Redemption

By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers had come to an end. The tales and mysticism surrounding a once wild land glorified by manifest destiny were reaching their conclusion as America was becoming a land of laws.

As a result, the wild beast that was the West becoming tamed.

While a few gangs still roamed, their days were numbered as they were being hunted down and destroyed.

Blackwater, Commonwealth of West Elizabeth, 1899.

The age of civilization and industry is slowly shaping these here United States for better and for worse. I write this to remind myself that my own selfish greed and desires must always come first, as what's left of the "free country" is being purchased and sold by the rich and the powerful, who couldn't care less about the lands unless it involved money.

There was a time when I never cared about who got in the way. I've shot women and children alike. Sins that I'm still paying for to this day. I'm damned to live an eternal life of feeling the sorrow that hundreds have felt for the past ten years.

I live a drifter's life now, taking bounties and living off the land as best as I know how. Hunting has been most profitable and ironically… peaceful. Just me and my bow, accompanied only by my thoughts. However, I do have to say that I've gotten quite good at skinning game.

If only the Benjamin Elijah Harris who robbed, shot, and stole for a cause that was only for himself, would see that where he was looking through were metaphorical trees. Life isn't something to cling on so tightly when you can't die.

Only the dead get closure, the living don't.

The whole town had been in an uproar over the ferry robbery that occurred just a few weeks ago. They had a reason to, after all, as the leader of the Van Der Linde gang, Dutch, shot a young woman on the boat they were robbing. The papers say the woman's name was Heidi McCourt. A pretty enough woman who was shot square in her head, with her eye hanging out by a tendon and her brains plastered over a wooden wall.

She ain't so pretty any more.

I's just got back into Blackwater after helping Ms. LeClerk find her husband's killers. The town's been quiet since then and she paid me handsomely for the trouble, enough money for me to leave and never look back.

Holding onto the reins of my Artemis, an Appaloosa breed of horse I once found in a stable next to a cabin, I softly patted her for another job well done. She let out a soft sigh before munching on the oatcake I handed to her as a reward.

"Hold there, girl," I told her as I pulled her towards a hitching post next to the general store.

She nickered like a young child but nonetheless remained content.

A couple minutes later, I returned from the store with some supplies and provisions for a hunting trip into the mountains. I heard tell that this time of year was perfect for some deer hunting, but a trapper told me to watch out for them wolves and bears too.

I rode for hours on-end until the sun rested beyond the horizon, which gave me the cue to settle down for camp in a small landing near the road. I let Artemis take a rest as we approached the Big Valley. I pitched my tent and snapped some flint to start a fire. Then, I sat down and started preparing some special arrows.

I had a preference of poison arrows to the others. Although, I did prepare some more refined arrows for the smaller critters, so that I didn't damage their pelts and keep it perfect for the fur trader to buy from me later.

In my travels, I've learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to exploring the frontier. You never know just what kind of being you'll encounter, be it animal or human, be it in the desert or the forest. For those types of encounters, I kept my trusty Litchfield Repeater on my saddle. It packs quite a kick when dealing with coyotes or bandits. For them bandits, I kept a box of express ammunition, to give them a swift end.

But my pride and joy are my twin custom-made Cattleman Revolvers. Both I spent a pretty penny on to be lengthened and rifled to perfection. I knew a gunsmith in and around West Elizabeth who was able to give it the finest nickel-plated finish this far south, as well as rosewood grips that I had him carve deer designs into. It was well worth the price. It's saved my life more than a handful of times in a pinch.

As the nighttime sky cascaded down, I laid down on my bedroll and rested my head just outside my tent so that I could stare back at the starry sky with an impassive look on my stubbled mug. I allowed one final thought to brush my mind as I drifted off into my dreams.

"When will a vagabond like me find redemption?"

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Hunter the Writer here saying that I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! My apologies for how it is at the moment. I also wanted to thank JaneValentine007. You were the one who inspired me to write a RDR2 story and I humbly thank you for listening to my half-baked idea! :P Hopefully I'll be updating more frequently and with longer chapters! Thanks!

- Hunter the Writer

This chapter has been revised and beta-read by Aferus.