Red Dead Redemption 2: The Gunslinger

The calm silence had returned to that small corner of the world. Birds were singing again, the wind rustled the leaves, whistled through the trees... Chris felt it cold against his skin. It was as if he had finally returned to the real world, awakened from a long nightmare.

He stood there, frozen. Gasping for breath. Eyes fixed on the horizon, unblinking.

The man who had fled was already gone. But Chris still gripped the revolver tightly, as if the man could come back at any moment. As if more of them might leap from his blind spot to finish what they had started, to drag him straight to hell.

His stupor was broken only by the pain tearing through his chest.

He looked down. The wound in his chest was a cascade of fresh blood, pouring over the already dried stains, soaking the grimy white of his shirt in red.

"Shit..." he hissed through clenched teeth. Only now was the pain catching up to him, previously masked by the rush of action.

Tearing his shirt open, he inspected the wound. It was deep. It throbbed, pulsing agony through his entire body with each beat of his heart. Maybe it had even hit a rib...

Chris acted fast. He dragged his exhausted body toward what was left of his camp — now stained with blood and littered with corpses. From his bag, he pulled out a filthy bottle filled with a thick, golden liquid.

"Please... Please work..." he muttered, raising the bottle to eye level, watching the contents slosh.

Afraid he might hesitate if he thought too much, he brought the bottle to his lips and drank in heavy gulps, ignoring the taste and texture. When he stopped, he poured what little was left at the bottom directly into the wound.

Chris growled, forcing his mouth shut. The cut burned like he'd poured acid into it, the liquid bubbling over the torn skin.

He collapsed into the grass, his back resting against a tree. The bottle slipped from his hand. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, struggling for each breath.

The pain, once like his insides were burning in hellfire, slowly faded. Little by little, it became nothing more than a scratch. Looking at his chest, he could see, beneath the blood, that the wound was already halfway healed. No longer fresh, but something any doctor might say had been there for a week.

Chris let out an appreciative whistle. A faint, involuntary smile broke across his face.

That was good news. Incredible news, in fact. Something that could completely change his life in this world. The temptation to get up right then and start tracking down every Elixir he could remember was almost unbearable.

That miracle cure would no doubt save his life again someday.

But first, there were things that needed to be done.

Chris stood. He no longer felt the fatigue, and his body surged with energy. It still hurt to move, but nothing compared to before.

He pulled off his torn and bloodied shirt, ripped it into strips, and fashioned a crude bandage over his chest wound. He grabbed his bag first, then his Cattleman revolver lying nearby, sliding it back into its holster. He returned his knife to its place, once empty, and tucked the second revolver into his waistband.

He also retrieved the blanket, now riddled with bullet holes.

As he rolled it up, however, his eyes involuntarily settled on what he had been trying to ignore all along.

Corpses.

The men who, not long ago, had been alive — and whom he had turned into cadavers.

His brow furrowed, jaw clenched. His lips formed a trembling straight line. There was no pity on his face, but neither was there satisfaction. Only... fear. Fear of death, which had clawed at his chest just moments ago. Fear of himself, and of what he'd done to escape it. Fear of man's capacity for evil — including his own.

What lay there on the ground wasn't simply a dead man. He hadn't just been stabbed. Chris had mutilated him. There wasn't even a recognizable face left, just shredded flesh and blood already buzzing with flies.

"How far am I willing to go..." The words escaped like a hiss.

He hesitated, the question weighing on his mind. But he knew he had to take one more step into the abyss he'd entered.

He didn't want to. He didn't like it. But he had to, if he wanted to stay alive.

And kneeling down, he began to search the corpse.

The man's clothes were too damaged to be of any use. Chris took only the bloodstained holster and a box of ammunition. He clipped it to his belt, then picked up the other revolver, only now realizing it was a different model.

A black, double-action revolver. Heavy and filthy. Poorly maintained, no doubt, but with a bit of care, it would make a fine addition to his arsenal.

He holstered it in the second holster and, standing up, made his way to the second body.

An older man, bearded. He had a single hole in his neck — the result of the first, and most precise, shot fired that night. His mouth hung open, frozen in the expression of a man who had choked on his own blood.

Chris took a green shirt and a worn black coat from him. He hesitated, repelled by their stench, but the cold wind against his bare chest convinced him to put them on. In the pockets, he found around five dollars and a pocket watch, which he left where it was.

He pried open the man's stiff hand, still faintly warm, and took his revolver too. Another Cattleman, just like his own.

Once finished, he left the woods, heading in the direction the last man had fled.

He didn't stop until he reached the dead horse.

"Poor creature... I'm sorry..." That, finally, was when Chris felt true sorrow.

An innocent victim. One he deeply regretted hurting, even if by accident. Horses were incredible animals, and in a short time, he had come to love and respect them.

It didn't deserve this.

There, Chris made a silent vow to improve his aim. If not to defend himself better, then to prevent casualties like this, human or otherwise, from happening again.

He began to unbuckle the straps one by one and removed the saddle from the animal, taking the halters too. He slung it over his shoulder and, with his head held high and hat pulled low, began walking across the open plain.

A lone figure, disappearing into the night.

...

The sun rose slowly on the horizon, painting the vast open sky of the Heartlands in hues of orange and gold. Overhead, long, lazy clouds drifted by, carried on a gentle wind that barely stirred the grass. The world seemed to awaken, still half-asleep.

At the top of the hill, Chris dropped the saddle to the ground with a sigh. He rolled his shoulders, tilting his neck from side to side, feeling the tension finally leave his muscles.

He inhaled deeply, eyes closed. Let the clean air fill his lungs slowly.

Just like before, a herd of horses was grazing nearby. And among them stood the one that filled Chris's thoughts: the blood-red Thoroughbred, strong and imposing, unconcerned with everything around him — like a king.

Removing his hat, Chris gently placed it on the saddle, followed by the coat. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

"This is it..." he whispered, trying to steady himself. "I can do this."

He repeated everything he had done the day before, until once again he found himself face to face with the horse. The animal didn't flee. Didn't attack. It was as if, even knowing what Chris intended, it welcomed him to try again.

As if it was challenging him. Demanding proof of his worth.

And Chris gladly accepted.

He mounted.

The horse bolted, ran, bucked, and spun. It tried with all its strength to throw him off. But this time, Chris didn't fall. As battered and exhausted as he was, he held on tight, and stayed on until the horse calmed down.

Gradually, the sprint slowed to a gallop. Then a trot. And finally, the animal stopped.

Chris, breathless, broke into a wide smile.

He gave the horse a few pats on the neck, running his hand through its mane. With a gentle press of his boots to its belly, he guided the horse toward the saddle lying on the ground.

"We're gonna have some good times together, boy..." Chris said, unmistakable satisfaction in his voice. "Red as blood, regal as a king... Your name will be Dracul."