Really, Iâm not an artist, but I wanted to sketch something from my ff đ
âHow did you find me?â Kari wanted to know, balancing the vape from his fingers back into hers. Her lips closed around the mouthpiece and Kariâs lungs inhaled the smoke.
The man lowered his head, mirroring her posture. Back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. âYou served General Hon Krarvas as a good informant. Surely he had something on you⌠But I am willing to earn your trust.â
âDo you work for the Republic?â Kari asked, offering the vape to the stranger once more. He took it, but examined it before bringing it to his lips.
âIn a way,â he revealed, and Kari recognized the tone in his voice. He wouldnât share any more details with her. Nor did he have to. Someone from the Republic didnât just approach cold informants out of the blue and try to reactivate the relationship. The guy held a high-ranking positionâor was aiming for one.
âCan I have a name?â Kari blurted out, turning to face the man. The stranger seemed to be thinking it over. Names carried a certain weight. In the worst case, a name could cost you your life. Kari thought it would be only fair that he already knew hers.
âSome call me Fox,â he finally said, still careful not to reveal too much of his face.
âAnd others?â Kari was now playing with her own curiosity.
The blaster rifle felt heavy in Foxâs hand. Not entirely due to its own weight, but more because of the burden that came with the weapon. Standing beside him was Senator PadmĂŠ Amidala, towering over his men as if she was still the reigning regent of Naboo. Yet they were not standing in a palace, but in front of a seedy nightclub where criminals and politicians alike could satisfy their desires on equal footing.
The senatorâs dark blond, almost brown hair was tied back in a strict braid, and Fox couldnât help but feel a certain respect for her. The woman was braveâand knew the dangers she was exposing herself to. Nevertheless, her meeting with Ziro Desilijic Tiure had been foolish. Had her protocol droid not acted so quickly, the situation could have turned out very differently.
The obese Hutte was known to occasionally work for the Black Sun. From his club, Ziro had built up a network of petty criminals and freelancers known for their ruthlessness. An senator in his clutches could have ended up in a far worse situation than a brief captivity.
âYou donât agree with my approach in this matter, do you, Commander?â
Perhaps it was hope. That flicker in a heart that might just as well have been made of gears and machine oil. Or perhaps it was reason, yearning for a freedom that was simply not granted to it. A spark, a dream, a moment of silence. But did it really matter? As he stood in the gunboat, facing his death?
Fox took a breath. Every muscle in his body trembled and quivered as if he had already lost this battle. He exhaled. His gaze fell upon his reflection.
I'll be honest... I haven't written in a long time. And I'm not even sure if it's good enough to share it with youâŚ
ââââ
His gaze drifted to the datapad in his hand, which still displayed a file belonging to a bounty hunter. Kari Laavro was one of the names on General Hon Krarvaâs list of contacts who regularly supplied him with informations from the underworld, provided the credits were right. Fox didnât need to hope for a meeting with the young Togruta. She was shrewd and knew how to navigate the lower levels. Her file contained little useful information. Only that she hung around in a few casinos on Level 1226 and made a fortune gambling and playing Sabacc.
Anyone who wanted to hire the Togruta usually had to contact one of her middlemen.
If Fox had to make a guess, however, the old general had something on the bounty hunter.
Fox slowly got to his feet. His shoulder creaked slightly with the movement. The armor dug into his flesh and muscles. He gazed thoughtfully at the white Duraplast. It might protect him from blaster fire, but it wasnât made for the rough districts he would undoubtedly have to dive into to build his own network of criminals and henchmen.
His comms unit vibrated on his wrist. âCommander Fox, this is Sergeant Chinnek,â his brotherâs voice crackled. He had seen Chinnek only a few times. He was one of the soldiers who patrolled the Senateâand cheated at Sabacc for credits. Fox had watched his men play just once. Chinnek was counting the cards. Thorn managed to draw from the bottom of the deck without much effort. Bartass, on the other hand, was cheating with the dice.
âCommander Fox here,â Fox replied, leaning against the rickety railing. A shuttle raced past him and disappeared into the maelstrom of routes leading through the city.
âOne of the female senators was spotted in the lower levels; whatâs the next move?â Chinnek inquired, and Fox let his eyelids fall wearily.
He woke up. The heat shimmered through the interior of the gunship, turning the view of the horizon into a monotonous mass of orange and brown. Around him, his brothers murmured quiet conversations, of which he caught only a few snippets. Sighing, he sat up further and looked at the weapon between his fingersâas new and shiny as his armor was. Just a moment ago, he was sure, he had felt the icy rain of Kamino pelting his shoulders. Now he was brimming with heat that baked his body, so much so that sweat was already rolling down his back.
Geonosis. 43,000 light-years from the galactic core. As far as he knew, nothing raged on the surface but the harsh wilderness of sand and rock. The archives contained only a few key facts that might have helped them in an impending battle. Even fewer than the planetâs standardized biographies.
âCommander,â one of the soldiers cleared his throat and gripped the handle above their heads more tightly. âWhat awaits us?â The white armor shimmered in the dim light; through the sand dust, it looked almost brown.
âA support mission,â he replied, squaring his shoulders.
CC-2224 looked at the message on his com and frowned. It was just a text message that made him pause. It was written by a soldier stationed in the capital. A former brother-in-arms and friend. Someone who owed him a favor.
SECURE TRANSMISSION
CC-1010 KIA.
23:48
His little brother⌠was dead. Like so many others. And many more who would follow. But where had their story begun?
The underworld of Coruscant might have looked dazzling with all its neon lights. For some, even breathtaking. But danger lurked in its wet alleys and streetsâincluding criminals, thieves, and murderers who mingled with the poor to evade justice. Syndicates pulled the strings from the shadows, and thugs harassed the very working class who all shared the same unfortunate fate in this city.
Commander Thorn had been stationed on the wretched planet long enough to see how the rich and beautiful built their lives on the backs of the poor. One of the many reasons why he and his squad were patrolling the grimy alleys of the red-light district, on the lookout for a thief.
âSir⌠The trail is going cold,â Bartass growled, glancing over his shoulder at the main street. Thorn had fought alongside the other soldier since the war began and considered him his closest friend in the Coruscant Guard. âThe cameras arenât showing any suspicious activity.â
Thorn thoughtfully reviewed the video footage on his HUD. Their target was a cunning thief. Milra Tezor had been involved in petty pickpocketing at several casinos. Stealing Senator Povrir Zoxâs access keys appeared to be her first major job for one of the syndicates. A heist that could quickly cost her her life if the Guardâs squads got their hands on her. âOur contact was clear. Sheâs here,â Thorn replied; but couldnât help frowning.
Taking one last deep breath, Fox stepped into the interrogation room. The thief looked up, and a smug smile appeared on her lips. His figure was reflected in her large black eyes. The white armor with the red markings, which vaguely reminded him of Geonosis, and how the white material had been smeared with his blood. On any other day, the memory would have gripped him with a cold hand and certainly not let go for several minutes. But today he had no time for that. He had to function and not think about how a metal claw had slit his throat.
âYou,â Tezor said in a clear, bell-like voice, leaning back slightly in her chair. âI should have known you were a clone,â she hissed, licking her lips with her tongue.
âMilra Tezor,â Fox said coolly, remaining in the shadows of the room. It hadnât escaped his notice that the thief had shown a certain interest in himâand he had used it to his advantage. Only, things hadnât turned out for her the way sheâd originally hoped.
âYou look different from your âbrothers,ââ Tezor observed, raising her bound hands as if to make a sweeping gesture. âHas anyone ever told you that before?â
Sooo well, itâs not exactly the first time I ever wrote a Fan Fiction đ. But itâs the first time in English. And mâ not sure if I should write it. So here we are. With a simple idea.
The Unshaken
A Red Dead Redemption Fan Fiction
Honour belongs to those who face the evil ones
âWe were thinking about California, but then Dutch and Hosea brought us down to BlackwaterâŚâ
Arthur Morgan is an outlaw: brute, cold hearted and loyal. So it seems. But after the failed job of robbing that ferry everything turned into a disaster - and his life upside down - questionable decisions are made. Is Arthur really the deadly killer everyone beliefe? Or is there something more about his story?
Prologue
1899, June - Clemence Point
âWe trusted in a foolish plan; a hopeful dream. A future with a happy end.â
Maybe the whole story began with a simple word. Or - so I wishfully believed - with something like fate. Now Iâm not so sure anymore. After months of running and running. Behind us the law and before nothing more than a fragment of a plan. Load spoken words with no meaning or phrases from bluntly written books.
Well, is that the story?
My story?
I was too deep into my thoughts to be really present while I sat at the campfire somewhere in Lemoyne after a too long day of chores under the brutal sun. Ms. Grimshaws ranted at the girls. Hosea hummed some song that seemed familiar to me. Dutch whispered too quietly with Mary-Beth to understand any spoken word. And I thought: Maybe that was the beginning of the end. The last months of shattered happiness. Or just a fools game. No winner. No happy end. No hope. After my death I got forgotten how every sad man in this kind of world.
Oh this fragile hope.
I would laugh if I could. Because all that shit that happened in the last weeks was just like a bad joke. When I was honest with myself than Iâd say that I never have I ever felt so hopeless. Lost in the darkness of my mind. Lost between blood and pressure. The feeling that I wasnât a human being anymore was more than a simple whisper in my mind. Not the first time I saw that - nowadays - I was only the workhorse of the gang. And itâs that be true.
Shakespeare would write gloriously about the life of an outlaw. With big words and much bigger acts. But also with a dramatically ending. That he would. Just not with my story. Not about an Arthur Morgan. Some ugly old guy with a more simpler mind. Who couldnât speak right or find any fancy words to describe the world.
Yes, it was this evening that showed me that my mind was lost. I had followed Dutch blindly, let my anger run wild and now I paid with the most precious good. Freedom.
All this fighting, all the dead... all the plans I had followed: for nothing. For my own the desire to die.
A deep sigh broke over my lips, before I stood up again. From Dutchâs tent I heard the low music playing. The man danced slowly with Ms. Grimshaw. Theyâre giggled like children, happy smiles on their lips. Karen stand nearby with a bottle of whiskey between her shaky hands. Her blond hair like fluid gold in the shine of the fire.
I always liked her. Her wild character, her stormy heart and the creativity from her soul. But like the life is, I spoke far too rarely with her.
âArthurâ, she smiled. Something between a cougar and an angle. Dangerous for sure. I nodded with my head. âWhen was the last time you danced?â
Shoulder shrugged I stand beside her. âDunnoâ, I said and ducked the chin. Dancing⌠it would be the last thing I thought about on a normal day. âCanât really danceâŚâ
Karen took my hand in hers. âWanna?â She smiled again. Ifâs the easiest thing to do. The whiskey forgotten. Or not important enough to think about it. âCâmon, ArthurâŚâ Her voice not quite begging but wavering.
âWell thenâŚâ Grumbled I placed my hand on her hip, the other in her hand. The music was slowly and sounds Iike sad tale about sweethearts.
We moved to the beat of the music. To the left. To the right. With a sloppy twist and again. In Karen eyes a happy shine. And if I was honest with myself then Iâd gladly say that I was happy too. For a while. Like if weâre teenagers again and nothing bad could happen to us.
âArthur⌠what you think about our future? Do you think theyâll writing books about us?â Karen bite her lips.
âHe, if so⌠then my story donât have more then six chapters.â I tried to laugh about it. I really did. But something told me, that fate had already decided about me.
Six chaptersâŚ
And no one would be happy.
Where started it?
Blackwater? Before that? Or in Colter?
I lost the hold on Karen. Here I was⌠somewhere in Lemoyne. So afraid of my own story.
The beginning. Of the end.
Six chapters.
And no happiness. Oh, what fool I was to believe it could be different.
It's nearly 3 am and my brain is exploding because I never noticed Eddie wearing Buck's coat in 5x6. Did everyone else already know this? I'm losing my mind here. When the cam zooms out they're wearing the correct coats but in this scene Eddie is wearing a coat with Buckley on the back and OMG.
I decided to make it a gif after rewatching the same 5 seconds of video five thousand times.
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