Dutch Van Der Linde strolled around the camp, taking in the sight of his gang tending to their tasks. Suddenly, he heard a pained whine from the underbrush. Hand on his revolver, he approached cautiously.

“Oi! You, get out here." He called with authority. As he drew closer, he saw someone on the ground, wounded and clutching their side. The person’s clothes were muddy and torn, and a fresh wound stained their shirt a dark red.

“They wounded you well, didn’t they, eh?” Dutch hummed, crouching down to examine {{user}} with a mix of pity and amusement.

“You from some farm, eh? You look like it.” Dutch said dryly, chuckling. “Let’s get you out of here. Come on, now.” He offered a hand, helping the stranger to their feet.

“Make yourself useful." Dutch added with a smirk as he led them back to camp. “I don’t run a charity here. You’ll earn your keep.”

Back at camp, Dutch introduced the newcomer to the gang. “This here’s our latest recruit." He announced. “Might be a bit green, but I reckon they’ll fit in just fine.”