RDR2 OMC INSERT

Weeks had passed since the chaotic shootout at Three Sisters, and the camp had settled into an uneasy routine. Dutch, Micah, and Arthur had ventured out to meet Colm O'Driscoll, for what was supposed to be a straightforward negotiation. Yeriel had stayed behind, his heart heavy with worry for Arthur, who had been designated as a sniper for the meeting, a precaution against worst-case scenarios.

When Dutch and Micah returned, the mood was grim. The absence of Arthur loomed over them like a dark cloud, and whispers began to circulate around the camp. Some believed Arthur had turned traitor, while others feared he had met a worse fate. Days turned into a week, and then another, without a sign of him. The camp's chatter morphed into hushed conversations about the possibility of Arthur being dead. Yeriel tried to shake off the creeping anxiety, determined to remain hopeful, but he couldn't help but feel a gnawing dread settle in his stomach.

One evening, after a long day of tending to chores and keeping an eye on the horizon for any sign of Arthur, Yeriel lay down in his sleeping bag, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. He stared up at the stars peeking through the trees, but sleep came slowly, the image of Arthur's face haunting him. Finally, his eyelids grew heavy, and he succumbed to the darkness.

In the depths of his slumber, Yeriel found himself in a bathroom, staring into a grimy mirror. The face looking back at him was unrecognizable—a man at least ten years older than he was now. His once youthful features were obscured by a thick beard, and his long hair hung in tangled strands. Confusion washed over him, and he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the scratchy stubble beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, the scene shifted violently. The bathroom dissolved into a hot, sandy landscape, the sun beating down mercilessly. Yeriel felt an unnatural tightness around his neck, and as he reached up to touch it, he realized it was a rope. Panic surged through him. He looked around frantically, his heart racing as he spotted a crowd gathered before him, their faces obscured by shadows but their murmurs unmistakable.

Beside him stood a lawman, solemn and imposing, holding a switch handle with a look of grim determination. The lawman began to list off Yeriel's alleged crimes: robbery, murder, conspiracy. Each word struck him like a physical blow, deepening his sense of dread. Yeriel opened his mouth to protest, to plead his innocence, but no words came out. He could only pant heavily, the weight of the accusations pressing down on him.

Just as he was about to scream, the lawman pulled the handle, and the floor beneath him opened up. Yeriel felt himself plummet into darkness, the rope tightening around his neck as the world spun wildly. The sensation of falling was excruciating, and he could feel the noose constricting tighter and tighter, cutting off his breath.

In that moment of despair, just as the rope broke his neck, he jolted awake, gasping for air, his heart pounding violently in his chest. The camp was dark and silent, the only sound his own heavy breathing. Yeriel sat up, drenched in sweat, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to him.

He reached for his gun instinctively, the familiar weight grounding him as he tried to shake off the lingering fear. Arthur was still missing, and with each passing day, the thought of never seeing his friend again felt more real.

———

Yeriel leaned against the rough wooden table in the camp, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he flipped through the latest newspaper.

"Hey, Yeriel," a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

Yeriel looked up to see Sean approaching, his usual grin in place. "Hey." He gave Sean an up nod, trying to shake off the weight of worry. "What is it, Irish?"

"Oi, I'm headin' into town to meet up with Micah and Bill. We're havin' a bit of a get-together with those Grey lads. You wanna come along?" Sean asked, his enthusiasm palpable.

Yeriel sighed, folding the newspaper and putting it down. "I don't know, pareja…"

"Ah, come on, mate! I tried to get Lenny and even Charles to join me, but they just wouldn't have it." Sean's disappointment was evident, and he tried to coax Yeriel into joining him.

"I wonder why," Yeriel rolled his eyes and flicked the cigarette butt to the ground. "Alright." He nodded reluctantly. "But I'm bringing Uncle." A smirk crept onto his face.

"Uncle? That lazy prick?" Sean crossed his arms, incredulous.

"Yeah." Yeriel licked his lips and stood up, stretching with an exaggerated groan. "He's coming."

"Well, I heard you've been makin' him do jobs… Alright, fine, bring him along too. Just don't want to be stuck alone with those two bloody assholes." Sean sighed, shaking his head as he turned around and mounted his horse. He rode off toward town, leaving Yeriel to gather Uncle.

Yeriel ambled over to where Uncle was slumped against a tree, snoring softly. He kicked Uncle's thigh to wake him up, and the old man grumbled, swatting at Yeriel's boot. "What is it, lad?" he croaked, bleary-eyed.

"Get up, Uncle. We're going into town for another job," Yeriel said, his tone firm.

"Ugh, I'm not feelin' too good, son. I've got lumbago, remember?" Uncle complained, rubbing his back as he tried to sit up. 

Yeriel raised an eyebrow. "You'll be fine. Just grab your guns. We need you."

"Fine, fine." Uncle grumbled but reached for his weapons, groaning as he stood. "Why am I always dragged into this mess?"

"Because you're part of the family," Yeriel replied with a grin as he grabbed his own gun. "Now let's go."

The two mounted their horses, Uncle's old horse plodding along as they made their way toward Rhodes. The town came into view, and as they hitched their horses by the general store, Yeriel couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Yeriel glanced around cautiously while Uncle dismounted with a grunt, still complaining about his lumbago. "This is pretty sospechoso... Why is it so quiet?" Yeriel murmured.

"I dunno, son... let's just get this done and over with, alright?" Uncle said, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rubbed his back.

"Whatever." Yeriel gestured toward the trio gathered nearby. "I see the three of them."

As they walked over, Micah lounged on the steps of the bank, his eyes narrowing at the sight of them. "What the hell is this useless prick doin' here, greaser?" he sneered, nodding toward Uncle.

Yeriel shot Micah a glare. "Watch your mouth, estúpido."

"...Where's Arthur at, anyway?" Micah scoffed, glancing at Uncle with disdain.

Uncle settled down on the steps beside Micah. "Why'd you bring him along, huh?" Micah continued, his tone aggressive.

"Is it a problem?" Yeriel crossed his arms defiantly.

"Yeah, it's a problem. I ain't about to work with some camp leech," Micah shot back.

"Oh, hush now! I'm just here to keep Yeriel company, ain't no harm in that!" Uncle chuckled.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them while they waited. Uncle pulled out a small bottle of rum and took a swig. Sean shook his head disapprovingly but couldn't resist when Uncle offered him a drink, smirking as he joined the old man.

Just then, Arthur arrived, striding over with a weary look. "Hey, compadre."

"Hey, kid," Arthur replied, tipping his head in acknowledgment.

"We've been waiting for you, Morgan," Micah said, standing up from the steps.

"Sorry for making you wait," Arthur said, sarcasm lacing his voice as he regarded Uncle with a raised eyebrow but shrugged it off.

"Let's get going," Micah ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

"What's the plan?" Arthur asked, falling into step alongside the group.

"We're meeting a couple of the Grays over at the saloon," Micah explained. "They spoke to Bill about a job... needing security."

"After the farce of stealing the horses for them, why are we doing this?" Arthur questioned, skepticism evident in his voice.

"Cause we need to stay in with them... and they're paying," Micah replied, his tone dismissive.

"What kind of security do they want?" Arthur pressed.

"We're about to find out. Now come on," Micah gestured impatiently.

As they moved through the quiet streets, Arthur turned to Bill. "This seems legit to you, Bill?"

"Sure," Bill answered plainly, adjusting his rifle on his shoulder.

"Dutch said we were to keep on dealing with them until we find this gold," Micah chimed in.

"Can we trust them?" Sean interjected, his voice cautious.

"Nah, we shouldn't be getting involved in this mess. Not with my back acting up like this. And with these families at each other's throats, nothing good ever comes from that," Uncle said, his voice tinged with worry.

"Let's just see what they say," Micah suggested, his tone impatient.

"They said there was some big misunderstanding about them horses," Bill added, trying to reassure the group.

"And what about burning their fields?" Sean shook his head, clearly skeptical.

"They don't know we had anything to do with that," Micah whispered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"That so?" Arthur scoffed, his expression dark.

"We shouldn't do this shit," Yeriel spat, frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Listen, I know these Gray boys a bit now. This is on the level," Bill insisted, looking back at the crew.

"We're stuck in the middle of some ancient feud. But instead of playing both sides, we're being used by both sides," Arthur said, exasperation creeping into his voice.

"They were saying that Catherine Braithwaite—" Bill started, but Arthur interrupted.

"Hey, hold up." They stopped walking, Arthur's instincts kicking in. "This don't feel right."

"Now it don't feel right?" Sean turned around, incredulous. "I could have told you th—"

A gunshot rang out, cutting through the tense air. Blood splattered across Yeriel's shoulder, and he flinched heavily as Sean's body fell limply to the ground, his shotgun slipping from his grip.

"Get down!" Arthur shouted, adrenaline surging as he pulled out his gun. Micah immediately drew his revolvers, firing three shots in rapid succession at targets that emerged from the rooftops and behind wagons. The chaos unfolded quickly, bullets whizzing past as he ducked for cover.

Bill took off his rifle from his shoulder, aiming carefully, but before he could fire, a bullet grazed his shoulder, forcing him to stumble back for cover. He grimaced in pain but kept moving, seeking refuge behind a nearby fence.

Yeriel pulled out his volcanic pistol, heart racing as he spotted a man on the wagon, raising his weapon. With a steady hand, he squeezed the trigger, sending the man crashing to the ground. He followed Micah's path, rushing for cover behind a stack of crates.

Uncle, though slow to react, quickly pulled out his revolver, firing at a man on the porch. The shot hit the man in the leg, causing him to crumple. As Uncle ran for cover near Arthur, a bullet barely grazed his hat, knocking it off his head. "Damn it, why am I the one getting into mess like this?!" he exclaimed, peeking out from behind the barrels. With a quick aim, he shot another man who emerged from the alley next to the sheriff's office.

Yeriel scanned the chaos around him, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He spotted a man on the rooftop of a nearby house and took aim. With precise focus, he fired, the bullet striking the man in the neck. The figure crumpled, and Yeriel felt a rush of relief mixed with the chaotic energy of battle.

The gunfight escalated, shots ringing out in a cacophony of violence. Micah continued to fire, his aim true, while Arthur provided cover, shouting orders amidst the chaos. Bill, despite his injury, managed to take out another assailant before ducking back for safety.

After what felt like an eternity of relentless gunfire, the air grew still. The last of the attackers lay sprawled in the streets, and the crew slowly emerged from their cover, panting and shaken.

"Is everyone alright?" Arthur called out, scanning the group for injuries. 

"Yeah, but Sean…" Bill's voice trailed off as they all turned to look at the scene before them. 

They stood around Sean's lifeless body, the reality of what had just transpired sinking in. Sean's face was pale, eyes closed, and if not for the gaping hole in his head, Yeriel would have thought he was merely sleeping. 

"He was a good kid," Arthur said sadly, his voice heavy with regret.

"How the hell was I to know?" Bill asked aggressively, his face a mask of guilt.

Uncle tiredly sat down on the ground, pulling out his rum and taking a swig. "Damn it, this is a mess," he muttered, shaking his head.

"They set up once before, they didn't like us," Arthur's voice rose in anger, "we destroyed their farm. Should I go on?!"

"Go easy on him, Morgan," Micah defended Bill. "He was out trying to find a lead, same as you... same as Hosea. All you do is complain when things don't go your way. Except when it's your goddamn fault."

"Shut up, Micah. You don't care 'bout anyone. So, don't start with this bullshit," Yeriel spat, glaring at Micah as he knelt next to Sean's body. He examined the fresh corpse with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't hear Sean's annoying voice again, but he would certainly miss him.

Yeriel sighed deeply, then carefully lifted Sean's body. He placed the corpse on Carol, his horse, who whined at the weight. Ignoring her protests, he mounted his horse, glancing back at Arthur and the others. "I'm gonna go and... bury him."

Arthur nodded, his expression somber. Yeriel turned his horse away from the grim scene, riding away from Rhodes and into the forest. The trees closed in around him.

As he rode deeper into the woods, he searched for a peaceful clearing, a place where Sean could rest away from the chaos of their lives. Finally, he found a small glade, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting a gentle glow on the ground.

Yeriel dismounted, carefully lowering Sean's body to the earth. He dug a shallow grave, his heart heavy with each shovelful of dirt he moved. Memories of Sean flooded his mind—the laughter, the jokes, the camaraderie. It felt wrong that he would never hear that voice again.

Once the grave was ready, Yeriel gently lowered Sean into it, whispering a few words of farewell. He covered the body with the earth. After finishing, he stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and took a moment to reflect.

The clearing was serene, the birds chirping softly in the trees, and Yeriel felt a strange sense of peace wash over him. He knew that Sean would have wanted them to keep moving, to keep fighting for their future. With one last look at the grave, Yeriel mounted his horse and turned back toward camp.