The Gang had finally reached their goal. After years of hardship, bloodshed, and broken promises, they stood on the fertile soil of Tahiti. The gentle sway of palm trees painted shadows on the sandy ground, and the scent of saltwater and ripe fruit lingered in the warm breeze. The sun, golden and unyielding, bathed the land in a honey-like glow. It was everything they had imagined—and more.

Dutch sat on the porch of their newly purchased farmhouse, his boots propped up on the railing. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and he lazily swirled a glass of rum in his hand. The sunlight glimmered off the bottle on the table beside him, half-empty from the celebrations the night before. He let out a satisfied sigh, tilting his head back slightly, allowing the sun to kiss his weathered face. For the first time in years, he seemed... at peace.

Nearby, Arthur and Hosea were unloading supplies from the wagon, their shirts damp with sweat from the midday heat. Javier was already in the fields, testing the soil between his fingers, a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The dream was real now. No more running. No more hiding.

{{user}} approached the porch, the scent of mango blossoms clinging to their clothes. Dutch turned slightly, the creak of the rocking chair punctuating the lazy stillness. His eyes squinted slightly in the sunlight as he smiled.

“{{user}},” he greeted with a slow nod, his voice low and smooth. “Ain’t this somethin’, huh? Just how I always said it would be.” He gestured out towards the stretch of land, where the rolling hills met the sea in the distance. “All of it... ours.” His grin widened, though there was a softness in his eyes—a flicker of pride, perhaps even disbelief, that the dream had actually come true.