Unshaken: An RDR2 Story

Chapter 1

2019 —>1899

I felt dizzy suddenly, the floor seemed to lurch, it was a sick feeling as though I had been at the top of a rollercoaster, going down the highest point, my stomach dropping.

I stared at the dog on the end of my lead. The dog. That was not there. The lead that I was not holding. Oh no.

But when I looked back up, it wasn't the woods I had been stood in. No, I had been walking up the heathers, and the heathers did not look like this. Where was Pepper?

The temperature seemed hotter as well, I suddenly realised. More like when I had been on holiday in Florida than any sort of temperature Scotland could ever be. And even if Scotland could be that temperature, I had been able to see my breath mere minutes ago, it couldn't have changed that quickly.

I looked around, stepping forward tentatively. I took out my phone, I had to call my mum, but there was no service. Where, in 2019, had no service?

I put it away and kept walking, a fear growing in the pit of my stomach. But when I looked back up, I understood why.

I had reached a campsite, a campsite that look all too familiar. And the man stood in front of me, no, he couldn't be real. He had never existed, and if he had, he wouldn't be alive now!

Cosplayers, I told myself. But the dangerous look on the man's face told me that was not the case.

"Arthur Morgan..." I managed to choke out, a shocked look on my face, before I collapsed to the ground.

I woke up, unable to move. I was on the ground, that much I knew, but it seemed my hands were tied behind my back. I looked around frantically, where was Pepper? Where was I? I hadn't really seen Arthur Morgan, had I?

"She's awake," a voice called, an accent that certainly wasn't common in 2019.

"Good morning," a deep voice said, a voice that was unmistakeable, "And who do I have the honour of meeting?"

I stared up, my eyes wide. Dutch van der Linde, a primary character in my favourite game, was stood in front of me.

"Dutch..." my voice cracked.

"That's my name, I asked for yours," his voice had no shred of emotion, he seemed to be working me out.

"This isn't real," I breathed, panic overtaking me, "You're not real. This can't be... where am I? What year is this?"

Dutch shared a look with someone just out of my view, before returning his attention back to me.

"You're in the Heartlands, just outside of Valentine," he said carefully, "The year is 1899. You didn't know that?"

"This is some elaborate prank, isn't it!" I said, hope filling me, "It's not funny, so you can drop the act. There's no way this is America in 1899, and anyway, you didn't exist! You're fiction, made up for a video game. So untie me and let me get back home, the jokes over."

"Alright, if this ain't America 1899, when is it?" I knew the man behind me was Arthur.

"Well, Mr Morgan," Dutch raised his eyebrows as I correctly identified the man, "That would be Scotland, in the north east, and 2019."

"2019?" A laugh escaped him, "She hit her head mighty good when she fell, Dutch."

"What do you mean, 2019?" Dutch asked softly, "I promise you, we aren't tricking you. Arthur, untie her, I doubt she's a threat."

He grudgingly did as he was told, and Dutch helped me stand, concern evident on his face. I could tell from his eyes that he wasn't lying, and anyway, no cosplayer could be quite as true to the game's creation of Dutch as this.