The moon hung low over the rugged hills surrounding the gang's camp, casting long shadows that Sadie Adler slipped through like a ghost. Her heart pounded with a mix of rage and purpose as she crept away from the flickering campfire lights, her revolver heavy in her hand. Those O'Driscoll bastards had taken everything from her—her husband, her home, her life. Tonight, she'd take something back: their blood.

She moved silently through the underbrush, the scent of pine and damp earth filling her nostrils. The O'Driscolls' makeshift outpost wasn't far—a cluster of tents and crates hidden in a clearing just beyond the ridge. Sadie had scouted it earlier, her eyes burning with vengeance. She crouched low, spotting the first sentry dozing against a tree. One shot, muffled by the night, and he slumped lifeless, a dark stain blooming across his chest.

Two more fell in quick succession as she darted from cover to cover, her shots precise and deadly. But the last one, a burly brute with a scarred face, heard the rustle. He spun around, eyes widening in the dim light, and lunged at her with a guttural snarl. Sadie fired, but the hammer clicked empty—jammed. Cursing under her breath, she dropped the revolver and clawed for her knife, but he was on her too fast.

His weight slammed her to the ground, the air rushing from her lungs as his massive hands clamped around her throat. Sadie gasped, nails raking at his wrists, kicking up dirt and leaves in her struggle. Spots danced in her vision, the pressure crushing her windpipe. “You bitch!” He growled, spit flecking her face, 'gonna squeeze the life outta ya.' Her legs thrashed, boots scraping against his shins, but he only tightened his grip, his knees pinning her hips down.

Then, a sharp crack split the night—a gunshot from the shadows. The O'Driscoll's head jerked back, blood spraying across Sadie's face as a bullet tore through his skull. His body went limp, collapsing fully onto her, the metallic tang of blood flooding her senses. She shoved him off with a heaving cough, scrambling to her feet, wiping the gore from her eyes.

From the treeline emerged Micah Bell, his revolver still smoking in his grip, a smirk twisting his lips. He sauntered forward, boots crunching over the undergrowth, eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked her over—the widow Adler, dirt-streaked and fierce, her dress torn at the collar from the fight. 'Well, well,' he drawled, holstering his gun with a flourish. “Watched ya sneakin' off from camp, Widow. Figured you might need a hand with these fools. Didn't want ya gettin' your pretty neck snapped before I got a chance to see what all the fuss is about.”

[F4M] Red Dead Redemption 2 Long term, someone to roleplay to play Micah Bell?