Work Text
Arthur had arrived at the edge of the world.
He had traveled east from Annisburg, passing stone monuments and small hills, and finally found the wreck of a stranded ship by the sea. Unbeknownst to him, he was guided to dig out a small trinket from a box on the beach and similar occurrences, but he chose to skip over those details. There he stood, gazing out at the sea for a long time. At one point, he had tried to climb the surrounding hills but kept sliding back down just as he was about to succeed. So he returned to watch the sea until the moon rose. He felt that something had changed; his mind became clearer. Waves surged onto the shore and retreated in layers. Arthur hugged his shoulders; strangely, after trudging through mountains and rivers, getting his clothes wet and then dry, he didn’t feel cold. Now, standing in the night wind with dry clothes, he felt a different kind of cold—a good kind of cold, unlike the inexplicable killings he had committed in the streets and towns, unlike the times he had robbed the carriages of passersby, some clearly belonging to the poor. He had committed morally wrong acts without reason, feeling no inner turmoil. But now, he sensed that some good changes were occurring at this moment. He felt familiar, free, and more relaxed, like someone recovering from a serious illness.
Footsteps sounded behind Arthur. He didn’t know who it was, but it sounded familiar. At least he could be sure he wasn’t being ambushed. The footsteps stopped about five meters away from him. The newcomer struggled to breathe and cough, reminiscent of the farmer he had pressured for debts, Thomas Downs. He remembered that these days were indeed rife with sickness; the newcomer’s voice was hoarse and labored. He greeted Arthur, “Good evening.”
“Good evening, have I taken your fishing spot? I... apologize, I’m just about to leave.” Arthur didn’t turn around; his subconscious seemed to tell him it was unnecessary. He had complete trust in the newcomer, including but not limited to the assurance that he wouldn’t shoot him in the back or drag him off, this walking five-thousand-dollar bounty.
“I’m not here to fish…”
“Then you’re here to enjoy the night view? There’s still room over here; I have a bottle of whiskey in my bag.” The newcomer’s voice sounded just like his own, unmistakably the voice of a cowboy who had spent half his life roaming the wilderness. Arthur thought he would be happy to share a bottle of spirits.
“No,” the man began to cough laboriously, his wheezing sounding dreadful. He probably didn’t have much time left. Sharing whiskey with someone like him seemed a bit rash. Arthur said, “Sir, you should see a doctor.”
“...No,” he gasped, “I’m looking for you, Arthur Morgan. I have something to tell you.”
Arthur nearly jumped. The stranger accurately uttered his true name, and in an instant, worry gripped his mind. If someone here knew his true name, did that mean the Pinkerton detectives and police were close to finding the gang’s camp? Luckily, the gang was at the Horseshoe Overlook, but they were still within New Hanover territory. The government’s hounds would soon catch the scent. Never underestimate their noses. But a voice inside him whispered that it was nothing. It was only natural that he would know his true name. Arthur suppressed his strange feelings. He noticed that the newcomer didn’t wait for him to answer, indicating that he didn’t need to confirm his identity. Well, all he could do now was hope that he was a friend, not an enemy, Arthur thought.
“You tried earlier; there’s no way to continue east, right? I saw it.”
“Because this is the end of the world.”
Arthur’s hairs stood on end. He realized he had been monitored since the very beginning without even noticing. To calm him, the stranger said, “Don’t be nervous. Stay calm. I can only appear and talk to you at this time. I’m on your side.”
“Well, sir,” Arthur prepared to turn around, but the person sensed his intent and immediately called out, “Don’t turn around yet.” At the same time, a force prevented Arthur from turning. He felt that if he looked back, he would see something ominous. “Don’t turn around until I finish speaking. You’ll be immediately observed.”
“How do I know I’m not being aimed at with a revolver right now? You’re watching me!” Arthur stared at the seemingly endless sea, the moonlight casting a twinkling cold light on the water’s surface.
“I’m here just to convey a message. And,” the newcomer smiled wryly, “I won’t hurt you. It’s impossible, even though you’re ugly and a bastard.”
“There’s not much time left. Listen to me. You must have realized that sometimes you’re not that free, cowboy. Some of your actions aren’t out of your own will.” Arthur snorted. The man took a deep breath. “You realize it, right? If you haven’t, then you’re even dumber than I thought.”
“I certainly! …Sometimes I can feel it.”
“Alright, let’s continue. The world has boundaries; you’re being manipulated. I don’t know if you’ve thought of anything? Like those peculiar habits seen among the rich, they keep insects in bottles—not for eating or fishing. They display the jars of insects on tables and bookshelves, collecting them as curiosities.”
“Are you saying I’m the insect?”
“Of course… you’re the strong type. Just kidding,” Arthur heard fish swimming beneath the surface of the sea. “I spent a lot of time confirming this. Listen, the key to everything is observation. If no one is watching the insects in the bottle, perhaps they could escape. But if they are under the observation of an insurmountable force, then those insects can only be shaken around in the bottle.”
“Shaken around in the bottle… okay.” Arthur recalled the woman he had encountered who was crushed by a horse. He had wanted to help her, take her back home, just as Dutch had always said and he agreed with: despite being outlaws and bandits, they were only opposing civilized society and the system, not the specific suffering populace. He dismounted, intending to help her lift the horse, and even take her part of the way. However, after dismounting, he shot the woman and searched her for loose change. Those coins were still warm when they reached his hands. He hadn’t done it intentionally, but he thought, this wasn’t the first time I killed someone. What am I being pretentious about? My sins were already enough to throw me into the embrace of hell, so he didn’t feel too sad—maybe a little sad. He mounted his horse and left, caring neither about the woman’s backstory nor about the potentially shattered family behind her. He was an outlaw… Suddenly, a surge of guilt nearly overwhelmed Arthur. Her family—she might have had children waiting for her return. That child would never see his mother come home, just as he would never see Eliza and Isaac again. Strange, guilt swirled within him like debris stirred up from the bottom of water, turning in his heart. I killed an innocent person. The thought sent a chill down his spine—he suddenly realized this was an evil act that Arthur Morgan would never commit, and yet he had been utterly oblivious to it.
Arthur clenched his fists, wanting to punch someone’s face, but his anger had no rightful target. “Wait a minute, I remember! Oh finally, I remembered! Everything bad I did—it wasn’t me… I…” The newcomer behind him nodded. For some reason, Arthur felt that he nodded in understanding. He even grasped Arthur’s illogical fragments of speech due to the strange connection between them. Arthur heard the sound of fabric rubbing together as he continued, “It’s a big world. We wander and stop everywhere, exploring and enjoying it. But considering its boundaries, it’s still a transparent box. You, Arthur Morgan, are both the protagonist and the prisoner of this world.”
“I’m both the protagonist and the prisoner…” Arthur murmured.
“Your life plays out here time and again. Sometimes you are guided; sometimes you are released temporarily into freedom. All of this is because someone is watching, looking through your eyes,” the newcomer coughed again. He took out medication and swallowed it, taking a while to calm down. “Only when that person stops watching can you gain temporary freedom. And only in freedom can you truly go to Tahiti, to Mexico, to New Zealand, without being trapped in this scenic New Hanover, West Elizabeth, being manipulated into doing things against your will. Yes! I know it’s unfair, cowboy, but there’s never been such a thing as fairness.” Arthur tensed the muscles in his back. That person must have noticed his fists. “What you need to do is not throw punches. In fact, it’s much more difficult than that.” He slowed his tone. What he was about to say must really be very hard, as Arthur could sense a rare hint of compassion in his voice.
“I need you… This is also for John. You can run away; when your life reaches its end, you can escape. But someone will take your place, John. Marston, he can’t do anything. He also has… he also has Abigail and little Jack.”
“John Marston? That fool? Him again? Getting himself into trouble.”
“This time it’s not his fault. He was also designed to please the manipulator. You should protect him, right?”
“…Marston owes me once, many times over.” Arthur fell silent for a moment, coming to that conclusion.
“So I want you to survive long enough, to see enough. You must live splendidly,” at this point, Arthur could not help but interrupt him.
"…You certainly can't negotiate with something that can't be opposed, you fool! Your performance is clearly still far from enough; you're not bad enough to be truly good either. You haven't explored most of this world yet; you still haven’t… you haven’t witnessed the fall of Dutch. The era no longer needs outlaws, but that is a process—a process that provides them with their entertainment."
"The fall of Dutch? What are you talking about? We just turned a corner; Dutch and Hosea found new business opportunities. We got away from that cursed snow mountain… what are you saying? We're about to make some money and buy a ranch."
"You can believe that." For a moment, the two fell silent, like a tranquil spring river with rushing currents beneath. After a while, the stranger seemed unable to contain himself; Arthur heard what sounded like him striking a match to light a cigarette, and a waft of smoke drifted toward him, followed by an endless fit of coughing and gasping.
"Who are you?" Arthur asked, but the stranger did not answer. He continued with his previous topic: "You need to try to finish everything, to see all the scenery. That way… when it’s time for Marston, oh, it will definitely be his turn. When Marston takes over that damned fate, because it’s so dull, he will be released. He will live freely with Abigail and Jack on new lands, or… you have confidence, although I doubt that—"
"Show enough charm; after all, you still retain a part of your will. That door hasn’t fully closed; you must use that little gap to make people reluctant to leave you, to touch others," the stranger tossed his cigarette aside, "Bad things can only blind you a little, but never… you need to make those observing you feel something for you. They will be reluctant to replace you with John; they will let the wheel of fate stop turning. This path might even allow you to avoid witnessing the end of the Western era…"
"At that point, we win, brother."
"Who are you?" Arthur asked again, suspicion rising sharply within him. He felt a name on the tip of his tongue; it belonged to their era, he thought. So he easily turned around, perhaps because the stranger had finished conveying his message? He easily saw who had come: a familiar face he saw every time he looked in the mirror, standing just five steps away. The man wore a blue shirt and a yellowish jacket, like those he often wore, with a black scarf around his neck—a scarf he knew was often used as a mask. Of course, this trick was learned from Dutch, who had taught him much, both good and bad, right and wrong. The familiar face had no color; there was blood at the corner of his lips from a recent cough, and his green eyes drooped with fatigue. He spoke to Arthur, his past self: "I will die. We will die. Before that, complete what you need to do. This is…" He spread his hands, showing a handful of blood in his palm, "This is our inescapable future."
"I want you to embrace your fate bravely, even knowing everything."
A flash of lightning suddenly lit up the sky, splitting the world in two with a mighty force. In the brief darkness flickering with lightning, that Arthur disappeared, the rumbling of thunder echoed in Arthur's ears, and then a violent storm descended, sweeping away the last traces left by another Arthur. Arthur's body stiffened as something heavy descended upon him again. He watched helplessly as he blew a horse whistle uncontrollably in the rain. "I won’t ride in the rain," Arthur thought. However, when the horse truly came to his side, he immediately mounted and galloped westward, ultimately returning to the box that imprisoned and observed him, like every shiny, solemn, and beautiful beetle.