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Caleb nodded, filing the information away. If the Van der Linde gang had been here, it seemed they hadn't made much of an impression or they hadn't arrived yet. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, Caleb's arms ached, and his stomach was growling louder than ever.
Caleb's stomach growled loudly as he left the stables, after receiving his pay of a dollar, the ache in his arms and back a reminder of the day's labor. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across Valentine's dirt streets.
He could smell the faint aroma of cooked meat wafting from the saloon, but he forced himself to ignore it. Food would have to wait. He needed more work, more money, and more information.
The butcher stall was located at the end of the main road, a small wooden structure with a bloodstained counter and a few carcasses hanging from hooks. The smell of raw meat and sawdust filled the air, and a burly man with a thick beard and a stained apron stood behind the counter, sharpening a cleaver. This had to be Old Bob.
Caleb approached cautiously, his boots crunching against the dirt. The man looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in Caleb's appearance. "What do you want?" he grunted, his voice rough and impatient.
"I heard you might need help," Caleb said, forcing a polite tone. "I'm looking for work."
Old Bob set the cleaver down and crossed his arms, his gaze sweeping over Caleb from head to toe. "You any good with a knife? Can you cut meat? Skin animals?"
Caleb hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I know the basics. I'm a fast learner."
Old Bob scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Basics, huh? We'll see about that." He gestured to a pile of unskinned rabbits on the counter. "Start with those. Skin 'em clean, no tears. If you mess up, you're out. Got it?"
"Got it," Caleb said, stepping behind the counter. He picked up a small knife, its blade sharp and cold in his hand. He glanced at the rabbits, their fur matted with blood, and took a deep breath.
He'd seen the animations in the game, Arthur skinning animals with practiced ease, and he'd watched a few hunting videos on YouTube in his past life. It wasn't much, but it was something.
He picked up the first rabbit, positioning the knife carefully. His hands trembled slightly, but he steadied himself, focusing on the task. He made the first cut, slicing through the fur and peeling it back. It was messy work, and his first attempt left a few tears in the pelt, but he adjusted his technique, working more carefully. By the third rabbit, he was starting to get the hang of it.
As he worked, a loud *ding* echoed in his mind, and the translucent blue system window appeared in front of him. Caleb blinked, glancing at the message.
Knife Skills (Lvl 0: Beginner - Novice) Acquired!
You possess no prior knowledge or experience with knives. You are learning basic concepts through observation, hands on practice, and foundational study. Your technique is rough, but you are beginning to understand the fundamentals of cutting and skinning.
Caleb smirked, a small sense of accomplishment washing over him. "Guess I'm not completely hopeless," he muttered under his breath.
Old Bob glanced over, his expression unreadable. "You're slow, but you're not butchering the pelts. Keep at it."
Caleb nodded, returning to his work. The system window faded, but the notification lingered in his mind. He needed to improve his skills if he wanted to survive in this world. Knife work, shooting, riding, everything mattered. And if he could level up his abilities, he'd have a better chance of staying alive.
By the time he finished skinning the rabbits, his hands were slick with blood, and his back ached from hunching over the counter.
Old Bob inspected the pelts, his brow furrowed as he ran a calloused hand over the fur. "Not bad," he admitted grudgingly. "You'll do. Come back tomorrow if you want more work. I'll pay you a dollar for the day."
"Thanks," Caleb said, wiping his hands on a rag. He pocketed the coin, his stomach growling again. He couldn't put off eating any longer.
As he left the butcher stall, the town of Valentine was settling into the quiet of the evening. The saloon was still lively, the sound of laughter and piano music spilling into the street, but the rest of the town was calm.
Caleb made his way to the general store, where he bought a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese with his hard earned money. It wasn't much, but it would keep him going.
He found a quiet spot near the stables to eat, leaning against a wooden fence as he tore into the bread. The food was simple, but it tasted like heaven after a long day of work.
As he ate, his mind wandered back to the Van der Linde gang. If they hadn't arrived at Valentine's yet, it meant he had time to prepare. But if they were already here, he needed to find out where they were camped.
He needed to be careful, though. Asking too many questions would draw attention, and attention was the last thing he needed. For now, he'd keep his head down, work hard, and gather information quietly. The stables and the butcher stall were good places to start, but he'd need to expand his network if he wanted to survive in this world.
As he finished his meal, Caleb glanced at the system window again. His stats were still the same, but he'd gained a new skill. It was a small step, but it was progress. He just needed to keep moving forward.
After his stomach had been filled, Caleb sighed as he looked at the remaining 50 cents in his hand, the meager earnings from his first day of hard work in this unforgiving world. The bread and cheese had cost him almost all of his money, and now he was faced with the reality of finding a place to sleep.
His "USB-like memory" skill kicked in, reminding him that staying at a hotel in any town in Red Dead Redemption 2 cost a dollar, 50 cents more than he had. Sleeping under the stars on an open field seemed like his only option, but the thought of being exposed to the dangers of the wilderness made him uneasy.
As he stood there, weighing his options, he noticed two men walking suspiciously down the street. They kept glancing over their shoulders, their movements furtive and hurried. Caleb's curiosity was piqued. He watched as they turned into the alley behind the saloon, their hushed voices carrying just enough for him to catch snippets of their conversation.
"We need to pay the sheriff soon," one of them muttered, his voice low but not low enough. "If we don't, he'll start sniffing around."
"Aye, but we've got enough for now," the other replied, his Irish accent thick. "Just keep it quiet, yeah? We don't need any more trouble."
Caleb's eyes narrowed. The accent, the way they talked, the mention of paying off the sheriff, it all clicked. His memory skill triggered, pulling up a vivid recollection from the game.
Behind the doctor's office in Valentine, there was a back room where four O'Driscolls ran an illegal side business. In the game, Arthur had stumbled upon it, finding a Schofield Revolver, a stash of cash on the table, and a safe containing even more money. It was a small but lucrative opportunity, and Caleb realized it might be his ticket to a decent night's sleep, and maybe more.
He glanced around, making sure no one was watching him, then casually began to follow the two men. He kept his distance, blending into the shadows and acting as though he was just another drifter minding his own business. The men didn't seem to notice him, too engrossed in their conversation and their own paranoia.
As they disappeared into the alley, Caleb hung back, leaning against a wooden post and pretending to adjust his boot. He strained his ears, catching more of their conversation.
"The boss won't be happy if we're late with the payment," the first man said, his voice tense. "We've got to make sure the sheriff stays off our backs."
"Aye, but we've got the money," the second man replied. "Just keep your head down and don't draw attention."
Caleb's mind raced. If these men were O'Driscolls, and if they were running an illegal operation out of the doctor's back office, then there was a chance he could intercept their earnings. It was risky, he didn't have a weapon, and his knife skills were still at Level 0, but the potential payoff was too good to ignore.
He waited until the men were out of sight, then slipped into the alley. Caleb crouched behind the stack of crates in the alley, his eyes fixed on the back of the doctor's office where the two men had entered through.
The window was covered with thick wooden planks, and the backdoor was reinforced with heavy metal, clearly designed to keep intruders out. It surfaces dull and unyielding under the dim light filtering through the cracks. This wasn't going to be easy.
Either the O'Driscolls had taken precautions or it was the doctor who did it, he doesn't know much as he didn't investigate the lore that deep.
The place was a fortress, and Caleb didn't have the tools or the skills to break in quietly. His stomach churned at the thought of what he might have to do to get inside.
Killing someone, even an O'Driscoll, wasn't something he was ready for. He'd never taken a life before, and the idea made him queasy. But he needed that money. Without it, he'd be sleeping in the dirt tonight, exposed to the dangers of the wilderness.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think. He couldn't just barge in. He needed a plan. His "USB-like memory" skill kicked in, pulling up details from the game.
In Red Dead Redemption 2, Arthur infiltrated the backroom by robbing the doctor and forcing him to open the entrance from the doctor's shop, but Caleb didn't have the luxury of a pre scripted mission. He'd have to improvise.
As he was thinking, suddenly the metal door creaked open, revealing a staggering O'Driscoll, muttering about needing to relieve himself. His companions, visible through the doorway, told him to shut the door, but the drunk O'Driscoll waved them off, slurring that it was fine, no one would be in the alley at this hour.
This was it, Caleb's chance that he should take advantage of. Maybe his only one. He grabbed a sizable rock from the ground, its rough surface a stark contrast to the sudden chill that ran through him. He approached the O'Driscoll silently, the man still focused on his task.
Caleb swung the rock with all his might, aiming for the back of the head, intent on knocking him unconscious. The impact was sickening, a dull thud followed by a muffled groan as the O'Driscoll crumpled forward, hitting the wall he'd been urinating against.
Caleb's stomach churned. He saw blood oozing from the back of the man's head. Dread washed over him, cold and heavy. He fought back the urge to vomit, as he had to focus. Then, he heard a groan and as he looked down, he saw that the O'Driscoll wasn't dead, yet, he was still alive.
Panic clawed at Caleb's throat, and as he looked around, he saw the knife on the O'Driscoll's belt. He grabbed it, his hand shaking. He rolled the man over, those eyes, wide and staring, already filled with a sense of death he will cause.
He couldn't think. He wouldn't hesitate. He brought the knife down in a brutal, swift motion across the O'Driscoll's throat. The gurgling sound that followed was horrifying.
Just before the nausea could fully overcome him, a ding echoed in his mind, but he ignored it at this time. The notifications were surreal, almost mocking, against the backdrop of what he had just done. He'd gained what looked like a skill, but his heart was a lead weight in his chest.
Caleb stood over the lifeless body of the O'Driscoll, his hands trembling as he clutched the bloodied knife. The man's wide, unseeing eyes stared up at him, a haunting reminder of what he had just done.
His stomach churned once again, and for a moment, he thought he might vomit. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, and the weight of his actions pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 5/10
- Charm: 4/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 1)
- Rifle (Lvl 1)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 0) - New!