RDR2 OMC INSERT

Yeriel jolted awake, jolted by the sound of shouts and gunfire echoing from outside. Disoriented and groggy, he blinked his eyes open to find a terrified woman beside him. However, he didn't have the energy to consider her plight; his focus was elsewhere.

As he lay on the cold, hard ground, he glanced down and saw that his hands were tied in front of him, his legs bound as well. The O'Driscolls had made a grave mistake—they hadn't even bothered to secure his hands behind his back. A flicker of defiance ignited within him as he reached down to his boots, discovering that they hadn't confiscated his knife. 

"T-Those O'Driscolls a-are really stupid," he thought, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips despite the pain radiating throughout his body, from his face to his legs. With determination, he pulled the knife from his boot and began to cut through the ropes binding his hands and legs.

After a fierce struggle, he managed to free himself and stumbled out of the cellar, standing shakily as he took in his surroundings. Glancing back, he noticed the blond woman still trembling in the shadows. "A-are you the owner of this c-cabin?" he asked, his words slurred and labored as he grimaced, forcing himself to speak slowly to mask the discomfort.

She nodded hesitantly. "C-come on. I'll g-get you o-outta here," he said, wincing as he held his throbbing jaw.

With a tentative nod, she took his hand, and together they cautiously made their way through the cabin. The chaotic sounds of gunfire had faded into silence by this point.

Yeriel surveyed the cabin, relieved to find no O'Driscolls lingering inside. But just as they moved forward, a familiar face caught his eye. "M-Micah!" he gasped, hurrying over while clutching his side. He could feel the sharp pain of broken ribs, making it difficult to breathe.

Micah chuckled at the sight of him, bruised and battered. "Can't even handle a little tussle, can ya? Maybe you should stick to counting beans instead of throwin' fists, huh?" He smirked, clearly enjoying Yeriel's predicament.

"F-Fuck you, hijo de puta," Yeriel spat, blood staining the wooden floor. "W-Where's Dutch a-and the others?"

"He's here, along with Morgan," Micah replied casually, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. "And who's the woman behind you, amigo?" He emphasized the last word sarcastically.

"S-She's the o-owner of this cabin," Yeriel coughed, retrieving his volcanic pistol from a nearby table and holstering it. The weapon was unmistakably his, custom-made with the letters Y and R intricately carved into the grip.

"Nah, she might be one of the O'Driscolls..." Micah said with a raised eyebrow.

"D-Don't be stupid. O'Driscolls don't t-take women in," Yeriel sighed, exasperated.

"Hm." Micah huffed, clearly unconvinced.

Moments later, Dutch and Arthur burst into the cabin. "My boy!" Dutch exclaimed, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his face as he approached Yeriel, patting him on the shoulder.

Arthur stepped forward as well, shaking his head in disapproval. "Ya don't look so good, brother."

"Those damn O'Driscolls got you good," Dutch added, concern etched on his features.

Arthur helped Yeriel to lean on him for support, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Thank you, hermano," Yeriel breathed a sigh of relief, grateful not to have to keep himself upright anymore.

Dutch's gaze shifted to the quiet woman, who remained by Yeriel's side. Yeriel noticed the questioning look on Dutch's face. "S-She's the owner," he clarified.

"Ah..." Dutch nodded, offering a sympathetic expression.

Suddenly, Micah leaned against a table, accidentally knocking over a lantern. Flames erupted, igniting the cabin in an instant.

"Oh, Micah, you fool!" Dutch scolded, urgency creeping into his tone. "Come on, miss, it'll be okay. We need to get out of here, and quick. Come on now!"

As they fled the cabin, Dutch draped a blanket over the woman's shoulders, and Arthur kept a steady grip on Yeriel. Yeriel let out a sharp whistle, summoning Carol, his loyal horse. Carol rushed toward him, concern evident in her eyes as she sniffed at him. Yeriel gently stroked her head, drawing comfort from her presence as Arthur helped him mount the horse. 

"You okay, miss?" Dutch asked the woman, noticing the tears streaming down her face.

"They came three days ago… and my husband, they…" she choked out, unable to finish her thought.

"Okay, miss. You are safe now… and you can't stay here. You come with us," Dutch said, trying to calm her. He turned to Arthur. "Arthur."

Arthur nodded. "Miss, it's okay, alright? We're bad men, but… we ain't them, so… it's okay." He lifted her onto Dutch's horse. "We'll keep you safe until you figure out… what you wanna do."

"What's your name, miss?" Dutch inquired gently. She hesitated before finally whispering, "Adler."

"Adler?" Dutch repeated, surprised.

"Sadie Adler. Mrs…" she faltered, her voice breaking as she fought back tears. "I...he...he was my husband…"

As they set off toward Dutch's camp, Yeriel rode at the back, his body shaking from a combination of pain and the biting cold. The chill seeped through him. He felt the absence of his hat acutely; it had fallen off during the brutal beating he had endured, leaving him exposed to the relentless snowfall. 

They navigated through the wintry landscape, the snow crunching beneath the horses' hooves. Yeriel's thoughts were a jumble of irritation and discomfort. He was aware of the burning pain in his ribs, each jolt of the horse sending shockwaves through his body. As they rode, he focused on keeping his breathing steady, though each inhale felt like a struggle.

Eventually, they arrived at Dutch's camp, situated in an abandoned mine. The familiar sight of their makeshift home brought a flicker of relief amid his suffering. 

"Hey! Somebody's coming!" Lenny shouted, quickly reloading his rifle. "Looks like it's Dutch. Hey, everyone! Dutch's back!"

"How'd you get on?" Hosea asked, stepping forward to greet them.

"Micah and Yeriel found a homestead. They weren't the first ones. Yeriel checked it out alone, and it turned out it was Colm O'Driscoll and his scum. They beat up poor Yeriel quite badly." Dutch pointed at him, who was being assisted off Carol by Javier and Karen. "We found some of Colm's men there...but there's more apparently... scouting a train," Dutch explained, dismounting his horse.

"That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch," Hosea remarked, concern lining his voice.

"Well, it is what it is…" Dutch shrugged, "but we found some supplies, some blankets… a little bit of food… and this poor soul, Mrs. Adler." He gestured toward Sadie. "Miss Tilly, would you warm her up...give her something to drink? And Mrs. Adler, it's gonna be okay...you're safe now!" Dutch turned his attention back to Yeriel, giving Carol an apple, despite Karen's scolding that he should hurry inside one of the cabins to rest. "And yes, Ms. Karen, please tend to Mr. Rios," he added.

Karen nodded, quickly leading Yeriel toward the fireplace. The warmth enveloped him as they entered the cabin, but it was overshadowed by the severity of his injuries. Karen and Reverend Swanson worked together to tend to his wounds, their movements efficient yet gentle.

As Karen carefully peeled away the remnants of his bloodied shirt, she winced at the sight of his bruised and battered torso. "You really took a beating, didn't you?" she murmured, her voice laced with concern. She began cleaning the wounds, applying a soothing salve that stung but was necessary for healing.

Reverend Swanson joined her, his hands steady as he assisted in bandaging the worst of the cuts. "Yeriel, you need to be careful," he advised, his tone firm yet kind. "We can't afford to lose you, not now."

Yeriel winced as they worked, each tug of the bandages sending sharp pain through his ribs. "I'll b-be fine," he managed to croak out, though he knew it was a lie. The warmth of the fire contrasted sharply with the chill that had settled in his bones, and fatigue began to seep into him, combating the adrenaline that had fueled him until now.

"Just rest," Karen urged softly, her eyes meeting his with a reassuring gaze. "We'll take care of you."

As the warmth of the fire enveloped him, Yeriel felt his eyelids grow heavy. The pain was still there, but he knew he was safe now, surrounded by his gang. They would protect him, just as they would protect Mrs. Adler. With that thought in mind, he let himself drift into a restless sleep, the crackling of the fire lulling him into a temporary escape from the ache of his battered body.