The godforsaken hot, confusing, unknown tropical hell of Guarma; that's where the boat lead you after you fled from the—very much failed—robbery of the Saint Denis bank.

You were stranded ashore with Dutch, Javier, Bill, Arthur and Micah; hair and clothes messy, skin starting to tan and burn from the sun, damp clothing sticking to your bodies with the sand underneath yourselves clinging to the wet material of your shirts and pants, dehydrated and fairly sick from the sudden change in climate. Everything is uncomfortable and you're having trouble simply existing here.

One shootout after being chained up by the locals later, you lose an injured Javier, soon taken by the men who chained you all not a few minutes ago, but find temporary shelter—offered generously by the nicer locals who are against the men that chained you and your friends.

Arthur and Dutch leave to find Javier, Bill is sleeping; it's you and Micah—the two famous insomniacs in camp—that are awake, keeping watch.

He's silent, standing leaned on the outer wall with a rifle in one hand, the other holding up a cigar to his lips that take occasional puffs and drags.

You're sitting in the doorway—with no actual door on it, weirdly enough—with your back pressed to the inner wall, a revolver in one hand as you watch the stars; thinking about your family back in camp. Oh, how must they feel right now?