Good evening, cowpoke. This may not be my first fanfiction, but I almost doubt that I will finish it. I really don't know if I'm going to set a length for chapters. I'll experiment with the first few chapters, but I'd appreciate feedback.

For those who haven't played Red Dead Redemption 2, SPOILERS! PLAY THE GAME!

Also, make sure to remember what the characters look like because I might describe some of them but definitely not all of them.

Rated M for lots of things, Profanity, Possible Nudity, Extreme Violence, Tobacco Use and more included.

Waking up was a strange sensation. The feeling of almost being sticky, like you're sunk into the ground, unable to get up. Limbs feeling like metal pipes, 1000 pounds heavy. Eyelids feeling like cars were running over them like the road.

Finally, he was able to awaken. Although, as he thought about his name as if he was narrating a story, it felt wrong, as if it was in the past.

'What is my name?' He asked himself, and got an answer from the reserves of his dear mind.

'Francis von Calloway.'

Information came flooding to his head. Francis von Calloway was a Caucasian man with black hair and whiskey colored eyes. He was around 23 years old, standing at 6 feet and 3 inches. He had an angular jaw, similar to Javier Escuella. His cheekbones sat at around mid level, average lips and teeth. His eyes were sharp, ready for a fight. He wore his hair similar to Dutch Van der Linde's hair, swept back and curling at the ends. His facial hair was at a short length, maybe as long as half the width of a ring finger. His mustache attached to his sideburns which attached to his hair, and his chin is bare of all hair, pruned and shaved like a gentleman. Francis had a muscled body, but not overly so. His style was more of a hidden strength, able to look perfect in a suit, but not muscled overly. (A/N: Think of Dutch's physique with just a bit bit more muscle, and leaner.)

He was wearing black Oakley boots with black leather & gold metal Vaquero spurs, black Studded pants, a black belt with 2 holsters on each hip and a gold buckle, and collared white shirt, tucked, sleeves down and open collar. Atop the shirt was a fully black Greenbush vest with gold buttons and a gold chain running from

the second button to the right pocket. The vest was modified to be flat instead of having any sort of "vest collar." On top of the vest, he wore a black leather duster jacket with gold buttons. Francis wore a black worn gambler's hat with light brown ropes (A/N: Basically Arthur's Hat but black). Around his neck was a black bandana with white patterning. Adorning his right hand was 2 rings. On his ring finger, a completely gold ring with a skull that had a snake coming out of it, also known as the Blackbone ring. On his pointer finger was another golden ring, this time with an ornate C engraved onto a flat circular surface rising from the band.

He had in his holsters 2 custom Double-Action revolvers. These revolvers had black steel barrels and frames and silver cylinders, hammers, triggers, and iron sights. The engravings were the Art Nouvau engraving, the inlay being gold. The handles were ebony, with eagle engravings. Long barrels, improved iron sights, and improved rifling. Francis felt that he had been using these double-actions for years and years, and his head told him he had.

Francis had apparently been a gunslinger since he was 12, his parents having died in a fire that he gained a burn on his arm from. Ever since then, he had been a sharpshooter to keep from death. However, currently he was in a less than optimal situation.

He remembered that he had lived in 2023 and his old name was Norman Martinelli, a strange name for an American. He lived in Hickory, Tennessee before this all happened. The last thing he remembered was a pocket watch he bought from a pawn shop spinning backwards (A/N: Dutch's). He knew he's not related to Jim "Boy" Calloway. He knew he was a brilliant gunslinger. He knew that it was night out.

He knew he was bleeding.

Profusely.

Not very optimal at all.

Finally hauling himself off the ground, Francis remembered vaguely that he had been running from a man with a bandana that had assaulted him for cash near Twin Stack Pass. He had lost his stolen horse, and ran all the way up to Citadel Rock. Unfortunately, some wolves decided to have a row with him there, and now he didn't know where he was.

Sort of stumbling, and holding his head, Francis started to move left. After all, deciding won't get you anywhere. While he stumbled aimlessly, he felt around for where he was hurt. Luckily, the wolves didn't get him too deep, but they still did a lot. He had a vertical cut on the right side of his mouth from the top of his lip to the bottom, a horizontal cut on his nose, and cutss going from his mid cheek to the back of his jaw.

"Well, shit." He said out loud. Francis had a voice that was quite like John Marston's. It was a bit deeper, however. The best way to describe it would be chalky.

He continued stumbling, coming to hear blurred voices, distorted to hell due to his blood loss. Through his blurry eyes and understanding with his blurry mind, Francis came upon light. Stepping forward faster, desperate for medical attention, he stepped on a large stick, breaking it and tripping, falling onto his knees and breaking another. The voices quieted. Quite suddenly, piercing the air, there was a gasp.

"DUTCH, MRS. GRIMSHAW, COME HERE!"

When Francis looked up, all he really saw was a blurry blob with maybe a blouse. He smiled as much as his wounds allowed, and said, "Charming, right?"

As he fell to the ground, consciousness rapidly leaving him, he heard another gasp, and a rough voice speaking. "Oh dear."

Waking up again was essentially the same sensation. Lead pipes for the limbs, cars on the eyes, you know the deal. However, this time, he had a headache that felt like getting kicked in the balls, but in the head. Francis raised his arm up to his head, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple to try to relieve the pain.

A voice to his right popped into existence, low but not quite pleasant for his head. "Morning sunshine." The voice was rough, and was quite like his was, just a bit lighter. He looked to the voice, and saw a man with long hair, bandages, and scars. Francis cleared his throat, gauging the functionality of his throat. Just as he was about to speak, he was beaten to it.

"So how did you end up here? Saw you carried in around 4 days ago, you been out cold. They had to feed you by rubbing your throat, for god sakes!" The man said, chuckling near the end. Francis was still wary after his encounter, however.

"Who's asking?"

"A man who's had a time about as rough as you, as far as scars go."

Francis considered it. On the one hand, this person could be of the same vein of the one who attacked him. On the other hand, it could just be an injured man with a completely different civilization. It was worth a shot, and he could shoot his way out if he had too, right?

Probably wrong, but let's ignore that.

"Someone in a black coat and a bandana attacked me up at Twin Stack Pass. Made it to Citadel Rock before wolves got me. Don't even really know where I am."

The man smiled. "Well, you're not too far away. You're at Horseshoe Overlook, just south of Valentine and west of Citadel Rock. My name's John, John Marston."

He seemed trustworthy enough. "Francis. My name is Francis von Calloway." He saw the John's eyes widen and his mouth started to open, so Francis intercepted. "No, I'm not related to Jim "Boy" Calloway. If I am, it's distant."

He saw the disappointment go through John's eyes, but also respect. After all, anyone named Calloway would want to associate with the man, even fraudulently, so disassociating himself from Jim made him a decent man.

"Well Mr. Calloway, I'm going to go get Dutch and Mrs. Grimshaw. They and my wife are the first ones who found you. I'll be back with them in a bit." John stood up, using a makeshift cane to hold himself up. The wolves that had attacked him in Ambarino had gotten the leg good, so 4 days of healing wouldn't do it.

"Just Francis, Mr. Marston."

John looked back. "Then it's just John, Francis." And he hobbled away.

10 minutes later, in which Francis assumed John was giving these 2 guests a breakdown of his conversation, the opening to the tent he was being treated in fluttered open, revealing the figure of who he could assume was Dutch Van der Linde. He was a large man from the prone position Francis was in, but in reality they were the same height. Behind Dutch was was a woman, whom he assumed was this "Mrs. Grimshaw" John had talked about. Behind them was John, and along with John was a man in a tan coat, blue shirt, black neckerchief, dirty black pants, brown boots and a black hat with a rope looping 2 times around the head. Unknown to Francis, this was Arthur Morgan.

"Ain't this a surprise!" Dutch started. "A Calloway, in my camp? Not something I ever expected to have! How are you doing, friend?" Dutch finished with a smile on his face, thumbs looped on his belt leaning on a table near the bed. John went back to his bed, limping and hobbling, while Mrs. Grimshaw sat down at the foot of the bed and Arthur stood next to Dutch.

"I feel like a horse turned my head into gunpowder, Mr. Van der Linde." Francis said, giving respect. If this was their leader, things could either go really well, or absolutely horrifyingly. Sometimes leaders like this were charismatic and good people who have to do a bad thing, but sometimes that charisma was fake, and they were cold blooded torturers and killers.

Lowering his volume, Dutch spoke once more. "Well, that is to be expected. John tells me of an assault and a wolf attack, that true?"

"It is indeed, I have the evidence to prove it too." Francis said with a grin.

Dutch chuckled heartily, leaning back but keeping his eyes on Francis like an eagle. Noticing this, he gained begrudging respect for the man. "I'm sure you do. Now, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions."

"Go right on ahead, but I won't promise I'll answer them."

"Where are you from, son?" Dutch asked. It seemed sincerely curious.

"I'm from..." And then is when Francis goes completely blank. For about a minute, he just stared at the wall, trying to remember. Thinking. Finally, it distantly came to him. "Tennessee, I think. It's all kind of foggy right now." Dutch raised an eyebrow.

"Foggy? Now that's a poor excuse, friend." Dutch said, his eyes narrowing and his hands inching towards his guns.

"Now hold on a moment, no need for violence, especially right next to a lady." Francis said. Mrs. Grimshaw tried to keep a straight face, but you could see a little bending of the lips upwards. "I ain't lying. I bled a lot, hit my head a couple times. I can tell you things, but I can't be sure of them."

Dutch set his hands back where they had been before moving. Good, he was in less a threat of death now.

"Well then, why did you come here? Long way from Tennessee."

Francis frowned. "Think my parents took me. Hickory, Tennessee is where I think I lived for a while, but when our house burnt down we was living about a mile or 2 northeast of Annesburg." Francis thought that this was true, but he couldn't be sure, which was showing from the frown on his face. Dutch frowned. He liked to be sure on facts, but he couldn't be sure on anything with this man.

"Where'd you get the guns? You any good with them?" Dutch asked.

"Well, I got-" While he was explaining, Francis reached down to showcase them and suddenly realized that his guns, knife, necklace, rings, pocket watch, gun belt, and most importantly his guns, necklace and rings were gone. The guns were his, the necklace was the last piece of his mother, the "C" ring was the last piece of his father, and the Blackbone ring was with him through the best and worst of life. Shooting up like a rocket and ignoring his dizziness and pain, he rushed Dutch without giving him any time to react, grabbing him by the collar and raising his fist.

"WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU PUT MY SHIT! WHERE IS IT!" Francis yelled, pushing Dutch against the wall. He knew that the only reason he hadn't been shot was because he didn't have a weapon, but that didn't matter.

Dutch raised his arms in surrender. "We had to take them from you, they are potential weapons!"

"Really, my fucking pocket watch and empty holsters were weapons? My mother's necklace was a weapon? MY FATHER'S RING WAS A WEAPON? I would understand just the guns and knife. They are weapons. BUT THE ONLY THINGS I HAVE LEFT OF MY FAMILY! MY SPOILS FROM HELL AND HIGH WATER!" Francis was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face, a tear or 2 mixing in. Dutch was really starting to regret the decision he had made. He had taken them away genuinely because he had thought they could be weapons, the hidden sort or otherwise.

"I was not lying when I said I thought they could be weapons, but you seem genuine." Francis glared, but Dutch remained unphased and turned to Mrs. Grimshaw. "Ma'am, would you do us all a favor and get Mr. Calloway all of his things except for his knife and guns?" Francis's gaze softened slightly. When Mrs. Grimshaw nodded and walked off, he looked at Dutch.

"Let me go now, friend. I sent her to get your things."

"I won't let go until I get them, how else would I know if it's a trap or not? Still could be since you're not getting me any weapons." Francis said, becoming cagey once more. He knew he shouldn't have trusted these folk, he knew-!

"Please just let Dutch down Mr. Calloway, this is getting ridiculous." Arthur said, and committed an act of trust. He threw his Cattleman under John's bed, who had been silent in the whole thing, just observing. In John's head, it was Dutch's own fault for getting attacked, after all, what would happen if anyone stole his rings would only be described as a massacre. Back with Arthur though. "I've thrown my gun away. Dutch, do the same."

"But Arthur-"

"Do as I damn well say Dutch or he'll strangle ya before Mrs. Grimshaw gets his things back!" Arthur interrupted firmly. Dutch contemplated it and complied, grabbing his guns with only his thumb and pointer finger and giving them to Arthur to be put gently under John's bed. Francis looked around, and only saw sincerity. He let go of Dutch and backed away, remembering his injuries through the blurring of his vision and dizziness.

Dutch grabbed his shoulder to keep him up. "Hey, hey, let's get you back in bed. Can't have you reopening one of these cuts, can we?" Dutch said, seemingly worried. Francis was almost convinced, but it was sincere in a way.

The flaps that acted as a doorway fluttered once again, allowing Mrs. Grimshaw into the tent with 2 beautiful rings, an amazing silver necklace that was always hidden in Francis's shirt, and a quite nice black belt with 2 black holsters, a gold fastening buckle in the middle. Equiping these items, Francis grinned. "Now we're back in business, for the most part."

"Indeed, my friend. Now, I believe we were about to learn about how you got those double-actions?"

"Ah yes. About 7 years ago I got into a rowdy fight, just out a while from Van Horn, killed 14 men. I had always carried around an old, worn double action that I stole off the side of the street, and so that's what I used. The final man came out from behind the barrels and challenged me to a duel. Winner takes all. He told me where the vault in his hideout was, and that was what the winnings were for the both of us. 700 dollars, a good payoff for a duel, so I accepted." At this point, the room was enraptured in the story, completely focused on Francis and his tale of bravery.

"The distance was never set. We just walked to a clear area from cover, and went a decent distance away. It was maybe 15 or 20 feet. Like it was some sort of story, a bird cawed once, twice, and on the third we drew to fire. I drew first, put a bullet clean through his chest. In his last moments, he told me he was the best shot he'd ever seen, wanted me to take his double-actions and put them to use. They were what I have now, but without the engravings. I plan to have "Von Calloway" engraved on them at some point, same on my knife." Francis finished. It was quite the story, almost to the point of being unbelievable, but it was true.

"Well, friend, that is quite the story." Dutch stated, confirming Francis's thoughts. "I really only have one question more to ask you, Mr. Calloway."

"And what's that, Mr. Van der Linde?"

"How would you like to join the Van der Linde gang?"

And cut! Chapter 2 will probably come out soon, or it might not, I don't really know. Just writing it as it comes to me, it might be tomorrow, it might be in 3 days, or it might be in a month. See ya next chapter!