Hello

"Oh, sir," Lindsay whimpered, his voice barely a gasp, his eyes darting frantically. "It seems we haven't offended you, have we? Why are you trying to capture me?" Lindsay finally cracked, a pathetic whimper of weakness escaping him. He had called out twice, screamed for help, but the silence from outside was absolute. It was chillingly clear: these two devils hadn't been lying; his subordinates had already been utterly, ruthlessly wiped out.

Just then, Arthur, Davey, and John, silent as specters, also entered the watchtower, their grim faces looming in the dim light. Any last flicker of resistance in Lindsay's mind was instantly, irrevocably extinguished.

"Hey, gentlemen," Lindsay babbled, desperation lacing his voice, "I think we don't have any deep-seated grudges, do we? I don't know where I might have offended you, so why can't you be lenient and let me live? I have money, gentlemen, I have money! If you let me go, I'll give you five hundred dollars!" Mr. Lindsay's gaze flickered nervously towards the pistol lying on the ground, a futile hope. Dutch, ever observant, caught his glance.

Dutch walked over with a slow, deliberate smile, then sat down with an almost regal air on the cabinet by Lindsay's bed, one hand resting casually on his knee, the other on his thigh, looking exceptionally suave, like a true gang boss surveying his domain.

"Hahaha, Mr. Lindsay Wofford," Dutch purred, his voice dangerously gentle. "You're quite right, we truly don't have any deep-seated grudges. In fact, our purpose in coming here is very simple: to seize your firearms and, while we're at it, check out your arms channels. And now, we've got the firearms, and as for the arms channels, perhaps we'll need you to speak up. Of course, regarding your personal safety, I've always believed that a living person is more valuable than a dead one."

Listening to Dutch's words, a hint of genuine relaxation finally appeared on Mr. Lindsay's face. He looked at Dutch, and a desperate, hopeful laugh even escaped him: "Hohoho, sir, I understand your intentions. The arms channel issue is easy to handle, sir. How about this: as long as you let me go, I'll tell you the source of the arms channel!"

"Fuck you!" As soon as the words left Lindsay's mouth, Mac, the suit-clad thug, who had been simmering with impatience, exploded into action. He grabbed Lindsay by the collar, his knuckles white, and with a vicious grunt, slammed a fist directly into his face.

"Ow!" Mr. Lindsay let out a shrill scream, and his eye socket immediately blossomed into a sickening bruise, turning black before their very eyes.

The smile on Dutch's face remained utterly unchanged, a chilling mask of calm. He stared at Mr. Lindsay, his voice still terrifyingly gentle. "Can you tell me now, Mr. Wofford?"

Lindsay, still suspended by Mac's iron grip, was then roughly, contemptuously thrown back to the ground. His previous, desperate submissiveness vanished, replaced by a sudden, defiant rage. Getting punched by Mac seemed to have struck a raw nerve, igniting an instant, furious irritability.

"Pah! Fuck you! You damn bastards can dream if you want to know about the arms channels!" Lindsay spat, his voice thick with pain and defiance.

As soon as he finished speaking this time, Davey, who stood beside him, moved with terrifying swiftness. He delivered a brutal, precise kick to Lindsay's knee, directly bending his calf into an unnatural, grotesque angle with a sickening crack.

"Ow ow!!!" A shrill, agonizing scream erupted from Mr. Lindsay's mouth, echoing through the watchtower, and the intense, blinding pain made him curse loudly, incoherently.

"Now what, Mr. Wofford?" Dutch asked, pulling out a pack of high-grade cigarettes from his pocket. He then opened it with a deliberate flourish, extending one to Arthur and the others, offering them a smoke. The shattered calf seemed to further ignite Mr. Wofford's latent ruthlessness, or perhaps, simply his desperate, animalistic defiance. He gritted his teeth, his face contorted with pain, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at Dutch.

"You damned bastard, you want to know?! Go to hell!"

"Hehehe, I like tough bones!" Before Lindsay could utter another word, Mac, his face twisted into a sadistic grin, pressed the freshly lit cigarette butt, still glowing red, directly into Lindsay's eye.

"Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!" Accompanied by the horrifying sound of flesh being cooked, a grotesque, sizzling hiss filled the air.

"Ow ow ow!!!"

Shrill, agonizing screams and the nauseating smell of cooked flesh filled the small space of the watchtower. Mr. Wofford writhed on the ground, his hands flailing desperately, trying to resist, but by now, resistance was futile.

Arthur frowned slightly, a flicker of distaste on his face. He turned and walked outside. John followed closely behind, his own expression grim. The two stood outside the watchtower, exchanging a brief, silent glance, then turned their heads away, listening to the continuous, piercing screams from inside the tower, their faces devoid of any discernible expression.

Compared to the Callander Brothers, Arthur and John were more alike in their fundamental nature. They were not inherently bad men, they genuinely disliked sadistic methods like torture or rape, and they avoided unnecessary killing whenever possible, possessing a more conventional conscience and morality.

However, the Callander Brothers were much more vicious, reveling in the torture of both people and animals, a brutality that earned them the moniker of "beasts" from Charles Smith. But even though these two brothers were quite ruthless, they were fundamentally different from Mac.

This is because the Callander Brothers were not self-serving like Micah; both brothers were utterly captivated by Dutch's charismatic spell, deeply moved by his chivalrous spirit, and genuinely drawn to the Van der Linde Gang's large, extended family. Aside from being a bit ruthless, they truly considered the Van der Linde Gang their home and the people within it their family, fiercely loyal to Dutch and loyal to their adopted family.

This, ironically, is also why everyone else in the gang, except Lenny and Charles, missed them so much after their demise. Lenny and Charles had joined recently, just over six months at the start. They likely only saw the bad, brutal side of the Callander Brothers and, without prolonged interaction, believed them to be mere scumbags.

Lenny disliked these two brothers, and Charles, indeed, called them beasts, but other long-term gang members missed them, which truly shows they also possessed a certain personal charm and were genuinely integrated, albeit brutal, members of the gang.

The screams from the watchtower continued unabated, a chilling symphony of pain, and Mr. Wofford's throat even became somewhat hoarse from the relentless screaming. A person without absolute, unshakeable faith, without an unbending ideology, cannot withstand sustained torture. So Mr. Wofford, broken and screaming, finally gave in the third time he was hit.

"Ow ow ah, I'll tell, I'll tell!" Lindsay shrieked, his voice raw, hoarse with agony.

"Stop hitting me! I'll tell you everything! Sir, our arms deals are conducted at Van Horn Trading Post! You just need to find Charlie Bahn in the black market there! All our firearms are bought from him, and some are also sold illicitly by the military at Wallace Fort, but they also go through Charlie Bahn's channel! Please, spare me! I was wrong, I've told you everything you wanted to know! Wuwuwu…"

Mr. Wofford, now missing an eye, wailed in a mixture of pain and desperate pleading, begging Dutch and the others to finally let him go.

Dutch's face, now devoid of any pretense of sympathy, softened into a look of profound satisfaction.

"Very good, Mr. Wofford, very good! I didn't expect Van Horn Trading Post to hide such great evil. Damn it, I should have thought of it; this cursed place is full of gang members and illegal criminals!"

Dutch couldn't help but inwardly imagine the chaotic, lawless scene within Van Horn upon hearing the familiar, infamous name. No wonder killing people in Van Horn Trading Post in the game didn't lead to a bounty, and the whole damned town still chased you down; it turned out this place really was the biggest black market area in the West! So, arms smuggling from here seemed exceptionally reasonable.

"Hehehe, very good, our plan finally has some direction." Dutch said, his voice a low, satisfied purr. "Mac, he's yours. Whether to kill him or let him go is up to you. Davey, Arthur, John, you can start moving the gunpowder, children."

Dutch turned and walked out of the watchtower with a calm, triumphant smile. A piercing gunshot echoed from inside the watchtower behind him, a final, brutal punctuation mark.