Wright

Even if the coup in Saint Denis was executed with utmost secrecy, a whirlwind of calculated brutality and efficiency, the people within Saint Denis would more or less have some understanding of it. Whispers, hushed glances, the abrupt changes in the city's rhythm – these things could not be entirely suppressed.

However, these were not pressing issues, not for Dutch. Because the Van der Linde Gang's sheer size and formidable organization were now unrivaled in the American West, a force to be reckoned with, beyond casual interference.

And at the same time, another ambitious initiative that Dutch had long since set in motion, a seed planted months ago, was slowly, imperceptibly, beginning to take root and unfurl, its tendrils reaching far beyond the familiar landscapes of the West.

Ohio, United States. A world away from the dust and grit of their usual haunts. (The Red Dead Redemption map is set in the West, otherwise it couldn't be written this way.)

As a burgeoning city in the Midwest of the United States, Ohio, while certainly not at the absolute forefront of global civilization, still diligently followed its progressive pace. Its sprawling urban landscape, its established systems, spoke of a different kind of order.

The sheer number of cities in Ohio was far greater, far denser, than in the vast, untamed West where Dutch and his gang had so recently reigned. The larger cities within Ohio were no less impressive than Saint Denis, and indeed, some even surpassed it in their sprawling scale and sophisticated infrastructure. Beyond these metropolises, there were countless smaller cities, each a testament to widespread human habitation. Even if these smaller cities had fewer inhabitants, their infrastructure and various municipal departments were still vastly superior to a mere ranching town like Valentine, which was little more than a dusty outpost.

This profound manifestation of civilization, this relentless march of progress, was a defining characteristic of the era. But equally, and perhaps ironically, it was the nascent, triumphant song of the Western outlaws, a melody of forced, uneasy adaptation!

At the very least, when Davey, Bill, and Javier, hardened men of the frontier, first set eyes on the extensive urban development in Ohio, it had a significant, almost jarring impact on them, shaking their preconceived notions of the world.

Even after staying there for over two months, immersed in the rhythm of city life, they still felt profoundly out of place, like wild animals confined to a gilded cage, longing for the open range.

And at this very moment, deep inside a cavernous factory shed in one of Ohio's largest, most industrious cities, the very air hummed with unseen potential.

Davey and Javier were sitting idly on a pair of rough wooden seats inside the shed, their postures relaxed but their eyes betraying a quiet impatience as they waited.

"F*ck! When can we go back? Damn it, I'm sick and tired of this city!" Bill exploded, his voice a rough, angry bark that echoed off the metal walls of the shed. He balled his fist and angrily punched a nearby door panel, creating a loud, hollow thud that vibrated through the structure.

He paced restlessly, his heavy boots crunching on the dusty concrete floor, wanting to punch everything he saw, every orderly machine, every quiet corner, every symbol of this suffocating civilization.

Damn it, this place was hell for Bill! He felt constricted, his wild spirit chafing under the invisible reins of urban society.

The city they were in was the largest in Ohio, grander in scale and population than even Saint Denis. Most importantly, as a newly emerging civilized city, its various systems and departments were quite complete, remarkably efficient, a stark contrast to the lawless West.

This pervasive order led to them feeling a constant, almost palpable sense of restraint imposed by the system, an unseen but undeniable pressure. It was a sense of restraint that they, a group of notoriously lawless, undisciplined outlaws, hated the most, their very nature rebelling against it.

Two months. Two long, agonizing months without robbing, two months without fighting, two months of painstakingly obeying the law, two months with nothing to do, simply waiting—this was the greatest torment for Bill, a slow, agonizing grind against his very soul!

"Alright, Bill! Don't be anxious, man," Davey said, his voice calm, almost weary, from his seat on the rickety chair. He raised a placating hand, then threw him a pack of cigarettes with a soft flick of his wrist. "We'll be able to go back soon. Trelawny said their damned engine has reached the most critical moment in its research. Damn it, behave yourself, or Dutch will definitely criticize you!" He fixed Bill with a stern, warning gaze.

"If you can't sit still, smoke. Just don't cause trouble for Dutch; this concerns Dutch's big plan!" Davey added, his voice firm, conveying the gravity of their mission.

"Oh, sh*t!" Bill cursed under his breath, a low growl of resentment, after being warned by Davey. He grudgingly took a cigarette from the pack, jammed it between his lips, and sullenly slumped back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his face a thundercloud.

Seeing Bill's barely suppressed irritation, Davey also sighed helplessly, a long, drawn-out exhalation.

Damn it, he thought, rubbing his temples, he didn't want to be here either. When the Van der Linde Gang was flourishing, Dutch had unexpectedly sent them out, which had initially made them restless with curiosity, eager to know how the Van der Linde Gang had developed in Valentine, what grand scheme Dutch was cooking up.

Although Arthur and others wrote to them, sending letters every once in a while, detailing the gang's increasing size and power, not seeing it with their own eyes still made them itch with anticipation, a constant longing to return to the heart of the action.

Three months ago, they had arrived in Ohio, a journey into the unknown.

It had taken them a full half-month, a tedious, frustrating search, to finally locate the elusive Wright Brothers, who were, incredibly, running a small, unassuming bicycle repair shop, their genius hidden in plain sight.

There's no need to elaborate on the Wright Brothers themselves; just know one crucial thing: when they were in the midst of their groundbreaking research on airplanes, they were utterly misunderstood, their vision dismissed as madness. No one supported them, let alone provided crucial research funds. Even after their airplane research finally yielded tangible results and they conducted their first test flights, newspapers still stubbornly refused to publish it, deeming it a sensational, impractical, and frankly, unbelievable piece of news.

So, one can imagine how profoundly shocked, how utterly astounded, the Wright Brothers were when Dutch, through his trusted men, had them bring a staggering ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash at this desperate point in their timeline!

Damn it, Davey mused, a ghost of a smile touching his lips, he could still vividly recall the expressions on the Wright Brothers' faces two and a half months ago when they first saw that incredible sum of ten thousand dollars placed directly into their hands.

That look of disbelief, swiftly followed by unbridled ecstasy, bordering on madness, and even a faintness, as if they might collapse from the sheer emotional overload—it was truly an unforgettable sight, a moment etched into Davey's memory.

No one truly knew the immense hardships these two visionary brothers endured, slaving away running a small, dilapidated bicycle repair shop, scrimping and saving every penny to fund their impossible dream of building an airplane. Nor did anyone truly understand the soul-crushing pain of having no one, absolutely no one around them, who comprehended their audacious vision, who believed in their impossible dream.

Even a prodigy like Mr. Marko, a brilliant mind driven to the brink by misunderstanding and deceit, wanted to build robots to rule the world. How much better, then, could the Wright Brothers' situation, equally revolutionary, have been?

Therefore, the Wright Brothers, who initially harbored a healthy skepticism, perhaps even outright disbelief, became Mr. Dutch Van der Linde's most loyal, most devoted supporters after seeing that incredible ten thousand dollars Davey dramatically pulled out of a large, seemingly bottomless backpack!

They didn't even know each other, these strange men from the West, yet someone had sent his subordinates thousands of miles, across vast distances, to deliver such a colossal sum, supporting their research and expressing an immense trust and unwavering support that defied all logic. What kind of feeling was that for men so long accustomed to ridicule and neglect? Especially when their groundbreaking research had been disbelieved for so long, and not only disbelieved but also mocked, ridiculed, and utterly unsupported by the very institutions that should have fostered it!

Damn it, Davey thought, a profound sense of Dutch's genius dawning on him, the moment that ten thousand dollars arrived, the Wright Brothers wished they could die for Mr. Van der Linde on the spot! Their gratitude was absolute, their loyalty forged in shared dreams and unexpected generosity.

The Wright Brothers' first historically successful airplane test flight was in 1901, a mere two years from this present moment.

However, this widely known timeline was based on them not having sufficient funds and, crucially, not being understood or supported. The specialized engine required for their experimental airplane needed a unique design, a bespoke creation. Back then, they had no money, and painstakingly saved for a long time before they could even afford to have someone reluctantly help them design it.

But now, with an unexpected windfall of ten thousand dollars and the deepest, most fervent hopes of a visionary like Mr. Van der Linde fueling their efforts, their research progress immediately soared, taking flight like a bird unbound.

Indeed, in just two short months, they had already meticulously designed three different engines, each an improvement on the last, ready to build and test airplanes. Currently, they were diligently designing the fourth-generation engine, along with a much more mature and structurally sound airplane body compared to their flimsy, first prototype. The progress was staggering.

Inside the large, echoing factory shed at this very moment, there stood three particularly crude-looking airplanes, their skeletal frames hinting at their nascent power, silent testaments to the rapid advancement.

Javier's main attention was almost entirely consumed by these three airplanes, his eyes tracing their lines, imagining their flight. Because of this fascination, he didn't mind Bill's incessant shouting, merely offering a single, dismissive word in response.

"Oh, Bill, shut up." Javier said, his voice calm, his gaze still fixed on the rudimentary aircraft. He waved a hand dismissively at Bill's complaints. "You don't understand the value of this thing called an airplane! I'm sure this will be Dutch's most successful, most revolutionary investment!" His voice held a quiet certainty, a profound belief in the future.

A month and a half ago, with the newly acquired financial support from Dutch, the Wright Brothers had enthusiastically built their very first airplane and, with a mixture of trepidation and exhilaration, took them—Davey, Bill, and Javier—along for a harrowing but unforgettable test flight.

The result of this inaugural test flight, though exhilarating, was not entirely ideal. First, the airplane's body itself was a simple, rudimentary structure, hastily built when they had no money, a testament to their early struggles. After multiple flight attempts, it managed to stay aloft for a maximum of only fifty-odd seconds, reaching a maximum height of no more than thirteen meters off the ground, a mere hop. And then, with a jarring crash, it broke apart upon landing, its wooden frame splintering.

However, despite its crude performance, this test flight had delivered a monumental shock to Javier.

Damn it, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest, a realization like a lightning bolt. This thing actually flew! It flew purely by its own power, driven by an engine, not by wind or gliding—it was true, sustained flight! The impossible made real!

Javier's hand, almost reverently, caressed the rough wooden frame of the airplane in front of him, his gaze constantly sweeping over the airplane's body, absorbing every detail, every rivet, every wire.

He thought he finally understood, with a profound clarity, why Dutch had gone to such extraordinary lengths, why he wanted them to carry ten thousand dollars in cold cash across thousands of miles to find these two obscure researchers.

Damn it, he mused, a slow smile spreading across his face, these two were not just inventors; they were certified geniuses!

If their Van der Linde Gang, a force of land-bound men, had a machine that could fly continuously in the sky, soaring above their enemies, wouldn't the Van der Linde Gang directly become the world's top power? The thought was staggering, intoxicating.

Now, Javier, in his soaring ambition, couldn't even imagine limiting himself to just one or two small additions; he was already envisioning putting two monstrous Maxim guns directly on the airplane, transforming it into a flying fortress, a weapon of unparalleled destruction.