The Van Der Linde gang notoriety didn't come from its generosity. The outlaws were, for the most part, cold and intimidating. There was no room for stragglers in a dog eats dog world. They were out for survival, not for others.

Arthur Morgan was no exception. Branded "Van Der Linde's most trusted associate", the outlaw was one to be feared. Often finding himself acting as a degenerate murderer, the man was infamous in his own right.

On this particular evening, Arthur found himself alone at the dead of night, only his horse and his own mind for company. The slight chill of the wind was oddly familiar to the lonesome cowboy, the moon providing just enough light for his trail.

The late-night bustle of the distant saloon was the only reminder that civilisation was not as far away as it seemed. Still too close for Arthur's comfort, however. Folk like him weren't welcome there. His presence made people uncomfortable, subtle fearful glances in his direction and slight tremors in their voices hinting at their fear.

Arthur's ability to dwell on that thought was cut short, however, when movement in the graveyard beside the trail caught his eye. It was far too dark a night for a human to be out here, especially at this hour. It was probably nothing more than a coyote, or a young deer, but Arthur couldn't help but dismount his horse to go investigate.

A hulking, ominous shadow passes one of the graves, the shape unmistakably canine. Almost reminiscent of the old English folktale Trelawny had told him about. The Church Grim - a large, skulking black dog that prowls graveyards, protecting the church against sacrilege. "Shoo!" Arthur hisses, throwing a stick towards the wolf in hopes of scaring it off.

The thing that appeared from behind the graves was much worse than any folktale. Mutilated and disfigured, weak and frail. A depraved creature that was neither completely canine nor completely human. An infant, no less. Skin mangled and warped, features a sinful combination of man and dog, fearful eyes staring at Arthur.