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Five outlaws, five stories. The rewards ranged from 100 to 300 dollars, depending on the severity of their crimes. Arson, murder, train robbery, armed assault, and gang leadership, every single one of them had blood or fire in their trail. It was a rogues' gallery of the worst Lemoyne had to offer.
Caleb tapped his finger against the bottom two posters. Both read Wanted Dead or Alive and offered 100 dollars and 150 dollars rewards respectively. They were smaller names, lower level criminals compare to the ones on the poster even though they also did horrendous things, the kind most seasoned bounty hunters ignored because the attention of bringing them in wasn't flashy enough. But Caleb wasn't after glory. He was after progress.
He read both posters fully, memorizing the faces and the descriptions before carefully pulling the two posters off the bounty board.
The first was Elias Weller, who was wanted for armed robbery and assault. Last seen near the industrial docks, suspected to be hiding among the warehouses as always changing warehouse. A violent drunk with a temper, known to pick fights with dockworkers alongside anyone that crosses his path, and shoot first when cornered.
The second was Mick Doran, a former train guard that turned into banditry, he was wanted for attempted train robbery and murder of a Pinkerton agent. Rumored to be hiding in the swamps north of Bayou Nwa with a group of few loyal friends.
"Perfect," Caleb muttered to himself. One in the city, one in the swamps. Urban and rural, good practice for different terrain and reactions.
He turned back toward the counter, stepping lightly across the tiled floor. The same officer looked up as Caleb approached, clearly surprised to see both posters in his hands.
"You're takin' two bounties, Mr. McLaughlin?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "At once?"
Caleb nodded casually. "That's right."
The officer leaned forward, reading the names. The smile faded slightly. "You sure about that, Mister McLaughlin? These two might not be the highest bounties, but I'll tell you straight, they're every bit as dangerous as those with the 300 dollar ones. Elias Weller's got a short fuse and a shoot first habit. Mick Doran's a clever bastard, knows the bayou better than most of our boys do. Plenty who've gone lookin' for him didn't come back, either shoot to death by him and his boy or become dinner for the gators."
Caleb's lips curved into a confident grin. "I appreciate the warning, officer. But this ain't my first rodeo. I know how to handle fellas like these. Quick, mean, and desperate, all bark, less bite when you know where to aim and take em' down."
The officer studied him for a long moment, then finally exhaled and chuckled. "Well, hell. You sound like you know what you're doin' mister. If you're sure, I won't stop you. We'll be mighty glad to have those bastards off our streets and our state."
"Then it's settled," Caleb said. "Though if you've got any information on their whereabouts, or anyone who might've seen 'em recently, I'd sure appreciate it."
The officer tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Last I know is that Weller's been seen drinkin' near the docks, the south end, close to the Saint Denis warehouse district. Fella gets rowdy when he's drunk, picks fights with sailors there. Shouldn't be hard to track him down. As for Mick Doran, last report we got was from a patrol officer who heard gunshots near the Bayou Nwa cabin trails, north of Lakay. Locals say he's been usin' one of the abandoned hunter shacks in the swamps as a hideout for him and his boys."
Caleb nodded, mentally marking both locations on his map interface that hovered faintly in front of him,with the help from his Past Life Memory Skill, he knew the paths, routes, and proximity markers from the world he once played through.
"Appreciate that," Caleb said sincerely. "Dont worry, I'll bring both of 'em in."
"Alive or dead?" the officer asked.
Caleb's smile thinned, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. "Alive, if they give me the choice."
The officer gave a knowing nod. "Good man. Alive not only could get you some bonus on the pay, but it also help earns more respect around here. I'll make sure the chief knows your name."
With that, Caleb tipped his hat once more and turned to leave. As he stepped outside, the sun was beginning its slow descent toward the western rooftops. The city's golden hour, the streets glowing, the gas lamps flickering to life, shadows stretching long and soft.
He untied Morgan and mounted up, pulling the brim of his hat down slightly as he thought through his plan.
Two bounties. Two vastly different hunts.
He decided to start with Elias Weller first, the docks were closer, and if luck favored him, he could catch the man before nightfall. The swamps, though… those were better handled with daylight and a clear sky, as his like of vision in the night is severely reducedin the swamps.
Morgan trotted through the bustling western streets, the rumble of the trams growing louder as they neared the industrial district. The air thickened with smoke and salt, the sharp tang of the river mixing with the heavy metallic scent of machinery.
Caleb kept his eyes sharp, scanning faces and alleys as he approached the docks. Sailors shouted over crates of rum and barrels of oil. Workers pushed carts laden with supplies. And somewhere among them was a man with a bounty on his head.
He pulled up near a warehouse marked "Lemoyne Shipping Co." and dismounted quietly. The faint sound of shouting echoed from inside, alongside some drunken laughter and the distinct clinking of glass.
"Found you then," Caleb muttered under his breath, unslinging his Litchfield and checking the chamber.
He moved with slow, deliberate steps toward the building, his instincts honed from both this life and the last. His high Perception stats flickered faintly, the faint sound of boots scuffing against floorboards, the distinct timbre of a shotgun being loaded with some rounds.
Elias Weller was inside, and he wasn't alone. Caleb smiled faintly. "Alright then… let's see what you're worth."
Caleb decided to scour around the warehouse first, to check and see if there was any door or hidden entrance that Elias Weller and his friends could escape through. The air was thick with the smell of salt and oil, faintly mixed with whiskey fumes drifting from inside. Keeping his steps slow and deliberate, Caleb crouched low, using the shadows cast by the setting sun to conceal himself.
He activated his Eagle Eye skill and immediately, faint white lines began to glow around the building, marking trails of movement and steps that had passed through recently. The tracks were heavy, uneven, some looping around corners, others converging behind the warehouse.
He followed them quietly until he noticed a section of the wall that didn't sit flush with the rest. There, behind a few stacked crates, was a jagged opening in the wooden planks, a hole that looked to have been broken intentionally.
"Smart," Caleb murmured. "Always keepin' yourself an exit."
He peered through and saw it led out into an alley behind the warehouse, an easy way out if things went south. He wasn't about to let that happen.
Glancing around, he found a few large crates nearby, one of them heavy enough to block the gap entirely. He pushed it over with a grunt, muscles straining as the wood scraped against the floor.
To make sure it couldn't be moved easily, he stacked a few smaller crates on top, then piled several filled sacks around its base. The makeshift blockade wasn't perfect, but it was sturdy enough that anyone inside wouldn't escape quickly.
Once satisfied, Caleb dusted his hands, muttering to himself, "Let's keep this one way."
He returned to the front of the warehouse, Litchfield Repeater in hand, his senses sharp and ready. The moment he stepped inside, the dim lantern light revealed rows of cargo crates and stacked barrels. Shadows danced across the floor, and the sound of laughter grew louder the deeper he went.
He moved between the stacks until the noise was right in front of him. Four men sat around a makeshift table, three already halfway drunk, the fourth, a broad man with a wild beard and hard eyes, cradling a double barreled shotgun beside him. Elias Weller.
Caleb crouched behind a crate, steadying his breathing, watching their movements. He studied their weapons, three had revolvers, though one seemed to only have a knife. They were careless, loud, and very drunk.
Perfect.
Caleb straightened up and stepped out from cover, his boots hitting the floorboards with a measured thud. The laughter stopped immediately.
"Elias Weller," he said, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority that cut through the drunken noise. "You are wanted by the Saint Denis law and the state of Lemoyne. I suggest you and your friends come quietly. Let's not make this ugly." He raised the Litchfield, the barrel aimed squarely at the group.
All four men turned to him, eyes wide in surprise. Weller, halfway through his drink, choked on his beer, coughing violently before letting the bottle slip from his hand. The glass shattered as he grabbed the shotgun and leveled it toward Caleb.
"Who the hell are you?" Weller barked, his voice gravelly and slurred. "You got any damn idea who you're talkin' to?"
His three companions scrambled, one drawing a revolver, another brandishing a knife, the last fumbling for his gun while wobbling on his feet.
Caleb's tone didn't waver. "Who I am don't matter. Put the guns down, and y'all can walk out alive. I'll bring you in clean."
Weller let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "You got a death wish, boy? I'm gonna teach you why you don't mess with Elias Weller!" The men beside him chuckled, their confidence bolstered by alcohol and numbers.
The two with knives, emboldened by their leader's bravado, suddenly lunged forward with a yell.
Immediately Caleb's world slowed to a crawl.
He flicked into Dead Eye, the familiar golden haze coloring everything around him. He could see every movement, the flicker of fear in one man's eyes, the twitch of Weller's finger tightening on the trigger. His hand moved by instinct.
Three bright red X's marked the foreheads of the three lackeys. Another X glowed on Weller's right hand, and a fifth on the barrel of the shotgun, angled just enough to twist it off target when he fired.
He squeezed the trigger.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Five sharp cracks echoed like thunder.
Time snapped back. The first three men dropped instantly, blood misting the air as each bullet found its mark cleanly between the eyes. Weller screamed, clutching his mangled hand as the shotgun flew from his grip and discharged harmlessly upward, the blast punching a hole in the warehouse roof, just as Caleb had intended.
The smell of cordite and blood filled the air. Weller, his drunkenness instantly replaced by sober, pants wetting terror, stared wide eyed at his dead friends and then at Caleb. His rapid, panicked breaths were the only sound besides the ringing in their ears.
Caleb didn't hesitate. He rushed forward, tackling Weller to the ground before the man could recover. The outlaw kicked and struggled, cursing through gritted teeth, but Caleb moved with mechanical precision, the many experience he have accumulated guiding every motion.
Within seconds, he had Weller's arms twisted behind his back, rope looped tight around his wrists and then his feet.
"Who... what are you?" Weller stammered, thrashing weakly. "That... that ain't normal! No one shoots like that!"
Caleb ignored him, tightening the last knot. "You'll find out what's normal when you sober up."
With that, he hauled the man to his feet and slung him over his shoulder. Weller spat curses the entire way, but they bounced off Caleb's calm focus like rain off stone.
He stepped back out into the cooling evening air, the glow of sunset painting the river docks gold and crimson. Morgan whinnied softly as he approached. Caleb secured Weller over the horse's back, double checking the rope. "Easy there, girl," he murmured, patting her neck before swinging into the saddle.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 2)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 1)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,623 dollars and 71 cents
Inventory: 103,846 dollars and 72 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, & 1 Semi Auto Pistol
Bank: -