This was a clinic in the city, with only one doctor and a single patient—Arthur Morgan.
He was coughing violently, occasionally spitting blood.
After a brief examination, the doctor first used a stethoscope to carefully listen to Arthur's breathing, then used a tongue depressor to check his throat.
When the steps were done, the doctor silently stood up, turned around, and went to the washbasin to wash his hands.
Arthur leaned back weakly in his chair, his voice hoarse and frail, barely able to speak, yet he still struggled to ask the doctor about his illness.
"What's the sickness?"
The doctor replied while washing his hands: "Not good."
Arthur had already expected this, so he answered calmly: "Yeah, I figured as much."
After washing his hands, the doctor lit a pipe, slowly pulled a stool over, and sat across from Arthur.
He took a deep drag before speaking with regret: "I'm sorry, son. You've got tuberculosis. I truly pity you—this illness is far too serious."
Hearing the doctor pronounce his death sentence, Arthur's pale face showed something rare—despair and fear.
…
This time, the scene shifted to an oil refinery.
It was Cornwall's oil refinery.
Arthur was knocked to the ground by steam erupting from a burst pipe, and at that moment, armed soldiers appeared before him.
One of the soldiers noticed Arthur lying on the ground and immediately shouted to his companions:
"There's a man here!"
He then swiftly drew a knife, preparing to end Arthur's life.
Arthur, collapsed on the ground, struggled to fend off the knife descending toward his chest while crying out for help.
"Dutch! I need your help!"
Yet in the thick steam, all he could see was a pair of legs. After taking a couple of steps back, the man turned and walked away without hesitation.
Just as Arthur Morgan was about to die, the son of a Native chieftain—Eagle Flies—appeared like a savior.
With his hair disheveled, bare-chested, clutching a Springfield rifle, he instantly cut down the three soldiers with unstoppable force.
But when Eagle Flies thought all was resolved, Colonel Favours suddenly appeared like a ghost, mercilessly firing a shot.
As Favours was about to pull the trigger and deal Arthur a fatal blow, Arthur drew his revolver with lightning speed and fired.
The bullet struck Favours in the forehead. His eyes went wide as his body toppled backward, slamming into the ground.
Arthur sprang up, not bothering to confirm Favours' death, but instead rushed to the fallen and bleeding Eagle Flies.
With a mix of fear and anger on his face, he shouted: "Ah! You damn fool! Why would you do that?"
Eagle Flies, pale-faced, clutching his bleeding stomach, panted in agony.
Through clenched teeth, he said faintly but firmly: "You've saved my life more than once… now it's my turn to protect you. This is what I should do…"
Arthur pulled him up, kicked open the door, and staggered outside.
Dutch van der Linde, the other gang members, and the tribespeople were waiting, watching.
Dutch seemed unaffected by what had just happened, and simply ordered: "We have to go."
As Arthur handed Eagle Flies over to his people, he turned to Dutch in disbelief.
"You just ran off like that!"
Dutch lied with ease.
"I didn't do that. Don't be a fool."
"They'll be back any second. We did it, boys!" Dutch declared with his usual confidence and fire.
But this time, to Arthur, his words felt hollow.
"We got some money. We'll rob the train too! We've already got a fortune." Dutch boasted smugly.
He gave a satisfied grin, patting the bonds tucked into his chest pocket: "See? Everything's going perfectly."
Then, brimming with absolute confidence, he raised a finger to his temple.
"Just like I planned!"
At this moment, the image froze. In the scene stood a benevolent yet tyrannical figure—Dutch.
And beside him, a man whose face screamed "How could you turn out like this?"—Arthur.
…
The final scene: endless night blanketed the land, devouring everything.
On the mountainside, Arthur lay weak and dying, his eyes dim, quietly awaiting the end.
Micah, battered and bloody, dragged himself forward.
He picked up his revolver and staggered toward Arthur.
Pointing the gun at the near-dead man, he snarled: "You're no better off than me, Morgan!"
Arthur, clinging to his last breath, rasped: "Say whatever you want, you bastard!"
His eyes burned with contempt and fury.
Micah's eyes gleamed with malice as he gritted his teeth: "Die already!"
Arthur mustered his final roar before death:
"You both can go to hell!"
Micah pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Bang!
The bullet ripped through the air, striking Arthur square in the forehead.
Blood gushed forth, staining the ground.
Arthur's body didn't even twitch—he simply collapsed lifelessly in the pool of blood.
Micah looked at the hole blown through Arthur's skull, eyes wide, mouth agape, tongue nearly out as he burst into wild laughter.
"HAHAHAHA!"
His maniacal laughter echoed across the mountains, chilling to the bone.
Then, as his laughter faded, silence fell.
All that remained was a mountain, shrouded in mist and night.
The mountain itself stood like a colossal tomb…
…
The screen flickered, and words appeared against the black:
「"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."」
…
A man who never flinched before a charging train had shown despair and fear in the face of a fatal illness.
He had watched the "father" he revered—once a bandit leader who would sacrifice himself for the gang—become a "criminal" who betrayed his "child" for five-thousand-dollar bonds.
And in the end, denied even an honorable death, gunned down by a rat, falling in some meaningless gang skirmish, swallowed by the eternal night.
…
But John made it. And that was enough.