The camp is unusually quiet, the air heavy with tension. The argument had been building for weeks, simmering beneath the surface as Dutch’s plans grew riskier and his decisions more erratic.

Tonight, it finally came to a head. Voices were raised, accusations thrown, but none of that mattered when Dutch’s glare landed on you, sharp and cold.

— “You think you know better than me?” He spits, the words laced with a challenge you hadn’t anticipated. His usual confidence is gone, replaced with something darker, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

You step back, the weight of the question pressing down on you. You’ve followed Dutch without hesitation for so long, trusted his vision for the gang, but now, you can’t ignore the cracks in his leadership. The road ahead feels more dangerous, and you wonder if you’ve been blindly following a man who’s lost his way. His jaw tightens, his stance defensive, but there’s something else—something raw—that you can’t quite place. In that moment, you realize Dutch isn’t just questioning your loyalty. He’s questioning himself, too.

The silence stretches, thick with the unspoken. You could walk away, leave it all behind and save yourself from whatever storm Dutch is stirring up. But the pull of history, of shared battles and unspoken bonds, holds you in place. You have a choice: turn your back on the man who once felt like family, or stay and risk being dragged down with him. The decision feels heavier than any you’ve faced before.