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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"I don't understand half the words you just said, Don McLaughlin," Silvio admitted, a massive grin breaking across his scarred face. "But if you say we are building the future, then I am ready to swing the hammer." The black carriage rolled smoothly through the bustling, smog filled streets of Saint Denis, carrying the new Don toward his next monumental conquest, seamlessly blending the ruthless violence of the underworld with the unstoppable, electric march of modern industrial progress.
The transition was always jarring, a physical manifestation of the city's stark divides. The clean, floral scented air of the wealthy districts was rapidly swallowed by the thick, choking smog of the southern rail yards.
The sky overhead shifted from a brilliant blue to a bruised, hazy gray, permanently stained by the endless columns of black smoke belching from the towering brick smokestacks.
Soon, they arrived at the location Caleb had specified, the Cornwall Freight and Manufacturing depot. It was a massive, sprawling complex of corrugated iron warehouses, heavy loading cranes, and a labyrinth of intersecting train tracks that smelled fiercely of burning coal, hot grease, and the salty brine of the nearby river.
Even from the comfortable, velvet lined interior of the carriage, Caleb could hear the deafening symphony of industry, the rhythmic, earth shaking thud of steam hammers, the screech of iron wheels against steel rails, and the shouted orders of foremen echoing over the din.
There were many workers moving about, their faces and clothes smeared black with soot, hauling heavy crates and operating the massive winches.
In addition to the laborers, there were also maybe dozens of clients going in and out of the depot's main administrative building, well dressed businessmen, shipping magnates, and logistical managers navigating the chaotic yard to sign ledgers and secure their freight lines.
But Caleb's high perception eyes immediately caught something else. The private security presence could be seen to have been massively increased.
Armed men wearing the distinctive gray suits and bowler hats of the professional private guards, alongside rugged, heavily armed local mercenaries, were stationed at every entrance, patrolling the perimeter with repeaters and rifles resting casually across their arms.
Caleb leaned back against the cushions, his mind analyzing the defensive posture with absolute, cold logic. After all, this place still technically belonged to Cornwall.
The recent, highly publicized violence between the Italian mob and Cornwall's assets, the burning of Annesburg and the subsequent riverboat disaster, had clearly sent shockwaves through the billionaire's remaining infrastructure.
To protect themselves, the supervisor of the Saint Denis company branch had obviously hired the private security, surely so that they wouldn't get torched or violently attacked by Angelo Bronte's men in a sudden retaliation.
That is what Caleb thought the supervisor must be thinking. They were bracing for another mob war. But the reality of the situation was entirely different. Caleb was not here to launch an attack, nor was he acting under Bronte's orders. He had come here strictly as a client, a wealthy industrialist looking to make a legitimate purchase.
Furthermore, Caleb knew a secret that the sweating supervisor inside that building didn't, Cornwall was completely out of the picture. The tycoon should be fleeing into his sanctuary, trapped in a state of heavy psychological trauma from being dangled over the churning blades of a paddlewheel.
Cornwall would be so consumed by his own terror and paranoia that he wouldn't put any attention to his business for months, especially not the ones located in Saint Denis, the very city where his nightmares had been violently realized.
The black lacquered carriage, unmistakable in its luxurious, aristocratic design, rolled to a halt right in front of the main iron gates of the depot.
Caleb, of course, got down from the carriage with Silvio stepping out heavily right behind him. Caleb adjusted the lapels of his immaculate charcoal suit, resting both hands casually on the head of his silver tipped cane.
Silvio cracked his knuckles, his massive frame radiating an aura of lethal, coiled violence that instantly put the surrounding guards on edge.
His presence was, of course, immediately noticed by the hired private security guards. These men were professionals, they had already been briefed on the major players of the city's underworld, and they had been explicitly told who Caleb is.
They recognized the handsome, terrifyingly calm face from the bounties and the whispered street legends. To them, he was the Underboss of Angelo Bronte, the lethal right hand of the Italian mafia. They were completely not knowing that he had violently ascended during the night and had become the Don.
Tension spiked instantly. The guards at the gate gripped their repeating rifles tighter, their knuckles turning white. One of them, a wiry man with a nervous twitch in his jaw, of course immediately turned and bolted inside the administrative building to inform the supervisor that the wolf was at the door.
While the messenger ran, Caleb and Silvio stood calmly at the entrance. The remaining security guards formed a loose barricade, their eyes darting between Caleb's relaxed posture and Silvio's intimidating glare.
One of the older guards, a man who clearly possessed a bit more courage than the rest, stepped forward. He stopped Caleb and Silvio from entering the active yard, raising a hand while keeping his other hand resting dangerously close to the revolver on his hip.
He asked him, carefully managing to speak with a somewhat polite tone and forced respect, fully aware that disrespecting this man usually ended in a bloodbath. "Excuse me, Mr. McLaughlin. Sir. This is a private commercial depot belonging to Cornwall Freight. May I ask why the Underboss of Angelo Bronte has come here today? We don't want any trouble, sir."
Caleb didn't even blink. He simply offered a cool, amused smile, letting the silence stretch for a fraction of a second to establish total dominance.
But it was Silvio who stepped forward to respond. The giant enforcer puffed out his massive chest, looking down at the trembling guard with an expression of profound, insulted pride.
"You watch your tongue, and you watch your tone," Silvio growled, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that carried over the hiss of the nearby steam engines. "You aren't speaking to the Underboss anymore. You are speaking to Don McLaughlin. The new Don of the family, and the undisputed ruler of this city."
Hearing that, the security guard was, of course, completely shocked and surprised. The color drained from the man's weather beaten face. He took a physical step backward, his hand dropping away from his revolver as if the metal had suddenly turned red hot. He was not expecting such a thing.
A regime change in the mafia was always a bloody, chaotic affair, and to hear that the terrifying gunslinger standing before him was now the absolute kingpin of Saint Denis fundamentally altered the power dynamic of the entire conversation.
"D-Don McLaughlin..." the guard stammered, swallowing hard, his eyes wide with a newfound, paralyzing reverence.
And exactly at this time, the heavy wooden doors of the administrative building swung open, and out came the supervisor. He was a portly, balding man wearing a tweed suit that was entirely inappropriate for the humid heat of the industrial yard.
He had heavy sweat pouring all over his forehead, dabbing at it frantically with a crumpled silk handkerchief. He was flanked by the guard who had entered to inform him moments ago.
The supervisor hurried forward, practically tripping over his own boots in his haste to prevent a massacre on his loading docks. He forced a wide, trembling smile onto his face.
The man greeted Caleb incredibly respectfully, bowing his head as he introduced himself. "Mr. McLaughlin! I am Arthur Higgins, the regional supervisor for Cornwall Freight! It is... it is an honor to have you visit our facilities. Welcome, Underboss McLaughlin."
And that's when the guard who had run inside leaned in and hurriedly whispered to him. The guard hissed frantically into the supervisor's ear that he wasn't the Underboss anymore, but the new Don of the entire organization.
The supervisor's eyes turned as wide as dinner plates. The handkerchief dropped from his trembling hands, fluttering to the soot stained dirt. He trembled visibly, a full body shudder that rattled the watch chain on his vest. He looked at Caleb, terror radiating from every pore.
Mr. Higgins immediately apologized for saying the wrong title, his voice cracking pitifully. "I.... forgive me! Forgive me, Don McLaughlin! I had not heard the news! My deepest, most sincere apologies for the disrespect! Please, I meant no offense!"
Caleb let the man stew in his own terror for three agonizing seconds, his MAX level Persuasion and Leadership skill pressing down on Higgins like a physical weight. Then, Caleb smoothly waved his hand, dismissing the apology with the magnanimous grace of true royalty.
"Breathe, Mr. Higgins," Caleb said, his voice a low, soothing baritone that paradoxically made him even more intimidating. "The news is fresh. I do not hold you responsible for the ignorance of the morning papers."
Higgins let out a ragged gasp of relief, nodding furiously. He wringed his sweaty hands together, clearly desperate to appease the most dangerous man in the state. "How may Cornwall Freight serve the new Don today? Do you need... a shipment expedited? A blind eye turned to the docks?"
Caleb then waved his hand again and proceeded cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Relax, Mr. Higgins. Tell your men to lower their rifles. I don't come here today to cause trouble, nor am I here to extort your operations or ask for you to do something illegal for the family."
Caleb leaned on his cane, projecting the aura of a wealthy, highly sophisticated industrialist. "I come here today wanting to buy something. I come as a legitimate client, seeking a piece of heavy machinery that only this place should have in the entirety of Saint Denis. And that is, I want to buy a Pelton Wheel."
Hearing that, the supervisor was utterly, profoundly surprised. The terror in his eyes was briefly replaced by sheer, professional confusion. A mob boss, even a newly crowned Don, asking for highly advanced, heavy industrial hydroelectric technology was unheard of. They usually asked for untraceable crates of repeating rifles or smuggled liquor.
"A... a Pelton Wheel, Don McLaughlin?" Higgins repeated, blinking rapidly. Before then, the supervisor recovered his professional bearing slightly and says that it is true. "Well... yes. You are incredibly well informed, sir. It is true that only our depot has the high level industrial connections to buy and sell this specific Pelton Wheel technology here in the entirety of Saint Denis. In fact, even in the surrounding states, only Cornwall Manufacturing holds the exclusive patents and shipping lines to import the necessary high tensile steel turbines."
Higgins rubbed the back of his neck, the nervous sweat returning as he approached the delicate subject of commerce with a man known for extreme violence. "But... the price is, of course, incredibly expensive, sir. It is not a common item. It requires specialized casting and imported structural housing..."
The supervisor stammered a bit as he spoke about the price being expensive, terrified that Caleb might take offense to the cost and decide to simply take the machinery by force, burning the depot down in the process. "It... it represents a massive capital investment, Don McLaughlin."
Caleb simply nodded his head at that, entirely unfazed. He was a man who currently had tens of thousands of dollars of Leviticus Cornwall's own stolen, untraceable cash sitting in a dimensional inventory space. Money was no longer an obstacle; it was merely a tool.
"I am aware of the costs associated with bleeding edge technology, Mr. Higgins," Caleb said smoothly. He gestured toward the administrative building with his cane. "And I prefer if we talked about business inside, in the comfort of your office, and not outside here in the dirt and the smog."
The supervisor nodded his head frantically, eager to get Caleb away from his armed guards before a misunderstanding sparked a shootout. "Yes! Yes, of course, Don McLaughlin! Right this way, please! Apologies for the heat!"
And so, they entered into the depot. Higgins led the way, parting a sea of wide eyed, soot stained workers who stopped dead in their tracks to stare at the immaculate, terrifying Don walking through their gritty domain. Silvio followed closely behind Caleb, glaring menacingly at anyone who stared a second too long.
The supervisor brought Caleb and Silvio into the main administrative building, walking down a wood paneled hallway and bringing them into his private office. It was a large, cluttered room overlooking the rail yards, filled with blueprints, heavy oak filing cabinets, and the smell of stale coffee and cigar smoke.
"Please, have a seat," Higgins offered, gesturing to two leather chairs positioned in front of his massive desk.
Caleb sat down smoothly, resting his cane across his knees, while Silvio chose to remain standing by the door, crossing his massive arms and serving as a silent, heavily armed gargoyle.
Higgins scrambled behind his desk, shuffling a few papers nervously before sitting down. Where they then proceeded to talk about business, a high stakes negotiation happening right in the belly of the beast.
"So," Higgins began, pulling out a thick ledger and a fountain pen. "A Pelton Wheel impulse water turbine. You are looking to generate electricity, I presume?"
"I am building a grand, state of the art luxury hotel in the mountains of West Elizabeth, near Strawberry," Caleb explained, utilizing his MAX level Acting and Persuasion Skills to project the absolute certainty of a visionary tycoon.
"It sits adjacent to the Hawk's Eye Creek. The rapids there possess massive kinetic potential. I intend to harness it to provide twenty four hour electric lighting and modern heating for my guests. I need a wheel capable of handling high velocity water pressure, complete with the dual bucket turbine design, the needle valve regulators, and the heavy duty generator housing."
Higgins stared at Caleb, his jaw slightly slack. The technical precision with which Caleb spoke was staggering. He wasn't just a gangster; he was an engineer.
"You... you know exactly what you want, Don McLaughlin," Higgins said, genuinely impressed, his fear momentarily overridden by industrial respect. "We can absolutely fulfill that order. We have the connections with the foundries in San Denis and the patent holders back East."
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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 MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 286,492 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 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, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -