEW AUSTIN!

Bill Williamson...Clover knew that name. He was, according to the Bureau's records and Arthur's journal, a member of the van der Linde gang, usually filling the role of an extra gunman during their heists.

It was the first time a former member of the gang had shown their face in over 12 years. Clover immediately stood up from his chair.

"Where is he?" Clover demands, looking up from the newspaper to his boss, who points at him with his cigarette.

"Now, now, agent McCourt...I do realize you have a...history with the members of the van der Linde gang, and you must be eager to make your grievances with them known, but it just won't do to lose one of our best men because he rushed in blindly into a fort of armed thugs."

Clover recomposed himself, sitting back down on the chair. Mr. Ross was right, he had to keep his emotions in check. It wouldn't do for him to die before Dutch van der Linde was brought to justice.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes...I was just speaking to Mr. Nate Johnson, a prominent politician who wants to run for governor of West Elizabeth. He wants our help cleaning up crime in the area, you see, so after some discussion, we agreed that the first order of business is to take down the infamous van der Linde gang. And because of your history with them...well, I was wondering if you'd like to-"

"I'd be honored to, sir," Clover says before the man even finishes. Finally...finally some progress. He'd been investigating the gang for years, only to find dead end after dead end.

"That's what I thought," Mr. Ross responds, a large grin on his face. The older man taps his cigar, and some ashes fall into the ashtray on his desk. "Now, Mr. Williamson here and his gang are holed up in Fort Mercer, an old abandoned fort built during the Mexican War. It's located in New Austin, by the Río Bravo region. I pulled some strings and managed to get us a small detachment of army troops and a Gatling gun for our assault on the fort. They'll be here in about a week or so. I want you to go there and do some reconnaissance of the area. Nothing more. I don't want to hear of you getting yourself killed for doing something stupid, you hear?"

Clover once again stood up.

"I won't disappoint you, sir."

Mr. Ross took another huff of his cigar and grabbed the newspaper with his free hand.

"I know you won't."

As Mr. Ross had said, the fort was filled to the brim with armed outlaws. The structure was old and decrepit, but it would still serve Williamson's gang quite well. Clover spent most of the day surveying the local area with his binoculars, but he must have gotten careless. One of the bandits manning the fort's walls noticed him, raised his rifle, and opened fire. The bullet had hit Clover directly in the chest. He had thought this was it; that he wasn't even going to bring even one former member of the van der Linde gang to justice, much less all of them.

Thankfully, he was saved from a pathetic and early death by a girl named Bonnie MacFarlane, the daughter of the owner of a local ranch. The MacFarlanes had been kind enough to hire a doctor to tend to his wounds and lend him a small shack at their ranch. Clover stuck around for a few days, helping Bonnie out with her chores whenever he could by herding cows, and taming horses, among other tasks. It was somewhat unusual for a woman to be doing this sort of work, but apparently, Mr. MacFarlane's only son had left the ranch to work as a banker in New York, leaving only her to help her father run the ranch. Not that she was any bad at it, quite the opposite. He was pretty sure the woman pulled as much weight as three men.

Clover also enlisted the help of the district marshall of the nearby settlement of Armadillo to combat Williamson's gang, Mr. Leigh Johnson. The gang had been terrorizing the people of the area, and Clover got to see it firsthand when Williamson's men captured Bonnie MacFarlane and held her hostage in the ghost town of Tumbleweed in exchange for Norman Deek, Bill Williamson's right-hand man, who had been captured by Clover and Marshall Johnson earlier. Of course, being the unscrupulous bastards they are, the gang had no intention of giving Ms. MacFarlane back and had tried to hang her, but fortunately, the rope didn't immediately break her neck, and Clover managed to shoot it before the poor girl suffocated to death. 

All of this served only to fuel Clover's fury at Bill and his gang throughout the week. When the time to assault Fort Mercer came, Clover got on the Gatling gun and promptly shredded any bandit who dared to come out of cover with a hailstorm of gunfire. The weapon was a veritable machine of death, and with it, he and the detachment of troops, with the help of Marshall Johnson and his deputies, managed to wipe out Bill Williamson's gang. Unfortunately, the leader himself had managed to escape.

An interrogation of one of his grunts revealed that Bill Williamson had fled to Mexico to seek out another former member of the van der Linde gang, Javier Escuella. Sending their small detachment of U.S troops across the border to arrest them was sure to cause a major diplomatic incident, and while the U.S did have an extradition treaty with Mexico, it was unlikely to be enforced, given the civil war that was currently ongoing was keeping the Mexican authorities quite busy. Therefore, Mr. Edgar Ross decided that Clover should go alone under a fake name to seek out the two outlaws. 

The thought of violating another country's sovereignty certainly didn't appeal to Clover...but leaving the people of Mexico at the mercy of thugs like Williamson and Escuella seemed worse. And so, Clover found himself crossing San Luis river between the two countries in a shoddy, improvised boat during a cold night, to avoid detection by the Mexican army.

Clover wasn't exactly sure what to expect of Mexico, but if he had to bet on something, it would be copious amounts of violence. He'd read in the newspapers that the land had suffered greatly from war and violence. As governments were repeatedly established and overthrown due to an endless cycle of revolution after revolution, the people were left at the mercy of the so-called banditos that plagued the area. He witnesses this firsthand when he arrives in the small town of Chuparosa, where three men, armed and drunk, politely suggest in broken English that he pay some "tax" that allegedly foreigners have to pay to these nobodies, and then suggest not so politely when he refuses. The three apparently have little experience shooting anything other than coyotes and terrified peasants, so Clover was able to shoot the gun out of two of their hands and knock out a third by hitting him with his revolver before the man can reach his gun.

After that business was concluded, Clover was surprised to meet another fellow American; an old man with long gray hair, and a thick gray mustache, living by himself in a small house. He's even more surprised to learn that the man is none other than one of his childhood heroes, the legendary gunslinger Landon Ricketts. Famous hero of the old west, winner of dozens of duels, killer of hundreds of bandits, and apparently, survivor of the infamous Blackwater Massacre of 1899, too.

Clover gets the privilege of being instructed on the use of firearms by the legend himself. While Clover would like to believe he is a good shot, Mr. Ricketts is simply on another level. Even with his old age, Clover knows the man is still the fastest, deadliest shooter around. He knows this because as soon as his shooting lessons are done, the owner of the local bank comes pleading to  Senõr Ricketts for help in recovering a wagon that has been stolen. Clover and Landon ride out of town and manage to gun down dozens of bandits, all without suffering a single injury in return.

They say to never meet your heroes, but frankly, after meeting Landon Ricketts, Clover isn't particularly inclined to agree. While generally having a cynical outlook on life, Clover could tell that Landon Ricketts is a good man. He's been using his skills to protect the people of Chuparosa from the worst consequences of the violence that plagues the country, all while he waits for death to claim yet another piece of the old West's history. 

Clover also learned a bit of local politics from the old gunslinger. Apparently, the man in charge of the area, Colonel Agustin Allende, is a tyrant who governs the area with an iron fist, crushing any and all who oppose him without mercy. There is nothing the man won't do to sate his own vices, including burning entire villages for allegedly being rebels and taking the youngest and most beautiful women back to his manor in Escalera to...have his way with them. Another man started a rebellion against Colonel Allende, a revolutionary guerrilla leader named Abraham Reyes who was promising the peasants their freedom, like the previous two or three revolutionaries that had overthrown each other. 

Clover would get his opportunity to meet the man for himself, as he and Ricketts saved a young woman named Luisa Fortuna, the fiancée of the rebel leader Abraham Reyes. Or at least, she's led to believe she is; when Clover finally meets the rebel leader after freeing him from prison at the request of Luisa, the man can't even seem to remember the girl's name.

Abraham Reyes...Clover can't quite say he likes the man. Egoistic, self-centered, and with an unfortunate tendency to see himself as being above the peasantry, he is far, far from the heroic revolutionary leader seeking freedom for his people he'd like to portray himself as. Still, he seems like a better man than Allende, as low of a bar as that might be. At least when Clover walked into him having an intimate moment with another rebel, Reyes had actually bothered to get the girl's consent first. But still, he has information on the two men he's seeking, Javier Escuella and Bill Williamson. According to him and his spies, they both offered their services to Colonel Allende as mercenaries to fight against the rebels. For this reason, Clover found himself fighting together with the revolutionaries against Allende. 

Their partnership proves fruitful when in an assault against the stronghold known as  El Presidio, Clover manages to capture a fleeing Javier Escuella and tie him up inside the fort's prison amid shouts of  'gringo de mierda' and  'cabrón' . Clover isn't exactly a fluent Spanish speaker, knowing only a few words from a childhood friend from the orphanage he grew up in, the son of a few Mexicans who had died while attempting to leave Mexico to live in the United States. Still, from what little he knows and from context, Clover can tell these aren't exactly flattering words.

Escuella tries to plead for his freedom, saying that he's done nothing to Clover, and he couldn't help but agree. This was exactly the problem: he did nothing. When Clover was locked inside that suitcase as his mother was shot in the head, he did nothing. When the van der Linde gang terrorized their country during the peak of their activities in 1899, Javier Escuella did nothing. When Williamson's men tried to have Bonnie MacFarlane hanged, Javier Escuella did nothing. And when Edgar Ross and Archer Fordham came to pick up the Mexican in an automobile...Clover wished he could come with them to watch and do nothing as Javier Escuella was hanged. But he could not, because he still had to capture or kill Bill Williamson.

A few days later, the time to march on Escalera and end the conflict once and for all comes. It's a bloody affair, with hundreds of dead on both sides, many homes burning, and many families mourning, but the battle is won. Bill Williamson tries to escape Escallera with Augustin Allende in a carriage, but the latter is betrayed by the former, and the colonel tries to exchange his freedom for Williamson's life. It doesn't work; Clover ties up Bill Williamson and Abraham Reyes shoots Augustin Allende in the head.

By the end of the day, Abraham Reyes is living in Allende's mansion, Luisa Fortuna is dead, having been killed trying to save the rebel leader, Reyes has completely forgotten about her in return, and Clover McCourt is leaving Mexico with Bill Williamson in tow, certain that in just a few years, Reyes will be as bad, if not worse, than Allende.

Once he arrives in the Blackwater Police Department and he's done handing over Williamson to the appropriate authorities, Edgar Ross comes to Clover with words he has been both dreading and eagerly awaiting for years.

Dutch van der Linde had been spotted in the area around Blackwater.

Clover clutched his Rolling Block rifle, waiting patiently next to Edgar Ross, Agent Archer Fordham, and two other local lawmen, Benton Manning and Dell Hopkins. The Bureau had obtained good info that Dutch van der Linde would be here with his new gang to rob the bank. From an informant, an Indian named Nastas, the Bureau had learned that Dutch had gathered up a tribe of Indians from nearby reservations. Filled with contempt for the U.S. government's actions and the white man in general, van der Linde had led them into becoming a gang of murderous outlaws that began robbing and murdering indiscriminately across the region.

Clover was...conflicted. On one hand, he fully believed that what had been done to them was a great injustice. On the other hand, what they were doing, their killing and pillaging...it wasn't right either. Why couldn't they be like Nastas? Why didn't they realize that this was only ever going to end one way: all of them, dead or hanged? They deserved better than the treatment the government gave them...but their victims deserved to live too. And Dutch van der Linde deserved to pay for his crimes.

"Don't shoot 'til I give you the signal," Mr. Ross ordered the men around him. Then, one of the lawmen, Dell Hopkins, spoke up.

"Someone's coming out. He's unarmed. Hold your fire."

Clover looked through his scope, at the door leading to the bank on the other side of the park. Sure enough, a man was coming out with his hands up, wearing a tie and a brown vest. A bank worker, maybe? Another man, an Indian, followed behind him, pointing a gun at the hostage. Maybe they wanted to negoti-

Clover heard a gunshot. A flash of yellow came out of the Indian's gun. The man he was holding hostage collapsed to the floor, bleeding out on the bank's staircase. Clover grit his teeth and flicked his aim directly at the shooter's head and fired. A fraction of a second later, his body hit the floor, blood oozing out from his forehead.

"Shit, they just killed the hostages!" Benton yelled. "Open fire!"

Gunfire began to erupt from the police station rooftop. Clover shot another man who had tried to come out from the bank's door.

"McCourt, Fordham, cover the windows on the right! I got the middle one. Manning, Hopkins, the two on the left. " Mr. Ross shouted. Clover aimed his rifle to the right and found a few men firing at them from the windows. He immediately shot one of the men in the chest, just as he heard a bullet fly past him. He lowered his gun to fire on the man in the window below, but Agent Fordham had beaten him to the punch.

With the immediate threat of the gunmen on the windows neutralized, a few of the outlaws tried to push their way out through the main door yet again. All five lawmen on the rooftop fired upon them, foiling their escape attempt. Eventually, the robbers must have realized that trying to escape was a death sentence, and no more men came out of the bank. Edgar Ross tapped on Clover's shoulder.

"McCourt, head into the bank with Hopkins and Manning. Get Dutch. And be careful, there may be some innocent people there."

Clover gave his boss a nod before rushing down the staircase and into the bank doors, with Fordham and Ross staying behind to give cover. Meanwhile, the robbers had decided to lock the door, a problem which Clover resolved with a well-placed shotgun shot at the lock. Clover put away his shotgun and drew his revolver, since the spread of the weapon was very likely to cause some serious collateral damage, a problem given the hostages that would likely be present. The young man opened the door and immediately heard a scream.

"P-please don't kill me!" 

Inside the bank's first floor, some of the gang members had decided to use the hostages as meat shields, and Clover had to quickly take cover lest he get shot. Bastards...whatever sympathy he might have had for these men vanished in that moment. 

He focused. Time around him seemed to slow down. He needed to shoot the man holding the hostage first, the one behind that doorway. Two bullets to the face, just to be sure that the man would die quickly enough to not have the opportunity to harm the hostage. Then the two men in front of him. One for each should be more than enough.

Clover pulled out his gun and fired four shots in quick succession. Two hit the man holding a woman in an elegant dress. The two remaining bullets hit the men closer to him. They all fell to the floor, lifeless.

"Get out of here, all of you!" Clover shouted to the panicked hostages. "Go to the town hall! You'll be safe there!"

The terrified civilians began to flee from the building. Clover, Hopkins, and Manning climbed upstairs, where they dispatched a few gang members without issue.

"They must be in here!" Manning shouted, pointing at the door leading to the manager's office. "McCourt, get the door open, we got you covered!"

Clover took a deep breath and stepped back. Then, he rushed to the door, kicking it with all his might. He rushed into the room with his revolver in hand.

And right there was the face of the man who had been haunting his nightmares for the past 12 years. Inside the bank manager's office, Dutch van der Linde stood, holding a gun to the head of a terrified young woman. Beside him, another man stood, also holding a gun to an old man's head.

"Hello, gentlemen," Dutch said with a casual tone that seemed extremely inappropriate for the situation. "To what do I owe you the pleasure?"

The entire situation brought back unpleasant memories for Clover and gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Clover tried his best to calm himself down. He had to remain calm. He had to put an end to this right here and now. No one else needs to die by van der Linde's hand.

"We've got you surrounded," Clover spoke, trying his best to suppress the shakiness he could feel in his voice. "There's no way outta here. Let the girl go."

"Oh, my boy, you insult my intelligence by insinuating I never planned for something like this," Dutch said calmly, pushing his hostage forward a bit. "I've escaped from all sorts of places, you know. Top of a cliff...with soldiers surrounding us on all sides. Banks locked down by lawmen from an entire city. Carribean island ruled by brutal warlords. Would be a real shame to die in this...this monument to American greed, wouldn't you say?"

Clover looked the man directly in the face. He couldn't shoot him. He was far too close, to the point that with any sudden movement, Clover might end up shooting the young woman instead.

"Let her go, van der Linde. This ain't right, involving innocent folk in your vendetta."

"Of course it ain't," Dutch replied. "It ain't, 'cause you decide what's right or wrong, don't you? You decide who deserves salvation, and who deserves to be punished. We, who rob people using guns...we deserve to be hanged to death, don't we? But the folks who steal with pen and paper? Who work men to death for profit? They deserve to be elevated above the rest of society...given mansions, elegant suits, and every luxury man could ever dream of. We...we, who kill folks with pistols, we're criminals who will burn in hell, but they...they who kill folks with machine guns, they're heroes that will be forever remembered in this country's fine history."

Clover snarled. He was just about sick of this man's delusional rambles...oh how he wished he'd move juuust a bit to the left so he could have a clear shot.

"If your problem's with the government, let her go. It's people like me you're after. Not her."

"Of course, of course..." Dutch said, moving closer to the door while he dragged the hostage with him. The man let out a derisive laugh. "You want her, don't you? Can't blame ya...she's a fine woman."

Dutch shoved the girl forward.

"You can have her."

He raised his gun. A gunshot rang out.

Clover's hands began to shake uncontrollably as he watched the girl fall down lifelessly to the floor. Blood poured from the bits of the exposed cranium on the back of her head, slipping into the gaps between the floor's wooden boards. His gun fell to the floor as his grip on it slipped. He could hear footsteps, shouting, yelling and gunfire coming from outside, but his mind filtered it out, his gaze fixed on the woman resting her head on a pool of her own blood.

He couldn't breathe...he couldn't breathe. The room seemed to suffocate him, closing in around him. The world began to bob up and down as if being carried by the ocean's waves. He wanted desperately to tear away his gaze from the corpse beneath him, but his body wouldn't obey.

The smell of blood overwhelmed his senses. Clover just barely had time to turn around before he vomited all over the office's floor, spilling some of it into his pants. He sat down on the floor, hands holding his head and his fingers on his hair, gasping for breath.

It happened again. It happened again, and Clover couldn't stop it again. Of course he can't...

"-court..."

Of course he can't. He's not a hero. He never has been. 

"-nt McCourt!"

He's still that same, stupid kid that climbed Mt. Ebbot all those years ago. He's the same stupid kid who nearly got himself killed because he wanted to find some missing kids. The same stupid kid who had to be babysat and protected by a murderer. The same stupid kid that left the man who saved him to die alone. The same stupid kid that-

"Agent McCourt! Are you listening?"

The voice finally registered in his mind. Clover looked up.

"M-Mr. Ross...?"

"What are you doing?" Edgar Ross questioned him, looking down at the young man with a fierce gaze. "Staring at that woman won't bring her back to life, in case you didn't know. You could have used the time you spent sitting here doing nothing to help us chase van der Linde instead!"

"Dutch...did we...?"

"He escaped," Edgar Ross said with a huff of frustration. "We're looking for him right now. Go home and get yourself cleaned up. You're dismissed for now, but I expect better from you in the future."

The rest of the day goes by in a haze. Clover only learns the name of the woman Dutch killed the next day when he reads the newspaper. Muriel Scranton, a teller at Blackwater Bank, and wife of Joseph Scranton, the owner of a local restaurant that Clover occasionally frequented. He wasn't particularly close to the man, but he'd spoken to him a few times here and there. And when Clover went there for lunch that day, and when he saw the bags under his eyes, no doubt from crying for his now deceased wife...Clover swore right here and there that he would crush Dutch van der Linde himself.

The assault on the hideout of Dutch's gang begins a few days later. Edgar Ross manages to get them some army troops, an armored truck, and one of those new, fancy weapons the army has been developing, a Browning Gun. It's much like the Gatling gun Clover used to attack Fort Mercer, only deadlier and more precise.

Agent Fordham spread a rumor that an army convoy carrying supplies, weapons, and ammo is nearby, and the gang falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. With the support of the army and its new technology, they shred through Dutch's gang like they're made of paper. The truck only takes them so far, and after it nearly blows them all up, Clover is forced to dismount and proceed on horseback to Dutch's fortress in the mountains. 

The assault on Dutch's hideout is bloody and brutal. Clover must have killed about twenty men and has had a bullet graze his skin about three times, but he manages to get by without major, life-threatening injuries. And when he sees Dutch in that mountain...he bolts for it. He runs, faster than he's ever run in his life. He climbs up tunnel after tunnel, guns down bandit after bandit, and by the end of it, he has Dutch van der Linde cornered. He chased him through a tunnel, only for the outlaw to find out that it led to a hole in the mountain.

On one side was Clover, pointing a gun at him. On the other side was a nearly 100-foot drop.

The outlaw tried to point his gun at him. Clover immediately responded by shooting the man's hand, making him drop the weapon. Exhausted, van der Linde looks up from his bleeding hand to face Clover.

"It seems like our...paths...have crossed yet again."

Clover grits his teeth and stares the man in the face. As a lawman, he's supposed to prefer capture to killing whenever possible. And besides, if he manages to see Dutch hang knowing he had a hand in it, the young man will be plenty satisfied.

"Give up, van der Linde. It's over."

"So it would seem..." the man mutters, looking behind him at the enormous drop, then back at Clover. "But it ain't really gonna be over, is it? After I'm gone, you people will just find another monster, won't you? You have to because you have to justify your wages. I wonder who will it be? Ain't many options left...Charles? ...Mr. Pearson? Hell, maybe you'll find old Arthur somewhere and-"

"Arthur's dead," Clover nearly shouts, venom dripping from his voice. He watches the man's face intensely, registering his every move. 

His eyes widen an insignificant amount. His mouth opens very slightly. The man looks like he's been told it's gonna rain on the day of his wedding, or that the train for his vacation trip has been delayed. Not that the person who considered him a father was dead.

"I see..."

Clover narrows his eyebrows in frustration. He really doesn't care, does he? Bastard.

"And this ain't about money. You shot a girl in Blackwater...my mother."

Dutch scoffs.

" That  girl was your mother? I could swear you was older than she."

Clover has to make a monumental effort to not pull the trigger right here and there. He really should have known. Heidi McCourt was so insignificant to the man before him that Clover saying this doesn't narrow it down one bit.

Bastard...

"Get down from there and face justice like a goddamn man."

"You're askin' me...to give up? To stop fightin'?" Dutch says, his voice filled with what seemed like...resignation? "See, that's the problem...I can't. All my life, all I did was fight, but now I realize, I can't fight my own nature. I can't fight...I can't fight change. Can't fight nothing. And I can't fight...can't fight...gravity..."

With that final declaration, Dutch leans back and falls off the mountain. Clover rushes forward just in time to see the man hit a rock, and then roll off the side of the mountain into the snow below.

Clover screams in frustration. He hates him. He hates him, more than he's ever done in his life! He makes his life hell for 12 years, and all he gets is to watch the man fall to his death? He should have shot him himself! He should have grabbed him and cut his throat. He should have thrown him down into the ground and beaten him to death with his bare...

No. Clover took a deep breath and calmed himself down. It doesn't matter how he died, only that he did. Dutch van der Linde will never hurt another soul again. He's done it. He's brought his mom's killer to justice. Clover turns around and begins the long trek down, towards the base of the mountain, where Dutch's corpse will be. During the trip, he tries to remember his mother's face.

All that comes to his mind is the image of her eye, hanging by a thread of tendon, staring directly at him.

When he reaches the battered and bloody corpse that is now what remains of Dutch van der Linde, Edgar Ross, and Agent Fordham have already caught up to him. Maybe they noticed the man falling to his death?

"So in the end, you didn't even get to shoot him, huh?" Edgar Ross says, smoking one of his thick, Cuban cigars.

"No...guess not."

His boss extends his hand towards him.

"Can I see your gun, Agent McCourt?"

"Sure," he responds nonchalantly, drawing his LeMat revolver from its holster and placing it in Mr. Ross' hand. The older man puts his cigar back in his mouth before taking the gun and approaching the corpse. He points it at the body and fires a single shot.

"It'll look better on your resume that way. Trust me."

With that, Edgar Ross then places it back on the holster on Clover's hip with one swift motion, giving him a pat on the back as he does so.

"You know, I'm planning on retiring soon," Mr. Ross said, looking up at the sky with his back turned to him. "Move into a small shack in the middle of nowhere and...well, spend the rest of my evenings fishing on the nearest lake."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah..." Edgar Ross turned back to face him. "You know, my boy...you're quite good at what you do for someone your age. And sure, you could do with a bit more...wisdom, let's say, but you might end up making it as head of the B.O.I once I'm gone."

"Maybe so," Clover replies without much thought.

"But, before I go, I do have one last gift for you. Agent Fordham?"

Archer Fordham pulls out a black book from his coat, handing it over to Clover.

"What's this?"

"A ledger. Open it on page 142, and tell me what's wrong with it."

Clover does as he's instructed, and finds the payment history for a loan used to buy real estate in West Elizabeth, a ranch named Beecher's Hope. It looked like regular payments of about 20 to 50 dollars were made regularly each month, until...

"The feller suddenly pays up 1000 dollars in a single month? Either this man won the lottery, or something fishy's going on."

"Read the name at the end of the page. That should make things clear."

Clover's eyes wander down to the end of the ledger's page. At the very bottom was a signature, a name that Clover is quite familiar with, having seen it multiple times in Arthur's journal.

John Marston.

Clover looks up from the ledger, giving Edgar Ross a furious look.

"So you're telling me he's been in this 'Beecher's Hope' ranch the entire time?"

Edgar Ross nods, taking a huff from his cigarette.

"A few years back, Mr. Fordham and I tracked a gang led by former van der Linde gang member Micah Bell. We were surprised to find all of them dead at the top of Mount Hagen. We did some digging around, and found out Mr. Marston had purchased himself a nice ranch for himself and his son."

"And you never told me this, because...?"

"Well, I had this whole plan, you see. We were going to...take Mr. Marston's son on a vacation, and...suggest that if he wants to see him again, he'll have to go out and hunt down the members of his gang for us." Mr. Ross let out a chuckle. "Well, then you showed up, and I decided to give you the case instead. I do love myself a good revenge story."

Clover let out a disbelieving huff.

"You were going to get the man's child involved?"

"We all pay for the sins of our fathers, Mr. McCourt. Whether we want to or not. It's just the way of the world."

'Like how Asgore condemned seven children to die for the sins of their ancestors?'   Clover thought.

He used to admire Mr. Ross. He really did. Not just him, but lawmen in general. When he was a kid, he used to see them as brave, larger-than-life figures who would risk life and limb to keep others safe from harm. Who would do everything in their power to bring the wicked to justice. Then, he grew older. He got a job at the Bureau of Investigation. And he began to see things.

He saw one of his coworkers seem a bit too tempted when some scam artist offered them a bribe to keep things quiet. He saw another coworker suggest they end the investigation of the murder of a colored man early, because " them negroes probably deserved it. " He saw Mr. Ross embellish or change certain details in investigation reports to "make it look better". And now...now Clover wasn't so sure the law was as admirable as he'd thought it was.

Or maybe his disillusionment with the law began earlier in his life. When he was a child, a certain sheriff declared that he needed to die for being born human. Every day, he thought more and more often about what Arthur had said after his fight with the star monster.

"Sure, whatever you say," Clover said, mounting on his horse. "Enjoy your retirement, Mr. Ross."

Clover rode his way into Beecher's Hope, carefully looking through the area for any sign of John Marston. It was a modest ranch, with a single medium-sized home, a barn, a silo, and a few crops. Clover could see a few cows in an enclosed area just outside the barn. Still, just the land itself had cost 1300 dollars, according to that ledger Mr. Fordham lent him. The buildings and animals had likely increased the cost quite a bit. And Clover had a pretty good idea of where the money must have come from...

He recalled that day he'd been on the ferry in Blackwater with his mother. Her life wasn't the only thing stolen that day. The ferry had been carrying 150,000 dollars, which had been taken by Dutch and his gang. The law's relentless pursuit of the gang meant that they didn't manage to take the money with them, and many theorized they had stashed the money somewhere. However, despite the best efforts of the local population of the town of Blackwater, who hastily dug up their own gardens in search of the lost cash, no one had ever managed to find the money. If John Marston knew where it was, however...

The thought made his blood boil. He bought this nice farm for himself using money they'd earned from murdering his mother. It made him want to tear that house down board by board, burn that barn down to the ground, tear down that silo, butcher every single animal on this ranch, and salt the earth so that nothing may ever grow again. Why did  he  get to just...move on with his life? Why should  he  get to have a peaceful life after murdering people for money for who the hell knows how many years?

Clover calmed himself down and continued looking. It wouldn't do to slip up and make a mistake because of his emotions. He was so, so close. John Marston was the last member of the gang still alive.

After a few minutes of looking, Clover found him. He was holding a rifle, pointing it at a few bottles set some distance away. Clover realized that he'd forgotten to bring his binoculars, so he picked up his Rolling Block rifle and looked through its scope. 'Just to get a better look', he told himself.

Looking through the rifle, Clover could see John Marston fire a few rounds at the targets, hitting each shot with perfect precision. Then, another figure came into view, having been previously obstructed from his vision by a tree. It was a brown-haired teenager, about 16 or so, Clover guessed. This was probably his son, Jack Marston. Jack picked up the rifle his father was holding and John went to set more bottles as targets.

He knew that as a lawman, he was supposed to prefer capture to killing whenever possible. He knew that as a lawman, he was supposed to ride up to the man, arrest him, then bring him back to the police station.

He also knew that he could shoot this man in the back of the head whenever he wanted to without consequence. Mr. Ross wouldn't question him in the slightest. He could say that the man pulled a gun on him, and that would be the end of the story. He'd be forever known as the hero who took down the last of the infamous van der Linde gang.

But...did John Marston deserve to die? A memory came back to him, one he was intimately acquainted with. He knew that this was one of the men that were on the ferry that day. He could still remember he was the only one who protested against Dutch's decision, the only one who tried to convince him not to kill his mother. Sure, he'd failed, but...shouldn't that count for something? And he tried to change, given how Bill Williamson, Javier Escuella, and Dutch van der Linde had all continued to live their lifestyles as outlaws, whereas John had settled down and tried to put his past behind him.

At the same time, this wasn't just about himself. John Marston had ridden with one of the worst criminal gangs in recent history and had likely caused no shortage of death, misery, and grief for others. No, this man had ruined countless lives. His attempts at saving one woman couldn't possibly absolve him from all of his sins, right?

He remembered the time he read Arthur's journal for the first time. In the end, it always came back to that. Can anyone find redemption if they seek it? Or is there a line somewhere that damns all those who cross it? If such a line does exist...where is it? How much misery can one person cause before they can no longer be forgiven?

Clover watched through his scope as Jack fired at the glass bottles in front of him. Sloppy wouldn't even begin to describe the teenager's shooting. John had to correct his son's posture multiple times before he could even land a single hit.

He imagined himself in Jack's place. Imagined himself trying to line up a shot as a bullet flew past his head and into John's skull. Himself watching as bits of his brain mixed with his blood, falling down onto the grass below. Himself, crying and pleading as he held John's body in his arms. Himself, burying John on that hill just further ahead. Himself, confronting himself with a gun in his hand and vengeance on his mind. 

Clover lowered his rifle and closed his eyes. He didn't know what the just thing to do was anymore. He didn't know what John Marston deserved anymore. He didn't know if John Marston deserved a bullet to the head. He didn't know if John Martson deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison. He didn't know if John Marston deserved a second chance...

He tucked away his rifle on his saddlebag and mounted up, riding out of Beecher's Hope.

...but he knew that Jack Marston deserved a life different than Clover's own.

(*****)

Three days later, Clover McCourt will submit his letter of resignation to Edgar Ross' office.

Three months later, as his last act before retirement, Edgar Ross will lead a squad of army troops in an assault on Beecher's Hope. John Marston, after defending his ranch and sending his son away, will open up the door leading out of the barn. He will be able to kill four U.S. soldiers before being shot 21 times.

Three years later, Jack Marston will meet with Edgar Ross on the edge of the San Luis River.

Only one of them will live to see the end of the day.