The wheels of horse-drawn carriages, the dust of horses' hooves, and the slightly desolate meadows of the town of Rhodes – these ordinary things combine to form a tiny silhouette of Westworld.

Sir or Madame must be bathed in the spring of peace, you must be on your way to the theatre or in the inns of the streets, and if I ask you now to look back on the history of a poor man, it must be that I am unhappy with myself. But I have something to tell you, just to find some meaning in my barren life.

I came all the way from the horseshoe lookout, tired of hearing the sound of hooves on the muddy ground, breathing in the red dust blowing from Tumbleweed Town and the yellow sand of Armadillo Town, countless tiny particles swirling between my lungs and heart, as if the greatest exploitation of this wasteland was the dirt that people had turned up and the moldy and smelly rotting grass on the road.

As a farmer from Tahiti, I loved to catch fireflies with an insect trap as a child, and I didn't know that confinement of one creature would eventually lead to me. At the age of twenty, I was young and vigorous, and I always fantasized about stepping out of the manor and going out into the outside world. After my family's mango orchard had been mortgaged to pay off my debts, I excitedly boarded the four-man carriage bound for Saint-Denis with a small handout from the government, so that at least I was relieved of the fatigue of walking.

"I'm sorry, dear lady."

Several times when I turned my head to look back at my hometown, I touched a lady's fragrant shoulder, and I was not annoyed that she called me a turtle with her head sticking out, after all, I was embarking on my own journey, and there were inevitably some bumps, and I had to learn to accept them myself.

I remember looking in the direction of home, but I didn't see my hometown, I only saw the lost tumbleweeds carrying the hay from the barn down the path. I came to understand that beyond the wasteland, there was only home and a cage......

May 13, 1899, Reagan County, Texas:

"You've read his story, kid, and I want you to read it again." A man who was busy with something in his hands, as if he was sharpening a stick, looked at a child sitting on a stone pier not far away, and his face was full of smiles.

"He was an outlaw, from a slave owner in the family business to a self-reliant explorer to a legendary gunslinger. Remember that he was also a boy like you, who wrote his life with a pen, with profound words. ”

The man pursed his lips and continued, "I don't want you to become like him, bloodthirsty and crazy. But I want you to learn from him when he faced the difficulties of life, or you can just read his story and have some insights, and that's fine. ”

"Dad, do you know such a person?" The little boy asked, looking up from the book.

"Oh, yes, but I wish I hadn't." The man smiled awkwardly, "At some point, he was my father's informant. Sometimes, hum ...... He made a fortune in the name of official plunder, and if necessary, he would use a cowboy pistol to clear anyone who stood in his way. ”

"He's such a villain, worse than little Peter." The child pinched his fingers and said with disgust on his face.

The man was proud of his son's sense of justice, and he nodded approvingly: "Yes, such a scoundrel was killed in a robbery after all, and he met someone with better marksmanship than him." ”

"Mom told me that it was you!" The little boy's face glowed and his eyes brightened more than ever, "You're Detective Pinkerton – the hero who protects the world. ”

Hearing this beautiful remark, the man's face passed a little sadness, judging from his appearance, he had been out of this profession for a long time, and he might need to give his son fatherly companionship, and he could not always put himself in danger.

It could also be something else......

But little Jason doesn't care, he can ask his dad to give him handsome toys, he can listen to dad tell him stories about gunmen, he can watch mom and dad roll around at the head of the bed, and Jason has been sure that he has a home since Dad left him off as a "hero who protects the world".

"John Coaster!"

A hurried cry came from outside the house.

"Go and play, don't let him find you," the man patted the boy on the back, then cautiously paced to the door and opened it for the man.

"John Coaster! Brother John, long time no see. The residents of Reagan County are so welcoming, and the butcher on the other side of the street points to your home when he hears your name. A stocky man appeared in the room.

"Ha, Brother Miller, right?" Excitement appeared on John's face.

"John, is Madame and the child at home? Oh, where did they go? I can see that your life is not going well. The strong man looked at the stick in John's hand and pondered.

"Miller, there's no such thing as you."

"When I say this, I see it, and I don't want my brother who has been separated for many years to live like this." Miller walked over to a wall covered with wooden guns and shook his head, "Brother, you used to play for real. You actually chose such a life! Do you remember the time when Beibei Snow Mountain, we used scrap steel pipes to make pistols all the way down the mountain and captured Johnet alive. After that, we were tasked with killing Lange, the North American gun king, who could have killed your father, but you flinched. ”

John's mind flashed through Lange's autobiography, and then he thought of his young son, whom he regretted with some regret.

"Ashley gave birth to Jason at that time."

"We all have families. Without your support, Mrs. Fowler, Mike, and Libert are all dead. ”

"Lange's marksmanship is surprisingly good, damn damn good." The man said with annoyance, and it was clear that he was a little throbbing at that part of history.

"But you showed up when Lange's crazy eyes looked at me, why?"

"I don't want my son to live in a world with legendary gunslingers."

"That's your reason? So you shot and saved my life. ”

"Say no more, I'm already out." John waved him to stop.

Miller didn't remain silent: "Pinkerton once shielded Langer - I know that after your father was killed, you were helpless against the arrogant Langer, and the federal court did not pronounce justice on Langer. ”

"Lange is dead, this is the fairest trial!" John almost roared.

Miller snorted a few times: "Do you think that when you shoot and turn away, the hatred will subside?" The Pinkerton firm continued to dominate the country, shielding lawless bounty hunters, and more Langer would appear in the Great West. We all came to terms with reality, so we both quit Detective Pinkerton, and now they're our enemies. You know, Langer killed your father, but Owen did it at his finger! At the beginning, he coveted your and Lange's marksmanship, so he pretended to kill your father by Lange's hand, so as to provoke the relationship between you and Lange, and now that Langer is dead, Owen's claws will reach out to you!"

"Owen Smith? The boss? That violent bastard is not easy to deal with, and we don't have much chance of fighting him. John's attitude softened a little, and he knew that Miller was right.

"John, I know you have a slight affection for Detective Pinkerton - we've all done it there. How many sheriffs we've dealt with from South Carolina to New Austin, we know the reality of corruption within Detective Pinkerton...... Hehe, they only have guns and hired people, and beyond that they have nothing to match us. ”

"Even so, you can't get rid of them."

"Capture the thief and capture the king first, we just need to get rid of Owen. We have many options, before Owen is completely wrapped in the city, we can let him stay in the era of development forever, and besides, killing Owen will avenge your father's murder, and your wanted warrant will gradually fade into the hearts of the remaining Pinkerton detectives, my John, you won't know that Detective Pinkerton is so desperate for you, and it is entirely Owen's behind-the-scenes credit. ”

"Who else knows about this idea?"

"Mr. Fowler is the same as I thought, there are some young people who are dissatisfied with reality eager to join, and then you. You didn't have official permission to kill Lange, Detective Pinkerton wanted you all over the streets, and Detective Pinkerton was all over the streets looking for you because of Owen's hatred - I guess you don't want your son to live in a world where you're always hunted by bounty hunters. ”

"Miller, you're still the same, persuading people to have a set, grasping the focus, and making the other party realize the seriousness of the problem. But you're ignoring the fact that we can't get close to Owen knowing that there's no blood in the Great West is less than the barrel of a loaded pistol. ”

"Oh, the plan helps us, doesn't it?"

"Miller, let me think again, but I'll tell you—revenge is a fool's game."

Miller did not answer, and was silent for several minutes. Only then did he hum an ancient melody, and then sang in a strong voice: "We are resolute warriors, we carry steel shields, and under the guidance of shamans, we rush at the colonists and slave owners with our swords." ”

John was infected by this long melody, and although he was not an Indian, this ballad always stimulated the human arteries, so that all the cowardice and hesitation were blown away by the wind, and he seemed to change his mind: "We picked up the battle axes of the Vikings, followed the direction of the hexagonal star array, and threw the axes at the gods they saluted ......"