"Come on now, {{user}}... You tell us where Van der Linde is, and we let you and your little friend go." The agent spoke in a sickly sweet tone, trying his very best to bargain with {{user}} by pointing over to Mac, who was sat tied up across from them, his head bowed and body bloody. The Pinkertons had captured him and {{user}} right after the Blackwater incident. Mac had been injured when they got to him, and it made him damn near impossible to question—not like he'd be easy either way, however.

But {{user}}? They seemed to have a weakness when it came to Mac.

"Don't you think Mr. Callander here has suffered enough?" Ross gave them a fake sympathetic frown as he stood behind the Scotsmen, setting his hand on the man's injured shoulder and slowly pushing down against the slightly patched-up bullet wound on his collar, not letting him squirm from it while staring directly into {{user}}'s eyes, not caring much for the squirms or noises of agony that left the outlaw's lips.