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The distant clatter of trains echoed through the area, along with the hiss of steam valves and the occasional clang of metal on metal. Caleb reined Morgan to a stop near a stack of crates and dismounted quietly. His instincts prickled, that feeling that something wasn't right, even before he saw it. No people. No movement. No birds. Too quiet.
His gut told him the Hackshaws were here.
He dismounted silently, boots hitting the dirt without a sound, and checked his Litchfield Repeater. Full load. The revolvers at his hips were heavy, reassuring.
"Let's make this clean," he muttered.
He flicked on his Eagle Eye. The world bled into shades of gray, outlines glowing white around the area. Trails appeared, heavy boot prints, cigarette butts, a drop of whiskey staining the ground near the shed ahead. And there, multiple sets of tracks converging toward one door.
Caleb crouched and followed the signs. Eight distinct pairs.
"Guess the gangs at is full swing right now."
The freight shed ahead was larger than the others, its roof sagging under its own weight. A lantern glowed dimly from inside, spilling slanted light through the cracks in the boards.
He pressed close, peering through a narrow gap.
Inside, the Hackshaw Gang was gathered around a crate strewn table. George Hackshaw sat at the center, his scarred face half hidden in the lamplight, a shotgun resting across his knees.
Beside him were what Caleb thought as his two brothers due to the similarities in their appearance, both built like dockworkers, cleaning their rifles with oil stained rags. The other five men lounged nearby, sharpening knives, playing cards, or watching the door.
One of them laughed, a low, harsh sound. "Think the law's gonna come again, George?"
George snorted. "Law ain't got the guts. Not after we sent two of 'em home in pine boxes. Only one who'd be fool enough to try's some are bounty hunters, and I'll mount the next one's head right over that door."
The others chuckled darkly.
Caleb smiled thinly. "Guess I'll have to disappoint you, George."
He pushed the door open with a sudden heavy kick.
The first thing that hit him was the noise, gunfire erupting like a thunderclap, echoing through the hollow shed. Caleb dove for cover behind a crate, splinters flying as bullets tore through the wood.
"Shit! It's him! That McLaughlin!" one of the men shouted.
Caleb rolled out, firing two quick rounds of shot from his Litchfield. The first shot caught a man in the chest, the second right onto another's stomach, sending him back down into a pile of boxes.
Five left to be neutralized.
George roared, grabbing his shotgun and firing toward the flash of Caleb's muzzle. The blast tore through a barrel inches from Caleb's face, spraying grain and smoke.
He ducked, takes a breath, and fired again, precise, ruthless. One man tried to flank him from the right, Caleb dropped him with a bullet to the thigh, then finished him with a clean headshot.
The pain hit next, a sharp sting in his left arm, then another near his ribs. He looked down, saw the blood. Luckily it was just grazes, nothing more. He could feel the impact but not the pain, his Pain Nullifier Skill dampened it to a dull pressure.
He smirked through the haze. "Guess that upgrade was worth it."
Gunfire continued to crack like thunder. Caleb rolled, grabbed a fallen revolver from one of the corpses, and hurled it toward the far side of the shed. It clattered loudly, a distraction.
Two men turned instinctively toward the sound. Caleb rose from behind cover, firing three shots in rapid succession. Two men dropped. Another tried to rush him with a knife , Caleb sidestepped, slammed his repeater's barrel into the man's jaw, and shot him point blank in the gut.
Only George and his two brothers remained now.
The eldest Hackshaw shouted, "You'll die for this, McLaughlin!" and charged with a sawed off. Caleb ducked, managing to duck the shot that just grazed his side, and the other shot that should've dropped him, he manages to duck it as well. He then pivoted, planted a round in the man's chest, and kicked him backward into a stack of crates.
The other brother screamed in rage and lunged with a knife. Caleb met him halfway, catching his wrist and twisting. The blade clattered to the ground. Caleb drove his fist into the man's throat, then slammed the butt of his repeater against his skull. The body fell limp.
That left George.
The smuggler leader snarled, firing both barrels of his shotgun. Caleb dove behind a crate again as the blast ripped through the wood. The splinters bit into his coat.
"You just killed my brothers!" George roared. "You think that makes you a hero? You're just another killer!"
Caleb reloaded calmly, voice low. "Difference is, I get paid for it and I don't kill innocent people."
George fired another shot, before sound of him trying to reload could be heard. Caleb immediately stepped out, his Litchfield raised. He aimed down the sights and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet tore into George's leg. The man screamed and collapsed, shotgun clattering away.
Caleb approached slowly, smoke drifting between them. "You're done, George."
"Go to hell," the man spat, clutching his bleeding thigh.
Caleb holstered the repeater and drew his revolver, pressing it to George's forehead. "Already been there."
But he didn't fire.
Instead, he reached down, yanked George's arm behind his back, and wrapped his lasso around him with sharp, practiced movements, before then his legs, and the entire body. Within seconds, the gang leader was tied and cursing, his face twisted with hate.
The shed stank of gunpowder and blood. The air shimmered with smoke. Bodies lay sprawled across the floor, eight men who'd thought Saint Denis belonged to them.
Caleb exhaled slowly, holstering his repeater. The stings of his wound grazes were real but faint, more like bruises than wounds, thanks to his skill.
He glanced down at George. "You should've stayed hidden."
George spat blood again. "You don't know what you've done."
Caleb crouched, eyes narrowing. "I just cleared out Saint Denis' last disease. Feels like I did plenty."
With George was secured, Caleb stood up, scanning the carnage. The shed was silent now except for the hiss of escaping steam and the crackle of a dying lantern. Eight bodies. Eight sins paid in full.
He exhaled slowly. "All right… let's see what you boys hidden around here."
He started searching.
Behind the main table, under a half-collapsed stack of crates, he found a lockbox, solid oak, iron latch, recently oiled. It had the look of something opened often but always guarded.
He pried it loose, set it on the table, and cracked it open with his knife.
Inside lay stacks of bills, crisp, newer than he expected. He counted quick. There's about 400 dollars, give or take. Beneath the cash, smaller compartments held some jewelries, a gold ring with an emerald, a delicate necklace, a pair of silver earrings, and at the bottom, nestled in velvet, a ruby the size of a thumbnail, blood red even in the dim light.
Caleb's eyes flicked over the haul, calm but coldly satisfied.
"Guess crime does pay," he murmured, "just not for you."
He slid everything into his system inventory, closed the box, and gave the room one last look, the smoke, the corpses, the faint glint of shell casings on the floor.
"Good riddance."
He turned back to George, still groaning near the doorway.
He picked George up and get out of from the shed, ignoring the man's protests. The bodies lay silent behind them, the scene already fading into history as the fog began to creep back through the railyard.
Morgan waited where he'd left her, ears flicking at the smell of gunpowder. She nickered softly as Caleb approached. He hefted George up, throwing him across Morgan's back like a sack of grain and tightening the ropes.
Caleb climbed into the saddle, turned Morgan toward the city, and started the slow ride back toward the police station.
The railyards faded behind them, the sound of boots and whistles growing louder in the distance.
As they crossed into the busier streets, the sun climbed higher, painting the rooftops gold. People stared as Caleb passed, the blood, the ropes, the silent figure slumped across his horse.
By the time he reached the station, he saw Chief Leclerc leaving out of the station where he also saw Caleb, and disbelief was on his face. "Mon dieu… McLaughlin. You caught him alive?"
Caleb dismounted, hauling George down with a grunt. "Yup, it's hard to get him alive but I did it."
Leclerc blinked at the sight of the bound smuggler. "And the others?"
"Dead," Caleb said simply. "Whole gang wiped out. You'll find them in the freight shed near the south line."
The chief nodded slowly, eyes wide with awe. "Incredible. You have done this city a great service again." He turned to one of his men. "Get the bounty hunter his payment, and some bonus as well. For bringing Hackshaw in breathing. And for cleaning out 6 bounties in matters of days."
The officer hurried inside. Moments later, he returned with a thick envelope. Leclerc handed it over. "300 dollars, plus a bonus of 75 dollars. You have Saint Denis' gratitude."
Caleb received the envelope with a faint smile, the corner of his mouth twitching in that half sardonic way of his. He weighed the money briefly in his hand, he could tell by the heft it was right, before tucking it inside his coat.
"Appreciate it, Chief," Caleb said evenly. "But I'm just doing my job. Gratitude's nice, sure, but it doesn't put food on the table or keep the roof standing over my family back home. I'll take the cash, though. That helps plenty."
Leclerc blinked, then burst out laughing, a deep, hearty sound that carried through the hall. "Hah! You Americans, always so practical. But I respect that, McLaughlin. Still, you should know… what you've done here won't go unnoticed. The people, they talk. They will remember you."
Caleb raised a brow. "Remember me?"
Leclerc grinned, tapping his own chest with a proud thumb. "Of course! A man who wipes out an entire smuggling ring and brings the leader in alive? That doesn't happen every day. Maybe the mayor himself will call you to City Hall. Give you a medal, a plaque, perhaps even a ceremony, eh? Saint Denis loves heroes. Especially ones who kill the right kind of devils."
That caught Caleb off guard. He didn't show it at first, his poker face rarely cracked, but the words dug deep. His name in the Saint Denis Times. A public recognition from the mayor, that wasn't just a pat on the back. That was visibility. Legitimacy. A doorway.
And with legitimacy came power.
That kind of legitimacy was the kind that could open doors or close them depending on how he played it. For a man like him, who walked the line between legitimate bounty hunter and outlaw with secrets buried deep, it was both an opportunity and a risk.
But maybe this was the start of something bigger. A shift.
He'd already begun cleaning up parts of Saint Denis for bounty money, carving a reputation as a man of efficiency and results. If he could build himself into a respected figure, a man the police trusted, a man the city celebrated, then he could start to shape Saint Denis from within. Just like Bronte had done.
Bronte had become a name of power in this city by playing both sides, criminal and benefactor, feared and respected. Caleb knew that he have some many maneuvers with the grace of a nobleman and the viciousness of criminaks, using reputation and fear as equally sharp tools. That was something Caleb wanted to have... and as he have planned, he wanted to take it for himself.
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- 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 4)
- 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 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- 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: 3,655 dollars and 20 cents
Inventory: 104,369 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 64 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, & 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key
Bank: -