If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, 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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Caleb stared at the inventor, then at his wife, before throwing his head back and laughing loudly, deeply appreciating the absurdity of it all. He had met his match in stubbornness, and Mary-Beth had somehow become the only person on earth capable of keeping the two most brilliant minds of the century grounded in reality. "Fair enough," Caleb conceded, using the desk to pull himself up from the floor. He offered a hand to Tesla, hauling the lanky inventor to his feet. "To bed, Nikola. The failsafes can wait."
Eventually, through sheer grit, bleeding knuckles, and relentless iteration, Caleb completed the first operational set of prototypes.
He summoned the senior leadership of his organization to the heavily secured conference room above the factory floor.
Hosea, Strauss, Arthur, Vincenzo, and Silvio stood around a long mahogany table covered in velvet. Resting on the fabric were the Pioneer, the Enforcer, the Behemoth, and the three cast iron Storm grenades.
The men stared at the lethal display in absolute silence.
Arthur reached out first. He picked up the Enforcer shotgun, testing its weight. He pumped the slide, the heavy steel action racking with a terrifying, rhythmic clack that echoed in the quiet room.
"Lord above," Arthur murmured, checking the sight line. "This is... brutal. You give a squad of Vincenzo's boys these shotguns, and no gang in the country could hold a hallway against us."
"That is exactly the point," Caleb said, leaning against the edge of the table.
Silvio picked up the Gale grenade, turning the heavy, segmented iron sphere over in his gloved hands. "No more lighting fuses with a cigar? You just pull this pin and throw?"
"Five second chemical delay, perfectly consistent every single time," Caleb confirmed.
Strauss adjusted his spectacles, his accountant's mind racing as he looked at the Pioneer hunting rifle. "The civilian market for a reliable, self loading sporting rifle would be practically limitless, Don Thorne. But the manufacturing costs for these internal gas systems... they will be significantly higher than the Vanguard."
"Which is why we will price it as a premium, luxury item," Caleb countered smoothly. "The Pioneer is for the medium and low wealth rancher and the normal hunters. The profit margins will balance."
Hosea, ever the political strategist, looked at the massive, belt fed Behemoth light machine gun. He didn't touch it. He looked at Caleb, a deep crease of concern on his forehead.
"Caleb," Hosea began carefully. "These weapons are magnificent. But having a company capable of producing military grade support weapons and standardized explosives... that invites a different kind of scrutiny. The government in Washington is already watching our rifle sales. If we roll all of this out at once, they won't just see a company. They'll see a standing army. Politicians get very nervous when private citizens have better artillery than the military."
"I agree with Hosea, Don," Vincenzo chimed in, his dark eyes serious. "The military, the polices, the foreign buyers... everyone is going to want to steal these blueprints. We'll need to double the security at the factory just to stop the spies."
Caleb listened intently. He didn't brush their concerns aside, he respected their instincts entirely.
"You are both absolutely right," Caleb nodded, pushing away from the table. "Which is precisely why we are not releasing all of these to the market."
The men looked at him in surprise.
"We maintain a technological lead by never showing the world exactly how far ahead we truly are," Caleb explained, revealing his grand strategy. "The Pioneer hunting rifle goes to the commercial market for the holidays. The Enforcer shotgun remains an internal proprietary weapon, manufactured exclusively for our capos, our security forces, and specialized police contracts like Deputy Commissioner Macleod in New York."
Caleb placed a hand firmly on the heavy, menacing barrel of the Behemoth.
"And this," Caleb said quietly, "goes into the vault. It does not see the light of day. The Storm grenades will be manufactured in secret, stockpiled exclusively for our own defense. Whenever our competitors, or the government, begin to believe they have finally caught up to the Vanguard... we will already have the next generation waiting behind the curtain. We will dictate the pace of the industry, not react to it."
The room collectively let out a breath. It was a masterstroke of corporate restraint and strategic dominance. Caleb wasn't just inventing weapons; he was playing a geopolitical game of chess.
"Brilliant," Hosea whispered, making a swift note in his book. "I will begin drafting the patents for the civilian rifle immediately, burying the operational mechanics in convoluted legal jargon to stall any reverse engineering attempts."
"Do it," Caleb agreed. "Arthur, coordinate with Elias. Get the stamping presses ready for the shotgun. I want Vincenzo's men armed with the Enforcer by the end of the month."
As the meeting concluded and the men filed out of the room to execute their orders, Caleb remained behind.
He stood alone in the quiet conference room, the setting sun casting long, golden rays across the polished wooden table and the cold steel of the prototypes.
The heavy door opened softly. Mary-Beth stepped inside, holding a small basket covered with a checkered cloth. She walked over to him, the scent of fresh bread and roasted chicken cutting through the smell of gun oil.
"Elias said you were finally finished," Mary-Beth said softly, setting the basket on the table and looping her arms around his waist. She looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with warmth. "Do you even remember that we are newly married, Mr. Thorne? Or am I going to have to start making appointments with your secretary?"
Caleb smiled, a genuine, bone deep affection washing over him, instantly softening the ruthless edge of the industrialist. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"I remember perfectly well, Mrs. Thorne," Caleb promised softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "The design phase is over. I am officially yours."
Make the marriage feel lived-in and comfortable rather than perfect or overly sentimental.
"Good," Mary-Beth murmured against his chest. "Because if I have to drag you out of this factory one more time, I am charging you a retrieval fee."
Caleb laughed, taking her hand. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair. Before he turned off the electric lights, he looked back at the table one last time.
The prototypes gleamed in the dying light. They represented a terrifying, undeniable power. The Storm grenades represented the grim future of modern warfare. The sprawling factory floors below them represented unstoppable industrial growth. Across the swamps, Nikola Tesla was drawing the blueprints for the future of electrical energy. In the streets of the city, his bicycles were modernizing transportation, and in New York, Thorne Crown was laying the foundation for a mass-market empire.
All of it,nevery factory, every wire, every patent, was woven into the exact same, massive, terrifyingly rapid expansion of his empire.
As Caleb walked out of the factory with his wife's hand in his, he realized that his greatest challenge moving forward was no longer simply inventing new things or conquering rival gangs.
The true challenge was the terrifying burden of control. It was deciding exactly how much power, how much destruction, and how much of the future he was actually willing to place into the hands of the world he was actively helping to create.
After Caleb finished perfecting the operational prototypes for the Pioneer sporting rifle and the Enforcer tactical shotgun, and locking the devastating Behemoth light machine gun away in the deepest vault beneath the mansion, he turned his attention north.
His massive industrial footprint in Saint Denis was secure, but Thorne-Marlin Firearm's Co. was a national entity, and the primary manufacturing hub remained in Connecticut. Caleb walked into his private study in the Garden District mansion and drafted a long, highly detailed telegraph to John M. Marlin, Mahlon H. Marlin, and Burton L. Marlin, the board of directors, with John serving as the company's CEO.
Caleb informed them that he had successfully developed two entirely new, highly advanced firearm designs. He assured them that heavily secured copies of the schematics, along with precise metallurgical requirements and machining tolerances, were already en route to Connecticut via armored rail.
His intention was explicit, he wanted the Connecticut plant to begin retooling their assembly lines immediately so that the Pioneer and the Enforcer could saturate markets across the entire country, rather than being geographically limited to the South.
However, Caleb did not frame the telegraph as a cold set of demands from a tyrannical majority shareholder.
At the end of the message, Caleb extended a warm, highly personal invitation to the Marlins. He invited them to travel south to Lemoyne whenever their grueling manufacturing schedules allowed. He promised that when they arrived, he would personally host them at the Grand Thorne Hotel in Strawberry, allowing them to experience the luxury of the resort and witness firsthand the staggering scale of the other industries and developments he was building.
The invitation was genuine, signaling a profound shift in their relationship. Caleb no longer viewed the Marlins merely as executives he had acquired, he was beginning to regard them as vital, long term partners in the architecture of his growing industrial empire.
After dispatching the telegraph, Caleb returned to the sprawling factory floor in Saint Denis to personally oversee the initiation of mass production.
One brilliant aspect of Caleb's engineering was logistical efficiency. The Pioneer and the Enforcer did not require the factory to halt production to manufacture entirely new, proprietary cartridges. Both weapons were meticulously designed around the high velocity, smokeless powder ammunition already being mass produced for the Vanguard rifle. This brilliant standardization made the transition into mass production considerably easier, dramatically cheaper, and exponentially faster.
For the first production run, Caleb did not watch from the safety of a glass walled office above the floor. He stripped off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and worked directly alongside the master machinists and factory employees on the line.
He stood at the heavy stamping presses and the milling machines, personally demonstrating exactly how each component, the short stroke gas pistons, the extraction claws, the heavy slide actions, should be manufactured and assembled. He patiently, methodically explained the absolute, uncompromising standards of quality he expected.
His max level Crafting Skill and exhaustive Firearms Knowledge Skill allowed him to spot even the most microscopic imperfections. If a sear spring was coiled a fraction of a millimeter too tight, or if the bluing on a barrel was slightly uneven, Caleb caught it instantly. He adamantly refused to allow the first production batch to leave the factory doors until he was personally, entirely satisfied with the lethal perfection of the weapons.
The factory workers' reactions were a mixture of awe and profound curiosity. Some of the older, veteran gunsmiths were deeply impressed by Caleb's staggering technical knowledge, while the younger apprentices whispered among themselves, bewildered as to how a young, billionaire businessman understood the granular, mechanical details of firearms better than men who had spent thirty years on a lathe.
Caleb did not behave like an arrogant, screaming instructor. When a worker made a mistake, Caleb patiently took the file from their hands, showed them the exact angle required to correct the flaw, and handed it back. He made it abundantly clear that the survival of the men using these weapons, and the towering reputation of the Thorne-Marlin brand, depended entirely on their dedication to reliability.
Once the initial production line was humming with flawless efficiency, Caleb washed the grease from his hands and returned to his other, infinitely more complex major project, his collaboration with Nikola Tesla.
With the massive laboratory on the edge of the swamps still under rapid construction, Tesla was utilizing a heavily modified, temporary research space in one of Caleb's secured warehouses in the industrial district.
Over the next several days, Caleb spent hours in the warehouse with the eccentric genius. Amidst the chaos of copper coils, Leyden jars, and sputtering arc lamps, Caleb began to slowly, methodically introduce Tesla to a highly specific concept.
He spoke of utilizing oscillating coils, tuned electrical circuits, varying electromagnetic wavelengths, synchronized transmitters, and receivers to create a system capable of transmitting sound over vast distances without a single wire. The foundational concept was loosely inspired by the existing, crude technology of the telegraph, but Caleb masterfully guided Tesla's towering intellect toward a much more radical idea, the transmission of actual, complex audio signals, human voices and music, rather than merely tapping out coded Morse messages.
He was guiding Tesla toward the invention of an early form of radio.
Caleb was incredibly careful not to simply dump modern, twentieth century knowledge onto Tesla. If he handed the inventor the finished equations, Tesla would become suspicious of Caleb's origins. Instead, Caleb guided the genius through the concepts gradually, using his Past Life Memory Skill and max level Crafting Skill to ask the exact right questions, allowing Tesla to reach the brilliant conclusions himself. Caleb essentially provided the spark, allowing Tesla's mind to build the fire, bypassing years of tedious, blind experimentation.
The moment Tesla realized exactly what Caleb was describing, the inventor became intensely, fiercely interested.
"The resonance frequencies..." Tesla muttered, his eyes wide as he practically attacked a chalkboard with a piece of chalk, drawing rapid schematics of tuned induction coils. "If we synchronize the receiver to the exact wavelength of the transmitter... Caleb, this has enormous potential!"
Tesla stopped, looking at Caleb, his gaunt face animated with excitement. "I am already aware of the Italian, Marconi, and his parlor tricks with wireless telegraphy. But his efforts are incredibly crude compared to the mathematical perfection we are discussing here! Transmitting actual audio... it is magnificent!"
But then, Tesla's eyes glazed over slightly, his mind instantly leaping a hundred steps ahead.
"And if we can transmit audio frequencies perfectly," Tesla continued, his voice dropping into a reverent whisper, "we can scale the resonance. We can transmit power! My ultimate dream, Caleb! Not just voices, but massive electrical energy transmitted wirelessly through the earth and the atmosphere! We could power motors, illuminate cities, and run entire factories across oceans without a single conventional wire!"
Caleb listened, fully understanding the staggering, beautiful ambition behind Tesla's dream. But Caleb also remembered enough from his previous life to know exactly how this story originally ended. He knew that Tesla's absolute perfectionism, combined with his colossal, world changing ambitions, would eventually terrify his original investors.
Men like J.P. Morgan didn't want free, wireless energy, they wanted meters they could charge people for. If Tesla pursued wireless power immediately, he would burn through capital without producing a commercial product, eventually leading to bankruptcy and madness.
Caleb needed to keep the genius grounded.
"I believe you can achieve that dream, Nikola," Caleb said softly, placing a hand on the inventor's shoulder. "I truly do. But we must not abandon the steps on the staircase to reach the roof."
Tesla frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean we must first create something undeniably practical, incredibly reliable, and wildly commercially successful," Caleb explained, his tone reasonable and deeply pragmatic. "If we can perfect this long distance wireless audio communication first... if we can demonstrate its usefulness to the world, obtain the patents, and build a massive, impenetrable financial foundation around it... then you will have the absolute freedom to pursue the wireless transmission of energy."
Tesla initially resisted the idea. He paced the floor of the warehouse, waving his hands, highly reluctant to compromise his grand, world saving scientific ambitions for what he viewed as a lesser commercial product.
However, Caleb did not insult or dismiss the inventor's dream. He leaned heavily on his Max Level Persuasion Skill.
"I am not asking you to abandon the dream, Nikola. I am asking you to fund it," Caleb reasoned, his voice calm and hypnotic. "If we build the radio first, the world will recognize your genius instantly. You will achieve total financial independence. You will never have to beg an investor for copper wire again, and you will have the freedom to pursue the larger experiment without anyone, including me, telling you that it is too expensive."
Tesla stopped pacing. He looked at the schematics for the radio on the chalkboard, and then at Caleb. The logic was irrefutable, and Caleb's delivery bypassed the inventor's stubbornness perfectly.
"Very well, Caleb," Tesla finally sighed, though a spark of excitement quickly returned to his eyes. "We will build the voice transmitter first. And then... we will light the world."
The two men began their research in earnest.
Their partnership developed naturally and beautifully. Tesla remained eccentric, intensely curious, easily distracted by the allure of new scientific possibilities, and highly prone to becoming so absorbed in soldering circuits that he would forget to blink.
Caleb remained the grounded force in the room, constantly checking the practical application of the equipment, sourcing the finest materials from his industrial network, and frequently, forcefully reminding Tesla to eat, sleep, and take breaks.
Their conversations gradually shifted away from the formal dynamic of an employer and an inventor, becoming the rapid fire, highly enjoyable dialogue of two brilliant men who genuinely loved exploring ideas together.
However, Caleb was fiercely determined to ensure that the research did not consume his entire life. He remembered that he had a wife waiting for him, and he deliberately limited how many hours he spent inside the warehouse laboratory. Mary-Beth occasionally appeared at the warehouse during the late afternoons, carrying a basket of fresh food from the mansion.
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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: 2,772 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 283,392 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 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 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: -