Work Text:
At the end of the world, will there be a cutscene.
I want to fall off the planet to pop! Obviously,
the water gets to rise
and we learn to swim.
- Maria Sledmere, "miss_anthropocene"
...
Arthur Morgan dies alone on a mountain before the warmth of the sun can reach him. The wind comes first, rushing, whistling, and drowning out the early birds. Soon after he is overcome by frigid cold, beginning in his fingers and toes and the tip of his nose before rushing ever inward. It's getting dark, even as the sun rises over the horizon. The dawn ought to be blinding, but instead it is blotted out, slowly, and then all at once, by snow.
An endless shroud of ice and snow surrounds him. Before he can make sense of this senseless turn, he hears a voice. Familiar, and only recently so very painful, "Arthur!" Dutch calls, "Any luck?"
Arthur opens his mouth to ask what the hell is going on, what happened, where they are. He needs something. He needs to understand this sickening shame that's been rooting in his stomach and chest for the past couple of weeks.
Instead, his mouth moving seemingly of its own accord, he shouts "I found a place where we can get some shelter!" The voice that must be his own is rough and tired and infinitely more alive than he knows it to be.
