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...
Caleb knew because his internal sense of time, sharpened by experience and something more, told him so. One of the robbers stirred. It started with a groan. A slow shift of weight. Fingers twitching uselessly against rope. The man's eyelids fluttered, confusion clouding his expression as consciousness crept back in.
Then realization struck.
His eyes snapped open fully, and panic surged through him like a struck match.
"What—?!" he hissed, jerking against his bonds. "What the hell—?!"
The rope held fast.
Caleb chuckled softly.
The sound was quiet. Amused.
The robber froze.
Slowly, dread creeping in, the man turned his head toward the bed.
That was when he saw Caleb.
Sitting there calmly. Awake. Watching.
The man's face drained of color.
"Oh... oh God," he stammered, words tumbling over each other. "M... Mister McLaughlin, I... I'm sorry, I swear, this was a mistake—"
He struggled harder, panic breaking into full-blown terror. "I didn't want this! This wasn't my idea, it was him! It was all his idea, I swear it was! He said you'd be asleep, he said—"
Caleb tilted his head slightly, watching the man unravel.
Before he could respond, movement came from the other body on the floor.
The second robber groaned, head lolling as consciousness returned. His eyes opened sluggishly, unfocused at first, then sharpened as he took in the scene.
The lamp. The ropes. Caleb.
And his partner talking.
"What are you doing?!" the second man snapped, trying to twist toward the first. "Shut up, you idiot—!"
He tried to lash out, to kick or strike, but the ropes prevented even the smallest movement. Frustration and fear contorted his face.
"This was both of our idea," he said quickly, turning his gaze to Caleb instead. "We're sorry. We didn't mean no harm, Mister McLaughlin. We just, we just wanted the money. Please. Let us go."
"Yeah!" the first man blurted, nodding frantically. "We got families, we're not killers, we just needed the money, please—"
Caleb shook his head slowly.
"I don't care," he said evenly.
Both men froze.
"I don't care if you did this for your family," Caleb continued, voice calm, almost bored. "I don't care if you did it for fun. Or desperation. Or stupidity. None of that matters."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
"The problem," he said, "is that you chose me."
The air in the room felt heavier.
While they'd been unconscious," Caleb went on casually, "I made sure you drank something."
Both men stiffened.
"W... what?" the first robber whispered.
"Poison," Caleb said flatly.
Silence followed.
Then disbelief.
"That... that's not funny," the second man said, forcing a laugh that sounded brittle even to his own ears. "You're lying."
Caleb met his gaze without blinking.
"Two liquids," he said. "Rare. Hard to come by. I picked them up during my travels. Mixed together, they don't do much at first. No pain. No sickness. No warning."
He paused deliberately.
"But after twenty one days," he continued, "your heart stops. Suddenly. No struggle. No chance to stop it. You'll just… drop."
The first man shook his head violently. "No... no... that's—"
"The only thing that prevents it," Caleb added, "is an antidote. Taken every twenty one days."
The room was dead silent now.
"And I," Caleb said softly, "am the only one who has it."
They stared at him.
At first, neither believed it. You could see it in their eyes. The mind grasping for denial, for logic, for any reason this couldn't be real.
But Caleb didn't press.
He let the silence work.
His Persuasion and Acting Skills came into play subtly, woven into every word, every pause, every measured breath. He didn't overact. He didn't threaten. He spoke like a man stating facts, like someone who had done this before.
Doubt crept in.
"What if he's telling the truth…?"
"What if he's not…?"
"What if he is…?"
The first robber swallowed hard. "I... I don't feel anything…"
"You won't," Caleb said. "Not until the end."
Panic set in.
"Oh God, oh God—" the man whimpered, tugging uselessly at the ropes. "Please, please, don't—"
The second robber clenched his jaw, eyes darting. "You're bluffing," he said, but his voice shook now. "You are. You're just trying to scare us."
Caleb smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Just enough.
"I don't need to scare you," he said. "I already own you."
That did it.
The first robber broke completely, breathing fast and shallow. The second looked away, shoulders slumping as fear settled deep.
Caleb straightened slightly.
"But," he said, tone shifting, "I'm not unreasonable."
Both heads snapped back toward him.
"I'll forgive you," Caleb continued. "I'll give you the antidote. Every twenty one days. No tricks. No delays."
Hope flared in their eyes.
"In return," he said, "you'll tell me why you chose me tonight."
They didn't hesitate.
"Rumors," the first man said quickly. "They started yesterday. Word in the alleys. Said you always carry a lot of money on you, especially since you always win at the Poker Table."
"All the thieves heard it," the second added. "Every one of 'em. Said McLaughlin was walking around with more cash than a bank vault."
"And you wanted to be first," Caleb said.
"Yes," they said together.
"We needed the money," the first said desperately. "We got families, we got mouths to feed—"
"And you were afraid if you waited," Caleb finished, "someone else would get there first."
They nodded.
Caleb considered that for a moment.
Then he nodded too.
"Second condition," he said. "You work for me."
They blinked.
"You'll collect information," Caleb continued. "Anything you hear in Saint Denis's underworld. Names. Movements. Jobs being planned. Who's hiring. Who's afraid. Who's angry."
"If the information is good," he added, "you get paid. A lump sum. Enough to keep your families fed."
The two men stared at him like he'd thrown them a lifeline.
"Yes," the first said instantly. "Yes, anything."
"We'll do it," the second agreed, voice hoarse. "Anything you want."
Caleb stood.
He crossed the room and crouched in front of them, cutting the ropes with practiced ease. He handed each of them a glass of water from his table, which was the amenities he revived since becoming Bronte's man.
"The antidote," he said. "Drink."
They did. Immediately.
Caleb stepped back as they finished, watching closely.
"Twenty one days," he reminded them. "Miss it, and you die."
They nodded frantically.
"Go," Caleb said. "And remember. I'll know if you betray me."
They didn't doubt it for a second.
When they were gone, Caleb returned to the bed and sat there for a long moment, the room finally quiet again.
The Bastille had a way of swallowing sound once the doors were shut. Thick walls. Heavy curtains. A place designed for secrets, for indulgence, for people who didn't want the world outside to intrude on their business. He leaned back, exhaled slowly, and let the tension drain from his shoulders.
Then he lay down.
Sleep came easily this time. Not the shallow, half aware rest of a man waiting for danger, but the deep, practiced sleep of someone who trusted his instincts and his preparations. If anyone else tried to enter his room that night, they would have found the same fate as the last two. No one did.
When Caleb woke again, Saint Denis was already alive.
The first day passed without incident. He moved through the city like a fixture rather than a visitor, recognized, respected, and, in some corners, quietly feared. The rumors didn't slow. If anything, they grew. McLaughlin the bounty hunter.
McLaughlin the man Bronte trusted. McLaughlin who cleaned out the Blackbridge Brothers without asking for a cent. McLaughlin who smiled politely while men measured him and decided, wisely, not to try their luck.
He spent that first day watching.
Watching patrols. Watching alleys. Watching the subtle shifts in behavior among dockworkers, carriage drivers, and men who lingered too long at street corners pretending to smoke. Saint Denis was a city of layers, and Caleb had learned how to read them. He could feel tension moving through it like a change in the air before a storm.
By the second day, the signs were clearer.
Bronte's men were more visible. Not openly aggressive, not yet, but present. Positioned. Always within sight of one another. Their suits were immaculate, their movements coordinated, their eyes alert. They weren't there to intimidate the common folk. They were there to send a message to someone else.
The Pinkertons.
Caleb was in the Bastille's private lounge when one of Bronte's men found him. The man was well dressed, clean shaven, with the posture of someone who knew how to fight but preferred not to unless ordered. He didn't sit. He didn't waste time.
"Mister McLaughlin," he said quietly. "The boss asked me to inform you of something."
Caleb gestured lazily toward the chair. "Talk."
The man remained standing anyway.
"Yesterday," he began, "the boss met with the leaders of the Pinkertons' field agents. Milton and Ross."
Caleb's expression didn't change, but his attention sharpened.
"The boss told them to leave Saint Denis. All of them. Immediately."
That was interesting.
"They refused," the man continued. "Asked why the boss suddenly changed his mind. Said they were here legally. Said they had business to finish."
"And Mr. Bronte didn't like that," Caleb said.
"No," the man agreed. "He told them that since their arrival, not even a week ago, problems started appearing all over the city. Low life criminals getting bold. Outlaws stirring trouble. People who knew better suddenly acting like Saint Denis was free for the taking."
Caleb already knew where this was going.
"Agent Milton accused the boss of blaming them," the man went on. "Said the Pinkertons weren't responsible. Said maybe someone else was trying to weaken the boss's control."
Caleb almost smiled.
"That's when the argument got… heated," the man said carefully. "Voices were raised. Accusations thrown. In the end, they parted on bad terms."
"And now?" Caleb asked.
"The boss has ordered his men to start driving the Pinkertons out of Saint Denis," the man replied. "Quietly, at first. Pressure. Disruption. Making it difficult for them to operate."
He paused.
"There's more."
Caleb nodded. "Go on."
"The boss believes the Pinkertons are here because Leviticus Cornwall and some of the city's wealthier interests hired them. To dismantle his operation. To take control."
That aligned perfectly with everything Caleb already knew.
"He's also told the police chief to look the other way," the man added. "Regarding you."
Caleb finally smiled.
"The boss wants you to… remove some of the problem," the man said. "From the sidelines. Especially Milton and Ross, if the opportunity presents itself."
Silence followed.
Then Caleb chuckled softly, shaking his head as if amused by a private joke.
"Tell Mr. Bronte I'll handle it," he said. "No need to worry."
The man nodded, relief evident, and took his leave.
When the door closed, Caleb allowed the smirk to return, slowly, fully.
Everything was falling into place.
Bronte and the Pinkertons at each other's throats. Suspicion. Escalation. Violence simmering just beneath the surface. Exactly what Caleb wanted. The city didn't need a single enemy right now. It needed many, all too busy fighting each other to notice the hand guiding events from the shadows.
He stood and reached inward, drawing from his inventory.
The Rolling Block Rifle materialized first, long, heavy, precise. A weapon built for patience and distance. He checked it out of habit, fingers brushing over metal and wood he knew intimately.
Next came the Litchfield Repeater. Reliable. Versatile. Slung across his torso where it could be reached in an instant.
Caleb shrugged into his coat, adjusted the rifle sling, and headed downstairs. The patrons that have come to the Bastille in the morning watched him go with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. No one stopped him. No one asked questions. Outside, Morgan waited patiently, ears flicking as he mounted. "Easy, girl," he murmured, patting her neck.
...
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 4)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 4)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 4)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,787 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 112,142 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 65 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, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, & 1 Broken Pirate Sword
Bank: -