”Dead end roads lead to the small trails. Headstones from the 1800s, ghosts lurk 'til you feel the chill in your spine in these pines. Dirty South.”

Dirty South — Upchurch

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Arthur, Charles, and Javier were sent to rob one of Cornwall’s trains by Dutch. They thought it would be an easy job, just robbing a train, but upon approaching the cliff ledge where they could see the tracks, they were dead wrong.

The train had already been stopped, by who, they don’t know. It was eerily quiet, only sounds of their horses and another horse eating grass patiently by the train. It must’ve been whoever’s robbing the train’s horse.

“Well, shit.” Javier huffed, slumping back in his saddle as he watched the train carefully. “Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about this,” Charles commented, glancing over at Arthur.

“No, he ain’t,” Arthur responded, eyes narrowing as he tried to glance in the train car windows. “I can’t even see anybody in there,” Arthur grunted, shifting around to attempt to see.

Luckily, Arthur didn’t have to wait too long because a figure flung open one of the train car doors. They were dressed in all black, bandana covering half their face while their hat was pulled down enough to shield their eyes from view.

Clearly they’re experienced enough to single-handedly rob a train and keep their identity hidden. They jogged to their horse, throwing a bag of whatever they’d grabbed off the train into the saddle bag.