"C-can I have something to eat…? I haven't eaten all day…"
While Mike Walker and Arthur were still speaking, the tied-up Kieran finally couldn't hold back.
Arthur shot him a cold glance.
"You're alive, aren't you? You'll manage."
Then Arthur's tone flipped instantly as he turned to Mike.
"Mike, I'm gonna go help sort supplies. You keep an eye on him."
"Don't worry," Mike replied.
As Arthur walked past, he leaned toward Kieran threateningly.
"And boy if you lied to us, you're dead."
Kieran's mouth twitched. He wanted to insist again that he wasn't really an O'Driscoll, but the words died in his throat.
No one would believe him anyway.
Hunger, exhaustion, and fear tore at him relentlessly, though at least he wasn't outside freezing to death.
"Your name is Kieran Duffy, right?"
Mike's calm voice startled him.
Kieran blinked, then quickly nodded. "Y-yes…"
"There's half a piece of salted beef left. Enough to make your stomach hurt a little less."
Mike held the meat to his mouth.
Kieran froze.
"You… you're giving this to me?"
"You don't want it?"
"No no, it's just… I didn't think you would."
He devoured it gratefully, confusion and relief mixing in his expression.
"You just look like a pitiful kid," Mike said. "Besides, I believe what you said. A real O'Driscoll wouldn't cry like that."
Mike wasn't trying to recruit Kieran.
Unlike Charles, John, Abigail, Uncle, or Sadie, Kieran had no major impact on the gang's structure.
He also wasn't a fighter.
Mike simply pitied him.
If Van der Linde had an undeserving sufferer…
It was Kieran Duffy.
Orphaned by cholera.
Kidnapped for his skill with horses.
Forced into the O'Driscolls.
Captured by Arthur.
Tortured again later.
Beheaded for "betrayal."
In Mike's past life, Kieran was the one death he could never justify.
The kid liked horses.
And fishing.
He'd only ever killed to protect Arthur.
"I'm good with horses," Kieran murmured after swallowing the last bite. "That's why they forced me in."
Mike nodded.
"What do you know about the O'Driscolls? Their territory, operations, anything."
If this were a game, the O'Driscolls were just target practice.
But here?
They were a real threat.
Van der Linde outclassed them in individual skill…
But numbers mattered.
And Mike intended to carve out influence in New Hanover eventually.
Conflict with the O'Driscolls was inevitable.
"Not much… I only looked after the horses," Kieran said quietly.
"But most of their activity is in central New Hanover. A lot of them act independently; they don't always move as one group."
"As for business… well, they rob stagecoaches, money wagons, trains…" His voice lowered.
"Oh! And they run an underground gambling den in Valentine."
Mike tapped his fingers thoughtfully.
Classic frontier outlaws.
But not idiots.
Even the O'Driscolls knew better than to only rob trains:
Railroads belonged to the richest men in America.
And those men had serious influence.
"Still just thieves. With ambition, maybe, but thieves," Mike said.
From the game's memory, he knew Colm O'Driscoll actually understood the changing times better than Dutch did.
Trying to work with the Pinkertons…
Trying to pivot…
If not for Pinkerton corruption and incompetence at the time, Colm might have survived.
But like John Marston in the first game, Colm became a convenient body to pad Pinkerton statistics.
Mike exhaled softly.
Knowing the truth didn't change the world.
But it prepared him for what was coming.