(Red Dead Redemption 2 Story)
'𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 - 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.'
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From the author that brought you 'Playing Dangerous'
You are the daughter of one of the most brutal, sought after 'Guns for Hire'...
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A single small panelled window allowed light into the minuscule, constrictive feeling room you found yourself situated in.
The pain thudding dully in your head seemed to intensify as you came round, your arms aching from the position in which they were forced - tied to the back of the chair restraining you. The panic slowly dripped into your brain, and you focused harder on the environment, from the wood varnish on the desk in front of you to the dirtied, yet patterned tiles on the floor beneath your boots. It was disconcerting and disorientating all the same - you could not grasp where you were and you were fearful of what may happen.
Hands wriggling and writhing, you attempted to pull free on the restraints but met little success, instead just causing sore burns of the wiry rope against your skin. To try and break free seemed futile, and you were already making yourself hot and sweaty, the escaped strands of your (hair colour) hair sticking to your forehead.
"Glad to see you're awake." A man strode in through a door just opposite to where you were sat, the 6 point star badge on his coat lapel told you he was from the law. He was an older man, greyed hair and an authority to his swaggering step which conveyed confidence and smugness; clearly he'd interrogated many folk before and you weren't about to be made any exception.
"When the boys said they'd caught Angus (surname)'s daughter robbin' a stage coach... well, you wouldn't believe my surprise," he remarked, standing in front of you with his arms folded across his chest.
"But here y' are. Not the sweet girl Angus used to be so proud of." His voice condescended, leaning against the edge of the large wooden desk before you.
You recoiled at the words, since when did your father ever state he was proud of you? He showed very little affection and when he had done, it was always toxic.
"I don't know what shit my father used to tell you, but ain't no way he was ever proud of me." You growled, "he abused me. Berated me, talked to me like a piece of shit." Your words were so filled with venom and animosity, your expressions came to life as your mind recounted every single second of pain you'd been caused at the hand of your father.
The lawman in front of you scowled, obviously not believing you which further boiled your already scorching blood. It was almost possible to feel it running hot like lava under your skin.
"Y' just mad because you know he'd be disappointed in you." He scorned you, backside leaving the desk as he began pacing a few steps to the left side of the room, and you could tell he was about to really interrogate you.
"So, how'd y' get to this, huh?" The man suddenly queried, pivoting on his heels as he strode back towards you with purpose. "Stealing from folk? You were just a sweet kid the last I heard of you."
From this statement you gathered your father really did spin the yarn when he was working, making his broken family seem so idillic to detract from the sad and destitute reality.
