Know My Name - a RDR2 Story

Dead and Buried

Let me tell you a story about a young woman who fell into two crowds: the good and the bad.
Of course, there are pros and cons to each category, but I suppose it only depends on the way you look at it...

Y'all, I'm sorry for the late-as-hell chapter--I just moved into my new place and let me tell you, this place is lit as fuck. My roommate is a bit of a character, but who am I to judge? I write fanfiction on Wattpad and AO3.

TW!: violence, graphic wounds, torture, gunshot wounds, use of needles
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Everything hurt. God, who knew pain could hurt this much?

How did he even get into this situation? His head throbbed--from either the pain or the fact that he'd been hanging upside down for God knows how long. Arthur could barely see through the ripped potato sack over his head. His vision swam, though probably from the concussion he had received back on that hill. That, or from blood loss from his bullet wound

God, how long had he been out?

The last thing Arthur remembered was attempting to escape his captures--emphasis on trying. He had crawled maybe twenty feet away from his kidnappers before they embedded two bullets into his body and then proceeded to kick the shit out of him.

Stripped of his possessions, Arthur was left wearing nothing but his red union suit with an extra two holes in it and that stupid potato sack over his head, ripped just enough so he could see out of the damned thing--not that it mattered anyways, considering that simply trying to open his eyes sent him into a sharp pang of pain. His ankles strung him up, chains secured tightly around them and deadbolted to the ceiling above. Even if he did manage to escape, Arthur wasn't sure his ankles would allow him to walk any further than ten feet. Arthur felt like he was going to puke. He wasn't even sure if he could manage to hurl, considering his gag reflex was technically upside down. He wanted his cot more than anything.

Why hadn't Dutch come yet?

An orange light glowed in the distance, pulling Arthur's hazy gaze towards the figure that seemed to be walking down--or was it up?--the stairs. Breathing through his teeth in sharp exhales, Arthur tried to focus on anything but the pain in his left shoulder. It was a miracle the bullet hadn't pierced his heart or left lung. Part of the outlaw wished it had, to spare himself the pain of being alive.

"Arthur Morgan," the figure in front of him called, "It's good to see ya." Colm O'Driscoll said, placing his kerosene-lit lamp on a nearby table while he held a plate of food in the other. Colm looked just as disgusting in person as he did from two hundred feet away and a hundred feet up. Seeing his ugly mug in person for the first time in years wasn't any more pleasing than seeing his face in person the first time Arthur met Colm.

Arthur let out a moan of pain, his head swimming with all the blood pressure that settled in his skull. "Hello, Colm..." he groaned, letting his hands fall beyond his head. He coughed, gagging on the thick mucus that tasted all too similar to the iron composition of blood.

"How's the wound?" Colm asked as if they were old friends, his hand gesturing for Arthur to take the spoon of food into his mouth.

"I hardly feel it..." whispered the weak outlaw.

"You will," Colm whispered back, trying to force the spoon into Arthur's mouth. Arthur, of course, didn't trust the strange stew that Dutch's enemy was trying to feed him. Who knew what was in that stew? Rotten vegetables? Spoiled meat? Human flesh? Knowing the man who raised Kam, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if they cut up and ate the people who betrayed them.