"How exactly do we embrace civilization, Dutch? We're wanted men. Civilized society doesn't offer us redemption—it offers us a noose."
Hosea's voice trembled with frustration, tinged with a desperate kind of hope. He couldn't grasp it—this new vision Dutch carried felt so far removed from the man he used to know.
Dutch chuckled, that charming smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hosea, my dear old friend… you're thinking in the past. The world's changed. And so must we."
He turned to Arthur and the Callander brothers who had gathered around him, his voice rising with charismatic fervor.
"Come in close, boys. You're about to hear the future—so you better start thinking with more than those peanut brains."
He let the tension build for a moment. "Now Hosea, tell me—what do you think we need to truly survive? Not just scrape by, but *thrive* in this world?"
"Money," Hosea answered hesitantly. "Endless money.Money makes the world go round."
Arthur and the Callander brothers nodded. That had been the dream: enough money to vanish, to live untouched by Pinkertons and prison cells.
Dutch shook his head slowly. "Still too old-fashioned, Hosea. Money's not the answer."
"Then what is?" Hosea asked, searching Dutch's face.
Dutch's smile faded. His eyes turned cold.
"Power," he said. "Fists. Guns. Force.
Money can vanish in a moment—taken by government men, burned by fire, stolen in the night. But if we had an army… if we had firepower…no one would dare challenge us."
His voice grew more intense with every word. "Hosea, I'm talking about something bigger than heists. We go down the mountain and enter the arms trade. Manufacture weapons. Sell to whoever wants chaos. Start our own security firms, hell, our own militias. We'll be the law. And when we have a hundred thousand men under our command—we shall decide who's a criminal and who's a citizen."
Dutch leaned in, eyes blazing. "And I know just the place to begin—Guarma Island. Remote, lawless, rich in opportunity."
The fire of the old Dutch was back, burning hotter than ever.
Even Hosea, who felt unease twist in his gut, couldn't help but feel the pull. Dutch's charisma was a storm, and they were caught in its eye.
"But first," Dutch snapped, breaking the trance, "we settle our score with Colm. Arthur!"
"Yes?" Arthur blinked, still processing the grand vision.
"We ride. We crush Colm O'Driscoll. And then we build our empire."
Hosea hesitated. "Dutch, I may not live long enough to see that future, but I need to know—what happens to these kids if this dream fails?"
"We take it one step at a time, old friend." Dutch's voice softened, just for a moment. "One victory at a time."
With that, he threw open the door. The cold wind howled through the cabin as Dutch mounted The Count, leading the gang into the snowbound wilderness.
Arthur followed close behind, catching up to ride beside Dutch.
"Dutch… about this plan. You're really serious about all of it?"
Dutch didn't look back. "Arthur, we're ghosts to this world. You want to die in a cell, old and weak, preyed on by guards who get their kicks tormenting old men? Or do you want to ride free until your last breath?"
Arthur laughed—half at the joke, half at the chilling truth. David rode up beside him, chuckling too.
Dutch turned in his saddle with a grin. "You wouldn't want to end up like Bill, would you? With that ass of his, he'd be popular in prison."
"Hey! What the hell, David?! I didn't do nothin'!" Bill roared from the back.
Laughter erupted through the group, cutting through the cold like firelight.
Dutch roared above it all. "Laugh, my boys! Enjoy it! We're on the brink of greatness!"
For a moment, it was like nothing had changed—like the dream still lived.
Dutch felt it too. If he didn't already have a plan mapped out in his mind, he might've questioned whether he was truly Dutch Van der Linde at all.
But he was. And soon, all of America would know that name.
Micah's voice slithered in from the rear, honeyed and hollow. "Dutch, you know, the money from Blackwater made us fearless long ago…"
No one responded.
They remembered who ran first at Blackwater.
And they knew better than to trust a snake—even one that wore a grin.