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(A/N: I hope everyone give my new novel Skyrim a chance and added it to their library!)
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He heard the sounds of footsteps approached. Ferris appeared at the end of the hall carrying his leather case, face unreadable. He paused only once, scanning the corridor with those pale surveyor eyes. Caleb didn't breathe.
The man unlocked his door and stepped inside.
The hunt began.
Caleb counted to thirty, then followed. His Sneaking Skill wrapped him in silence as he slipped through the doorway before it fully closed. Ferris was at the desk, back turned, removing his coat.
Caleb drew the Civil War knife.
For a moment he studied the man who would have destroyed everything, the careful way Ferris folded his jacket, the soldier's discipline even in private. Part of Caleb respected him. Another part remembered the past in the game where Sean's head blown up in Rhodes, Jack taken, Arthur coughing into his sleeve.
No hesitation.
He crossed the room in three steps, clamped a hand over Ferris's mouth, and drove the blade up beneath the ribs toward the heart, the clean, professional kill he had practiced in another life and perfected in this one.
Ferris bucked once, shock more than pain, and then went still.
No shout.
No struggle.
Just the soft thud of a body meeting inevitability.
Caleb lowered him to the floor, breathing slow, and felt the weight of history shift.
The specialist from New York would never file a single report.
He cleaned the blade on Ferris's own handkerchief and arranged the room to look undisturbed. No message, no theatrics, just absence. The kind that gnawed at powerful men.
Before leaving, Caleb took the leather case as well. Inside were notebooks filled with blank pages and a few personal letters. Nothing sentimental enough to keep. He sent the case into his inventory regardless, anything connected to Ferris was better erased.
Slipping back into the corridor, Caleb felt an almost eerie calm. The greatest threat to the gang had ended before it breathed its first morning air.
Cornwall would wake to fury and confusion. The theft would be discovered eventually, causing paranoia.
The death of his new specialist, on his first night, in the heart of his secure compound, would cause something else a chilling, demoralizing terror.
Maybe it would be the final straw that broke the old titan's spirit. Maybe he would flee back to New York with his tail between his legs or do something even more reckless.
Either way, the board had changed again.
Caleb melted out of the compound the same way he had entered, a rumor in the dark. By the time the guards found anything, he was already halfway across town, changing back into his own clothes in the dock shed, the guard uniform folded neatly into inventory like a shed skin.
He returned to the gunsmith's room before dawn and washed the soot from his face. The town outside was still asleep, unaware that one future had just died upstairs in a quiet room.
Caleb lay on the cot and stared at the ceiling.
Two days had given him riches, leverage, and victory. But they had also drawn a line in blood between him and Cornwall's empire
Caleb didn't want to wait and see what happened when the body will be found out, It was time to go home.
The silence of the room above the gunsmith was absolute, a stark contrast to the violent cacophony that had played out in Caleb's mind just hours before.
The adrenaline that had fueled his assassination of Ferris finally receded, leaving behind a heavy, narcotic exhaustion. He didn't bother undressing fully, merely loosening his collar and collapsing onto the cot.
He slept deeply, a black and dreamless slumber that his body demanded. It wasn't the sleep of the innocent, but the recharge of a machine.
After that, he got some good sleep, around maybe 4 to 5 hours, and when he woke up, the sun was already out. The harsh grey light of Annesburg filtered through the dusty windowpane, illuminating the floating motes of coal dust. He sat up, rolling his neck to work out the stiffness, and checked his pocket watch. It clicked open to show the time was around 7 AM.
"Efficient," he muttered to himself.
With that, he got up and splashed some water from the basin onto his face, scrubbing away the last remnants of sleep. He opened his inventory, the familiar grid manifesting in his mind's eye.
He selected his loadout for the day, prioritizing firepower over subtlety now that the stealth mission was concluded.
He took out his Litchfield Repeater, checking the lever action with a satisfying clack clack, and his Pump Action Shotgun, the heavy metal cold against his palm.
He slung them on his shoulder and across his body, the leather straps settling familiarly over his coat. Before then, he put on his boots, stomping the heels down to ensure a tight fit, and placed his hat upon his head, tilting the brim low.
He took one last look at the room, empty, impersonal, temporary, and left, heading down the wooden stairs toward the Gunsmith.
The shop was quiet, the smell of gun oil and sawdust heavy in the air. The proprietor looked up from a ledger as Caleb approached the counter to return the key. When the Gunsmith got the key, he was surprised, blinking behind his spectacles.
"Mr. Callahan?" the Gunsmith asked, looking at the key and then back at Caleb. "You... you still have two days stay left in the room, sir."
Caleb shook his head, his expression calm and professional. "I already got the track for my bounty, so I need to leave now."
He reached into his pocket and slid the key across the counter, waving away the man's attempt to open the register for a refund. "Just take the two dollars as a bonus. For the discretion."
The Gunsmith, hearing that, nodded his head enthusiastically, pocketing the key. "Well, thank you kindly, sir. Truly." He leaned forward slightly, whispering as if conspiring. "Good luck with your bounty hunting, Mr. Callahan."
Caleb waved his hand in a casual farewell before then leaving the store. The morning air of Annesburg was already thick with smoke, the industrial machine of the town churning away. He walked to the hitching post in front of the Gunsmith store where his horse was waiting.
"Hey, girl," he murmured, patting her neck.
He gets on Morgan, feeling the powerful muscles of the animal shift beneath him. He directed Morgan to follow down the main road to head south. It was time for him to go to Saint Denis.
As the hooves clattered against the hard packed dirt, Caleb's mind began to organize his next moves. Angelo Bronte should be looking for him and trying to contact him now.
Caleb had been off the grid while doing all of this, and for a control freak like Bronte, silence was tantamount to betrayal. He should be fast to not raise suspicion.
However, the cards were in Caleb's hand. Since he had information on Cornwall's next possible assault, witj the documents he'd stolen from Cornwall, he could be confident in facing Bronte to manipulate this mob boss even further.
Caleb rode down south following the main road. The blackened trees of Roanoke Ridge slowly gave way to the denser, greener foliage of the coast. He soon passed through Van Horn once again.
Unlike when he previously passed through to reach Annesburg, slowing to map the area and check for threats, this time he rode quick. He didn't need to look around taking in the trading post layout, he was a man on a mission, a blur of motion passing the decrepit buildings and the sullen faces of the locals.
He kept heading south following down the main road. The journey was a transition of biomes, a slide from the rocky, vertical danger of the mining country into the flat, humid oppression of the bayou. After around ten to fifteen minutes of hard riding, the air grew heavier, smelling of brine and decay. He finally reached the Bluewater Marsh.
The marsh was silent in the morning light, save for the cry of egrets and the distant splash of gators. Mist clung to the ground, swirling around Morgan's legs. Caleb kept following down the main road heading south, his eyes scanning the tree line, not for threats, but out of habit.
The solitude gave him time to refine his lie. He needed a story that explained his absence without revealing the assassination, something that stroked Bronte's ego while validating Caleb's competence.
The mud of the road eventually hardened into gravel and then cobblestone as he finally entered into the northern outskirts of Saint Denis.
Here, the wild swamp was tamed into submission. It was livestock farms and agricultural plots that ate part of Saint Denis's industry to supply the city with whatever produce and meats it needed. Cows grazed in fenced paddocks, and workers in flat caps moved bales of hay. The smell of manure was strong, but it was the smell of money, of civilization feeding itself.
He passed through all of it, the rustic outskirts bleeding into the paved, gas lit streets of the metropolis. He finally entered Saint Denis proper.
The transition was jarring. One moment it was mud and pigs, the next it was trolleys, brick buildings, and men in tailored suits. He arrived at the luxury and fancy part of the town, the Garden District, where the architecture mimicked the grand styles of Europe. He immediately headed toward the western part of Saint Denis, navigating the wide avenues toward Bronte's mansion.
He intended to just immediately report to him. If Bronte asked why he couldn't contact him, Caleb just needed to come up with any believable reason using his max level Persuasion and Acting Skill which Bronte would definitely believe.
'I was in a deep undercover,' Caleb rehearsed the line in his head. 'The situation was hot. I couldn't risk exposure.' Simple. Plausible.
On the ride there, he observed the city's pulse. He saw that the Saint Denis police were much more tense and on guard.
Uniformed officers patrolled in pairs, their hands resting near their holsters, eyeing every passerby with suspicion. He also saw many of Bronte's men walking around the area, distinguishable by their sharp suits and the aggressive set of their shoulders.
It looked like the witch hunt scale was much bigger than he thought.
Caleb couldn't help but draw a comparison. Bronte's pride and paranoia, should he say, could be the same level as Dutch. But where Dutch preached loyalty and hid his unraveling sanity behind charisma, pushing it down until he snapped, Bronte was just acting on it. He wasn't hiding anything.
He was a tyrant in plain sight, flaunting his power. When things didn't go his way, Bronte didn't give speeches, he scorched the earth.
When he finally arrived at the walled and gated Bronte mansion, the atmosphere was stifling. Caleb was greeted by a couple of Bronte's men stationed at the iron gates.
"Signor. McLaughlin," one of them nodded, recognizing the trusted associate.
Caleb returned the greeting with a smile and a nod as he got down from Morgan and hitched her on the hitching post. He dusted off his coat, adjusting his shotgun strap.
As he approached the gate, one of the men who guarded the front stepped forward, lowering his voice. "Watch yourself in there, Signor McLaughlin. The boss wasn't in a good mood."
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"
"Since after capturing that Smeets guy from the Green Turtle saloon in the slums," the guard confided, "the man doesn't let out any information whatsoever after being interrogated. Tougher than he looked. The boss... he decided to take out Cornwall's dogs that we managed to uncover, hit them hard last night. But the boss isn't satisfied yet with it. He thinks we're missing the head of the snake."
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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: 3,370 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 255,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 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, 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
Bank: -