![]() A guard raised his pistol, but hesitated. In a thundering gallop, they smashed through the prison entrance, shrieking like bloodthirsty marauders. The Hellshire Gang pledged their loyalty to Caleb and called for the warden's head. He'd been sold out, a pawn in a rich man's game. Caleb's heart pounded with rage, blood swelling as if it would burst from his veins. In the picture, a disfigured Bayshore proudly shook the warden's hand. After a bloody battle at Glenvale, Caleb caught notice of a newspaper headline: Henry Bayshore Purchases Hellshire Penitentiary. ![]() For six years, they roamed the country collecting wanted outlaws for the prison, fulfilling their end of the bargain. Looking to protect his asset, the prison warden pulled strings and released Irish inmates to form Caleb's posse. After several iterations, the disembowelments dwindled, but Caleb had already earned his new nickname: The Deathslinger. But as the spear tugged, it caught the thief's intestines, and, with an ungodly sound, yanked them onto the dusty road. Metal joints screeched as the spike shot forward, gouging into the target's abdomen. Seizing on the opportunity, Caleb unleashed his prototype. The first trial occurred when a thief robbed a Chinese laundry. Use ingenuity to bring outlaws in alive.Ĭaleb returned to his workshop, and with a few modifications emerged with something new - the speargun. He spoke of something greater than monetary wealth - political capital - and that his connections could have Bayshore framed and rotting behind bars for life. After a time, the warden offered to commute his sentence. He designed torture devices for him and in return received extra meals. In a fortress of illiterate convicts, he found an unlikely friend in the educated prison warden. For fifteen years, Caleb was confined to Hellshire Penitentiary, the nation's first private prison. The only thing that saved Caleb from hanging was Bayshore's unlikely survival. A railroad spike ploughed through skin and viscera, nailing Bayshore to his desk. As he was pulled away, he pushed his specialised gun to his boss' gut and squeezed the trigger. Rage overwhelming him, he burst into Bayshore's office and smashed his face into a bloody stew. But as Bayshore feigned indifference, the devices began turning up at other companies, the patents stolen from Caleb and sold.Ī familiar sensation coursed through Caleb's blood, feeding the sharp pain in his heart. Next, he made a steam-powered tunnelling drill. ![]() ![]() Henry Bayshore, the owner of United West Rail, hired him.Ĭaleb first invented a gun that shot railroad spikes into the ground. With age, Caleb's engineering abilities became marketable and employers put their discrimination aside. He hid plans for a mask that would gouge barbed needles into a human's eyes and rip them from their sockets, complete with sketches of it fitted on boys who bullied him. The devices Caleb made under his father's guidance had quaint applications, but when his father was away, they took a grim turn. Noticing his son's interest in the trade, he gifted him his old wrench. His antiquated tools laid untouched for years until Caleb uncovered them. Caleb's father, once an engineer, had few options to ply his trade as businesses posted a common sign: No Irish Need Apply. On the edge of the frontier, sickness, famine, and death were common sights, and pioneers contended for whatever scraps they could claim while tycoons feasted. Born in the dust-ridden badlands of the American Midwest, Caleb Quinn was son to struggling Irish immigrants.
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