If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Keep the change, Ezra." He enjoyed his breakfast, feeling the proteins settling in his stomach, offering a slow burn of energy. After he finished, he then leave the Bastille, stepping out into the humid morning air.
He walked to the hitching post and gets on Morgan. The mare tossed her head, sensing the arsenal on his back and the tension in his muscles.
"Heavy load today," she communicated though her snorts and neighs, while shifting her weight. "Planning a war?"
"Just a skirmish," Caleb murmured, patting her neck. "Let's ride."
He guided her through the waking streets, riding toward Bronte's mansion to meet up with the mob boss. The city was waking up, street sweepers pushing dust, trolleys clanging, but Caleb saw only lines of fire and cover.
When he reached Bronte's mansion, the change in atmosphere was palpable. He saw that the security had been tightened a bit by the mob boss. There were more guards than usual patrolling the perimeter of the wrought iron fence. Men with shotguns stood openly by the gate, and he spotted a sharpshooter on the second floor balcony. Bronte was terrified, and terror made for excellent security budgets.
"Open the gate!" a guard shouted, recognizing the rider. "It's Signor McLaughlin!"
The heavy iron gates swung inward. Caleb now was allowed to enter with Morgan, riding up the gravel drive past the manicured lawns. He pulled up to the front steps, where a stable hand was waiting, looking nervous at the sight of the heavily armed rider.
Caleb gets off Morgan, handing the reins to the stable hand. He grabbed the boy's shoulder, not roughly, but with enough pressure to ensure undivided attention.
"She needs water, fresh oats, and a brushing," Caleb said, his voice low. "And keep her away from the other horses. She doesn't like company. She must be going to receive a very good treatment. If I come back and she's unhappy, you and I will have a problem."
The boy gulped, nodding furiously. "Yes, sir! Best treatment, sir!"
Caleb released him, and Morgan gave a soft whinny as she was led away. "Make sure they use the soft brush," she projected back at him.
Caleb turned and ascended the marble steps. As he entered into the mansion, the air cooled significantly, conditioned by the thick stone walls and high ceilings. The interior was a hive of activity.
He saw several men walking around the mansion, dressed in sharp suits with suspicious bulges under their jackets. Some were standing guard at doorways, while others moved with purpose, inside patrols to Caleb's intuition. Bronte had turned his home into a fortress.
Bronte's butler arrived at this time, materializing from a side door with the silent grace of a lifelong servant. He bowed slightly.
"Mr. McLaughlin," the butler said. "The master is expecting you. I will bring you toward where Bronte is."
Caleb fell in step beside the older man. The hallway was lined with expensive art and busts of Roman emperors.
"I haven't seen you here these past couple of days," Caleb remarked casually, testing the waters. "Usually you're the first face at the door."
The butler chuckles softly, a dry, papery sound. "Ah, yes. I have been doing some of Mr. Bronte's orders. Special errands. One must keep busy."
He didn't expand much of it, offering only that polite, deflection-heavy vagueness that good servants perfected. Caleb's curiosity piqued, what errands? And he prepared to press further.
But before Caleb could use his max level Persuasion Skill to pry the truth from the man, they have arrived on Bronte's study.
The butler knocked once, then opened the double doors. "Signor McLaughlin, sir."
Caleb stepped inside.
The study was thick with cigar smoke and tension. Caleb saw Bronte and Guido in there, standing over the large map table.
They were talking about some things, logistics, likely, but the dynamic was visibly strained. Guido looked like a man who had swallowed a lemon, while Bronte looked manic, his eyes bright with adrenaline.
When Bronte saw Caleb, his face lit up. He was happy, genuinely relieved to see his 'specialist.'
"McLaughlin!" Bronte cried out, using his first name, a rare privilege. "You are here! Benvenuto!"
He welcomed Caleb, ignoring Guido completely. Martelli stood on the other side of the table, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression darkening as Bronte practically rushed to shake Caleb's hand.
"Mr. Bronte," Caleb said, nodding to the boss, then offering a polite, stiff nod to the underboss. "Mr. Martelli."
"Forget the pleasantries," Bronte waved his hand. "Come, look. The reports are coming in."
Caleb there spend the time talking about the oncoming ambush at dusk with Bronte. He leaned over the map, pointing out the fabricated entry points of Cornwall's mercenaries, reinforcing the lie he had planted the day before.
"They will move here, through the rail yard," Caleb lied, tracing a line. "Using the noise of the trains to mask their approach. We need your heavy hitters on the gantries."
"Si, si," Bronte agreed, hanging on his every word. "We will rain hell on them."
While they spoke, Guido just listening in. He didn't offer suggestions. He didn't correct Bronte's tactical errors. He just watched Caleb with cold, reptilian eyes, analyzing, hating. He was a man who knew he was being replaced, and his silence was louder than any shout.
Bronte turned to Caleb, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I want you to know, Caleb... like I said yesterday, I am placing the command in your hands. So, you lead."
Bronte also ensure Caleb that all of his men have been informed that they will be under his lead. "I have told the capos. I have told the soldiers. When the shooting starts, your word is law. They know you are the specialist."
Caleb thanked the trust, keeping his face solemn. "I won't let you down, Mr. Bronte. We will crush them."
He of course still put on polite demeanor with Guido. "Mr. Martelli, I will rely on your men to hold the perimeter. I know they are the best."
Guido's lip curled slightly, but he nodded. "They will do their job, McLaughlin."
Caleb's Max Level Persuasion and Acting Skill was of course already on the moment he entered into the room. He was projecting an aura of supreme competence and loyalty, a field of influence that made Bronte nod at his every suggestion and made Guido's suspicions seem like petty jealousy.
Then Caleb was in there until afternoon. The hours passed in a haze of final preparations. They drank brandy, checked weapon inventories, and went over the plan again and again. Caleb ate a light lunch brought by the butler, sandwiches and tea, while Bronte paced, too nervous to eat.
As the grandfather clock in the hall chimed four times, the light in the study began to shift, turning golden and long.
"It is time," Bronte said, checking his pocket watch. "Dusk approaches."
Caleb stood up, hitching his gun belt. "Then we move."
Bronte stayed behind, generals rarely stood on the front lines in his world, but he authorized the deployment. Caleb then will head out with some of Bronte's men from the mansion.
They assembled in the courtyard. Three wagons filled with armed men, plus a dozen riders. It was a small army, well dressed and heavily armed. Caleb mounted Morgan, taking the lead position alongside one of Bronte's capos.
"To the docks!" Caleb ordered.
The convoy moved out, rolling through the streets of Saint Denis toward the north of the city. The transition was gradual.
The manicured lawns gave way to townhouses, then to tenements, and finally to the cobblestone and soot of the industrial district. The air grew thicker, smelling of brine, coal smoke, and unwashed bodies.
They arrived at the docks as the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange. The ambush point was a large import-export warehouse near the rail terminus. It was a labyrinth of crates, cranes, and iron walkways.
Caleb dismounted, handing Morgan's reins to a designated handler at the rear. "Keep her safe," he warned again.
He walked to the area he have assigned himself to, the ground level, amidst the shipping containers near the main crane. It was a position that offered heavy cover and multiple escape routes, while Bronte's main force climbed the metal stairs to take positions on the high gantries inside the warehouse.
"Get into position!" Caleb shouted to the men. "Quietly! They could be here any minute!"
The mobsters scrambled, boots clanging on metal, taking their spots in the rafters. They were sitting ducks, clustered together in the "high ground," just as Caleb had planned.
Caleb settled behind a stack of crates labeled 'Fragile Machinery'. He checked his Litchfield, slid a round into the chamber of his shotgun, and waited.
The trap was set. The players were in position. Now, he just had to wait for the curtain to rise on the massacre he had written.
The docks fell silent, save for the lapping of water and the distant cry of a gull. Caleb watched the shadows lengthen, his breath steady, his heart rate slow.
He was ready.
"Come on," he whispered to the empty rail tracks. "Let's start the show."
Suddenly, the sound of a steam whistle echoed in the distance, followed by the rhythmic chugging of a train. It was the 5:15 cargo from Annesburg. Right on time.
Bronte's men in the rafters tensed, weapons raised. Caleb stayed low, his eyes scanning not just the tracks, but the shadows around him.
The train rolled into the yard, steam hissing, brakes squealing. As it slowed, Caleb saw movement. Not an army, but figures dropping from the boxcars. Cornwall's mercenaries. They were here.
Caleb raised his repeater, sighting down the barrel. He didn't fire yet. He let them advance, let them creep into the kill box, let them get close enough that there would be no escape for anyone.
He waited until the lead mercenary stepped into the pool of light from a gas lamp.
Then, Caleb squeezed the trigger.
BANG.
The shot echoed like a cannon blast, dropping the lead mercenary instantly. It was the signal.
"Ambush!" someone screamed.
From the rafters, Bronte's men opened fire, a chaotic rain of lead pouring down onto the tracks. The mercenaries scattered, returning fire with disciplined bursts. The air filled with smoke, shouting, and the roar of gunfire.
Caleb moved. He didn't stay static. He activated DeadEye, the world slowing to a sepia toned crawl. He painted three targets, mercenaries trying to flank the warehouse and fired.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three bodies hit the dirt.
But Caleb wasn't just fighting the enemy. He pulled a fire bottle that he received from one of Bronte's men, he lit the rag, and hurled it, not at the mercenaries, but at the base of the wooden support structure holding up the gantries where Bronte's men were stationed.
The glass shattered. Fire erupted, licking up the dry wood, fueled by the oil he had "accidentally" spilled there during his scouting trip.
"Fire!" a mobster screamed from above. "The stairs are on fire!"
Chaos. Panic. The mobsters were now fighting two enemies, the gunfire from below and the flames from below.
Caleb smiled grimly, cycling the lever of his rifle. This was it. The grinder.
He moved through the smoke like a wraith, shooting mercenaries who got too close, and occasionally firing a "stray" shot near Bronte's men to keep them pinned in the burning structure.
He was the conductor of a symphony of destruction, and the music was just reaching its crescendo.
"Hold the line!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise, acting the part of the heroic commander even as he burned the bridge. "Don't let them through!"
He reloaded, the brass casings clinking on the cobblestones, and stepped deeper into the smoke. The night had only just begun.
The gunfight ensues and it was chaotic, Caleb just like he planned managed to kill many of Cornwall's men, while Bronte's men above him are screaming, some are shot dead and fell from the second floor to the ground, some are burned by the fire, but they still managed to return fire and killed many of Cornwall's men as well.
And Caleb seeing the chaos, activated his Dead Eye once again, and he saw five Cornwall's men trying to flank him from the left, and with his Dead Eye time slowed down and he marked all five of their heads with his Litchfield Repeater on ready, before he pulled the trigger rapidly and five shots rang out, killing all five of them instantly with headshots.
Caleb then slung his repeater and moved from his cover, running toward a better vantage point, he climbed up a crane nearby, relian on his high Strength and Agility stats, he climbed it easily and reached the top of the cabin.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 1)
- Leadership (Lvl 1)
Money: 3,334 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 251,192 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 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, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -