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Caleb's eyes found Chen Lei again, the man was limping toward a side door, clutching a briefcase. "Not tonight," Caleb muttered. He holstered one of his revolver and drew his lasso. With a practiced flick, the rope sailed through the smoky air, catching Chen Lei's torso. Caleb yanked hard, dragging the smuggler mastermind backward to the ground hard.
Chen Lei roared, trying to cut the rope with his knife, but Caleb was already on him, his Navy revolver pressed to his forehead tight.
"End of the line for you, Chen Lei."
The man spat blood to the side, glaring up at him. "You think this changes anything Mr. Bounty Hunter? You kill me, another will take my place."
Caleb cocked the hammer this navy. "Good thing I'm getting paid by the body, not the philosophy."
But he didn't pull the trigger. Instead, he holstered his gun and then pulled out his lasso around Chen Lei, and began to uses it to tied Chen Lei around his arm and leg, before then his entire body around.
"You're coming with me to the station."
Outside, the sound of boots approached, distant whistles, shouts. The Saint Denis police, finally deciding to show up after all the noise.
Caleb sighed. "About damn time, at least I don't need to clean around."
He dragged Chen Lei outside, before then tossing him over his right shoulder. The air was thick with gunpowder and fog, the red lanterns still burning eerily over the carnage.
Morgan neighed softly as he approached her. He loaded a fuming and struggling Chen Lei onto Morgan's back, tightening the ropes around Chen Lei in the process.
"Don't squirm too much," he muttered. "She bites. And also you better quiet down, or I'll gag you," Caleb said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Chen Lei fell silent as he glared but said nothing. Caleb mounted up, tugged the reins, steering Morgan toward the police station. The fog followed him all the way to the edge of the harbor, curling like spirits around the lampposts.
By the time he reached the main road, dawn had begun to creep over the city. Another night's work done. Another name crossed off the list.
The ride to the police station was uneventful. The desk officer's eyes nearly bulged out of his head when Caleb walked in, once again, with a high value bounty in tow.
"Is that Chen Lei?" the officer gasped. "And You brought him in alive McLaughlin?"
"Alive and unhappy," Caleb confirmed, putting the smuggler down on to the floor. "He was in the middle of a deal that went sour at the Marseille Shipping warehouse. But the are should be filled with some of your comrade officer, as the gu shoots should have attracted them or someone reported it to them."
The chief, Leclerc, was called by the desk off er to check and, for the third time, praised Caleb's efficiency and handed him the bounty reward, 250 dollars, plus another bonus 25 dollars which he scrapped by. He also said that he couldn't wait for him to bring George Hackshaw for them.
After receiving the money, Caleb stepped back out into the dawn, as he felt the satisfying weight of the cash in his pocket. One bounties remained, George Hackshaw. He mounted Morgan and turned her toward the Bastille. He needed to have some rest and restore his energy, before he could go and hunt George.
Saint Denis was caught in that strange in between hour, the moment when night's ghosts retreated and morning's routine had yet to begin. The fog still clung to the low streets, glowing faintly in the light of gas lamps being snuffed one by one.
Morgan's hooves clicked against the stones, tired but steady. She'd been through another long night, gunfire, smoke, and narrow escapes, where Caleb could feel her exhaustion through the reins.
As he approached the Bastille, he patted her neck.
"Good girl. We're done for now. You earned your rest," he murmured.
He hitched Morgan to the post just outside the saloon and rubbed her muzzle briefly before stepping inside.
The Bastille was quiet in the dawn haze, save for the low hum of a few patrons who had either refused to sleep or couldn't afford to. The usual bustle of laughter, piano notes, and poker chatter was replaced with tired murmurs. The smell of stale whiskey and tobacco hung in the air like fog that refused to lift.
Ezra stood behind the counter, wiping down glasses, looking about as tired as Caleb felt. The bartender's eyes lifted as Caleb stepped in, but before Ezra could say anything, Caleb raised his hand slightly.
"Morning, Ezra," he rasped. "Get me some breakfast, will you? Steak and lobster bisque. And a glass with a bottle of whiskey."
Ezra blinked, eyebrows lifting. "Bit early for whiskey, ain't it?"
Caleb smirked faintly. "After the night I had, it's late."
That got a small chuckle from the bartender. "Fair enough, Mr. McLaughlin. Steak and bisque comin' right up. Might take a while, though, the night cooks're draggin' their feet till the morning crew comes in."
"Fine by me," Caleb said, pulling a few bills from his coat. He slid them across the counter, 18 dollars in total. "That should cover it."
Ezra accepted the payment with a grateful nod. "Sure will. I'll bring the whiskey first."
Caleb nodded and moved toward one of the corner tables, the wood creaking softly under his boots. He dropped down into the chair with a sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. As Ezra brought over the glass and the whiskey bottle, Caleb poured himself a generous drink.
The amber liquid caught the lamplight like trapped sunlight. He swirled it once, then took a sip, slow, deliberate, letting the burn roll down his throat. His muscles began to relax, his eyelids heavy with the kind of exhaustion only gunfights and adrenaline could cause.
He leaned back in the chair, hat tilted low, the whiskey glass resting loosely in his hand. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes.
The world drifted away, the Bastille's hum fading to a distant murmur. His thoughts wandered to Chen Lei, bound and snarling in the police station. Another job done. Sleep claimed him before he could think any further.
It was the smell of butter and seared meat alongside sound of plate bing placed that woke him up.
Caleb's eyes cracked open, the dim light telling him maybe twenty minutes had passed. Ezra's voice was the next thing he heard. "Sorry for the wait, Mr. McLaughlin. Cooks took their sweet time."
Caleb straightened in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Don't worry about it, Ezra. I got a bit of shut-eye out of it."
"Then it worked out for both of us," Ezra said with a grin as he set the plates down, a steaming steak, thick and glistening with juices, and a bowl of lobster bisque rich with cream and herbs.
Caleb muttered a quiet thanks and dug in. The first bite of steak nearly melted on his tongue. He didn't realize how hungry he'd been until now. The bisque was perfect, warm, hearty, and smooth, washing away the aftertaste of powder and blood from the night before.
By the time he'd finished both plates and half the whiskey bottle, he felt almost human again. His body was still tired, but it was the good kind of tired, the kind earned through work done well.
He checked his pocket watch, 06:42 a.m. The sun was fully up now, slanting light through the stained windows of the Bastille.
Time to move.
Caleb pushed his chair back, stood, and stretched. He turned to Ezra, who was drying a glass behind the counter again. "Appreciate the meal, Ezra. Pass my thanks to the cook too."
Ezra nodded. "Will do. You headin' out already?"
Caleb adjusted his hat and smiled faintly. "Still got one bounty left. Might as well finish the job while the day's fresh."
Ezra whistled low. "You sure don't waste time, huh? Take care of yourself, Mr. McLaughlin."
"Always do."
Caleb gave a short wave before stepping out into the street once more. The city had fully awakened, carts clattering down the roads, the calls of vendors, and the distant hiss of a steam engine rolling through the rail district. He mounted Morgan again, patting her neck softly.
"Let's wrap this up, girl," he murmured.
The route to the railyards took him out of the heart of Saint Denis, across the aesthetic buildings and along cobblestone streets still slick with morning dew. The air smelled faintly of smoke and coal dust, drifting from the factory stacks in the distance.
As he rode, his mind shifted toward the final target, George Hackshaw.
Hackshaw wasn't a ghost like Chen Lei, nor a myth like the Saint Denis Phantom. He was worse, a brute who didn't hide behind mystery or money. His crew, the Hackshaw Brothers, had been causing hell for months. Robberies, shootouts, and more than one officer dead. They'd taken over an old freight shed near the southwestern railyard, using it as a base to stash stolen goods and run protection rackets.
The Saint Denis police had tried to clear them out once. Two officers didn't come back. The rest barely made it.
Caleb tugged the reins, frowning. "Violent and smart," he muttered. "Not the best combination to ride up on unprepared."
Morgan snorted softly, as if in agreement.
He guided her westward, past the Saint Denis Stable. She'd been worked hard the past few days, and he could see the fatigue in her movements. He made a quick decision and turned her toward the stable entrance.
Inside, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of hay and horse musk. A middle aged man with a thick beard and a bit of a gut looked up from brushing a mare.
"Mornin' there, stranger," the man greeted. "Name's Theodore Eckhart, stable master. What can I do for ya?"
Caleb dismounted and gave a polite nod. "Morning, Theodore. My horse's been running near non stop these past few days. She could use some care. Full package, feed, brush, and the works."
He pulled ten dollars from his coat and handed it over.
Theodore's face lit up. "Well now, that's what I like to hear. We'll take good care of her. You can wait right over there if you like."
Caleb nodded and watched as Theodore led Morgan into the back stalls. The mare neighed softly, clearly trusting the man. Satisfied, Caleb moved to one of the benches near the stable's front and sat down.
The exhaustion from the past two days crept back in waves. The smell of hay, the distant clop of hooves, the low hum of the stablehand, it all mixed into something almost soothing. He leaned back, folded his arms, and let his eyes close again.
This nap wasn't long either. Maybe half an hour.
"Mr. McLaughlin?" Theodore's voice stirred him awake. "All done, sir."
Caleb opened his eyes to see Morgan looking rejuvenated, her coat brushed to a shine, her mane neatly combed, and her tail flicking with renewed energy.
She looked happy. That alone made the detour worth it.
Caleb stood, smiling faintly. "She looks perfect. Appreciate it, Theodore."
"Glad to hear it," the stable master said proudly. "You ride safe now, Mr. McLaughlin."
Caleb gave a nod, mounted up, and guided Morgan out of the stable. "We're getting close now, girl," he said softly. "One more job, and we can both rest easy."
The railyards stretched ahead like a maze of rust and steel.
Dozens of freight sheds stood in a line, their roofs half collapsed or blackened by years of soot. The air reeked of oil, damp wood, and the lingering tang of old gunpowder.
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.
...
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: 3,262 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: -