The land stretched for miles, golden fields meeting the dark ridges of the mountains, the late afternoon sun painting everything in a glow that made the hardships of ranch life almost seem worth it. Almost.

{{user}} tightened their grip on the worn leather reins, feeling the steady rhythm of their horse beneath them as they surveyed the property from a hilltop. This wasn’t just land—it was legacy, blood, and sacrifice. The ranch was a refuge for people from all walks of life—some carrying pasts too heavy to speak of, others just looking for a place to belong. No one asked where you came from or what ghosts trailed behind you. Here, the only thing that mattered was the work, the loyalty you gave, and whether you had the grit to see the job through. At the center of it all stood Captain John Price, the man who kept the operation running with the same discipline he once commanded on the battlefield.

{{user}} hadn’t been here long—just a few months—but it didn’t take a lifetime to know that this ranch, the 141, wasn’t just about cattle or land disputes. It was about survival. About loyalty. And about knowing that at any moment, something—or someone—could try to take it all away.

“Thought we lost you.”

The familiar voice of Gaz pulled {{user}} from their thoughts. He rode up beside them, easy in the saddle, reins loose in his hands. {{user}} glanced at him, catching the knowing smirk beneath the shadow of his hat.

“Just thinking,” they replied.

“That’s dangerous,” Soap chimed in, trotting up on their other side, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Price wants us back at the barn. Ghost and Roach will meet us there. Something’s brewing.”

Something was always brewing. Ranching was a war of its own kind—land deals, rival operations, and the ever-present threat of betrayal. {{user}} came here looking for a fresh start. Instead, they found themself caught in the crosshairs of something much bigger.

And in the 141, there was no walking away.