Two weeks prior, the damned Van der Linde Gang, those insufferable bastards, had unleashed a sprawling, blood-soaked encirclement and suppression operation across the length and breadth of New Hanover. This relentless purge had, predictably, led to the utter dissolution of countless smaller gangs. Their members, unfortunate souls, were either summarily killed, their corpses left to rot, or they fled in a desperate, panicked diaspora to the treacherous, unforgiving snowy mountains of Ambarino and the chaotic expanses of West Elizabeth.
The snowy mountains, naturally, were a non-starter; a frozen, desolate hellscape few could endure for long. Therefore, the vast majority of these displaced, desperate gang members, like lemmings to a cliff, inevitably streamed into the already overpopulated, violent territories of West Elizabeth. This sudden, massive influx of desperate, armed men instantly ignited a powder keg of conflict. Constant, brutal clashes erupted among the various gangs, with gunshots echoing almost ceaselessly across the plains. Bodies, often mangled beyond recognition, were an increasingly common sight, occasionally glimpsed by the roadside after merely a short ride.
The dramatic surge in gang numbers further exacerbated West Elizabeth's already precarious, blood-soaked security. Even with the desperate deployment of West Elizabeth's military and the much-maligned Pinkerton Detectives, only Blackwater Town's immediate safety could be tenuously guaranteed. As for other areas, everything that could be plundered had been systematically stripped bare.
New Austin remained an impenetrable, practically lawless wasteland, tightly controlled by other infamous gangs ; venturing there meant certain, agonizing death. So, within West Elizabeth, aside from the heavily fortified Blackwater Town, there was literally nothing left to pillage. With no other viable targets, these desperate, starved gangs, like rabid dogs in a cage, inevitably began to savagely rob each other.
And this, precisely, was the white-hot, incandescent reason for Colm O'Driscoll's utterly volcanic fury.
"BANG!" A single, deafening gunshot ripped through the stale, mildew-laden air inside the wooden cabin, sending a shockwave through the seven men within. They instantly snapped ramrod straight, their eyes wide and bloodshot, their drunken stupor momentarily forgotten. Colm had only lost a leg, a mere trifle, but his hands remained intact, and with his legendary sharpshooter's skill, he could still effortlessly, brutally, suppress his quivering subordinates.
He surveyed the scene before him: the floor, littered with a grotesque tapestry of overturned wine bottles, stale cigarette butts, and, on the grimy cot in the corner, the grotesque sight of a prostitute who had, quite literally, begun to rot. Colm's rage, already simmering, boiled over.
"Damn it, you mangy BITCHES!" Colm shrieked, his voice raw with disgust and fury. He slammed his crutch against the floor, the wood splintering. "You damned, pathetic bastards! Dutch Van der Linde is practically flourishing in New Hanover, building an empire, while you—you pathetic slugs!—only hide here, swilling cheap whiskey and puffing on stale tobacco! You damned, worthless bastards should all go straight to hell, one by one, and rot there!"
"You shouldn't insult us like that, Colm," one of his seven core subordinates retorted, his voice surprisingly steady, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. He wasn't buying Colm's blame. "The main reason Dutch Van der Linde was able to inflate his gang to its current monstrous size is because of Dutch himself, you hear? It's his cunning, not our lack! So you can't insult us because of them! If you, Colm, possessed even a tenth of Dutch's methods, we naturally wouldn't be skulking here, drowning ourselves in drink and smoke!"
Colm's seven subordinates weren't just ordinary thugs; they were the very men who had, against all odds, rescued the dying, broken Colm from his ignominious defeat. Their status within the gang was, consequently, far, far higher than that of ordinary, disposable members. For instance, while any other underling who dared to talk back would face the swift, brutal kiss of a horsewhip or a bullet to the skull, these seven knew they could get away with a surprising amount.
Hearing his subordinates talk back, challenging his authority, Colm became even more utterly enraged. His face, already a mask of fury, turned a mottled purple.
"SH*T! ALL OF YOU, SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTHS!" Colm screamed, his voice scraping like rusty metal. He jabbed a finger at them, his eyes blazing. "I'm telling you, West Elizabeth is becoming a goddamn graveyard, harder to survive in than a blizzard! We must find a way to seize more profit, more wealth, or else these starving subordinates, these desperate rats, will drag us out and shoot us themselves! So you'd better listen to me, you worthless curs, or none of us will have a good ending!"
At this, the seven subordinates finally fell silent, a palpable chill descending upon the cabin. Colm, for once, was undeniably right; if they couldn't plunder more, if they couldn't expand, none of them, from Colm down to the lowest foot soldier, would fare well.
Colm's face was terrifyingly grim, a roadmap of bitterness and vengeful ambition. He looked at the seven core members before him, his gaze sweeping over each one, then he spoke, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl, filled with a renewed, insane determination. "I have a plan! A brilliant, magnificent plan! If Dutch Van der Linde can succeed with his audacious schemes, then we, the O'Driscoll Gang, can certainly copy his damned plan!"
He slammed his crutch down again, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "If his pathetic Van der Linde Gang can occupy New Hanover, then our glorious O'Driscoll Gang can naturally, occupy West Elizabeth! So, from this very moment forward, I want each and every one of you to take our people and begin aggressively integrating the surrounding small gangs and factions! Once we amass a number of five hundred hardened souls, we will directly, unequivocally assault Blackwater and completely, violently take down that damned, lingering backwater!"
Colm's eyes glittered with a maniacal gleam, his vision of revenge blinding him to all sense. "Once we seize Blackwater," he shrieked, his voice rising to a fever pitch, "we will be able to live a better, richer life with its continuous tax revenue! Moreover, the United States Federal Government has almost no control whatsoever in the West; they only care whether West Elizabeth retains its status as a state of the United States, and not at all who is in power within West Elizabeth! Once we take Blackwater, we can simply replace the West Elizabeth government, transforming ourselves into powerful, legitimate figures!"
He slammed his fist on the table, making the playing cards jump. "DAMN IT! If the Van der Linde Gang can seize New Hanover with their mere manpower, there's absolutely no reason our superior O'Driscoll Gang can't do the same! So I want all of you to get energized! Now, get out there and clear out every single one of those pathetic small gangs around! Damn it, we're going to become powerful figures, even more successful than that insufferable Dutch Van der Linde!!!"
Colm roared, his voice cracking with the sheer, unbridled force of his delusion. He was an incredibly arrogant man, a trait visible even in his flamboyant, garish dressing style – as showy, in his own twisted way, as Dutch himself. The very root of his bitter, enduring discord with Dutch stemmed from their fundamentally differing philosophies and their equally colossal, mutually exclusive arrogance; neither would ever, ever play second fiddle to the other. He used to look down on Dutch, feeling inherently superior due to the O'Driscoll Gang's vast, brutal scale. But now, not only had Dutch literally broken his leg, but that same Dutch had somehow become a renowned, almost respected figure in New Hanover! How could Colm possibly endure such a profound, soul-crushing humiliation?!
So, he decided: he would replicate Dutch's plan, surpass him in every conceivable way, and then, with his own two hands, crush Dutch beneath his one foot, humiliating him wantonly, publicly, excruciatingly! Colm was utterly insane; he couldn't grasp the intricate, delicate intricacies of Dutch's cunning actions, nor did he know that Dutch had, for a long, calculating period, operated as a legal entity. Now, Colm only wanted one thing: to occupy West Elizabeth, to spectacularly surpass Dutch, and to wantonly humiliate him!
"Damn it, I'm going to saw off Dutch's other leg and hang it by my bed to admire day and night, a constant reminder of his utter defeat!!!" Colm shrieked, a maniacal glint in his eye.
At Colm's frenzied command, the entire O'Driscoll Gang, a raw, brutal force of vengeance, began to mobilize, spreading like a plague across the land.