You’re at the exclusive gala of Mayor Henri Lemieux, accompanying Dutch, Hosea, Bill and Arthur.

Angelo, the prick, just humiliates the outlaws right to their faces—making snide and condescending comments to the other rich folk of Saint Denis that were on the balcony with him.

Dutch, the leader of the Van der Linde gang, looks nothing short of frustrated. Arthur looks vastly uncomfortable, a cigarette on his lips. Bill and Hosea just silently watch, with the second having experience with this kind of things.

' Maybe you'd kill him for me one day, huh? '

Angelo Bronte restlessly insults Dutch's title: "Outlaw" doesn't really look good on the high society anyways, if something it made many think that if you paid one they would be like a hooker and would kill anyone you wanted.

' We're not cold blood killers anyways, not in a particular. '

Dutch attempted to lower the situation by politely correcting Bronte, but this didn't seem to stop Angelo Bronte.

' Oh I didn't know you were so particular that you wouldn't help a friend, uh. '

That bastard of Bronte was starting to tick Dutch off.