Mad Genius

Dutch, blissfully unaware of the bloody gunfight Davey and the others had just unleashed, had just arrived with Hosea at Vulture Ranch, nestled somewhere between Rhodes and Valentine. Their destination: Arthur and the enigmatic Mr. Marko.

As one of the gang's very first acquisitions, Vulture Ranch boasted an enviable geographical location and soil conditions. Sitting practically spitting distance from the Heartland Oil Fields, the area basked in superior temperatures, climate, and soil, making it a veritable paradise for farming. Its consistently mild temperatures made it an ideal spot for both cultivation and grazing, a pastoral dream.

However, the Van der Linde Gang hadn't acquired Vulture Ranch for prosaic pursuits like farming. Oh no. Their grand vision was far more audacious: to establish a security company for large-scale military expansion and relentless training.

At this moment, Vulture Ranch hadn't yet been officially put into its fearsome use. Only a single, crudely constructed wooden shed stood, housing Mr. Marko's bizarre instruments, serving as his makeshift, yet bustling, research laboratory. Besides the mad scientist himself, five grizzled gunmen were stationed there for security, ensuring his precious life was untouched.

Dutch and Hosea rode their horses to the ranch gate. Dutch surveyed the sprawling landscape, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he observed the nascent rows of buildings and various training facilities taking shape within the ranch.

"Excellent," Dutch murmured, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "This place is very well-built. It seems Davey put a lot of damn effort into it. I reckon this is enough to train a thousand gunmen. What do you think, Hosea?"

"Haha, Dutch," Hosea chuckled, then, a faint frown creasing his brow, a hint of worry in his eyes. "Davey, that boy, wouldn't dare go against your wishes, that's for sure. After all, you saved him and his brother. But isn't training a thousand men right under America's nose... a bit too conspicuous?"

Hosea knew Dutch's overall, audacious plan, understanding that all his recent machinations revolved around establishing a lucrative arms business on the distant shores of Guarma. But training a thousand soldiers here, in broad daylight, under the very nose of the US government? That was simply audacious to the point of outright insanity.

"Perhaps so, Hosea," Dutch said, his smile unwavering, a knowing glint in his eye. "But not even daring to dream is the most fatal flaw, my friend."

At that very moment, the two gunmen on duty at the ranch gate, ever vigilant, had already spotted them. Especially the man with the two absurdly small mustaches, who left a deep, almost comical, impression.

"Oh, esteemed Mr. Dutch!"

"Mr. Dutch, good evening, sir."

The two gunmen, their faces beaming with genuine, almost reverent smiles, ran up to greet them, one on each side, eagerly helping Dutch and Hosea dismount and take their horses. Their lives, thanks to Dutch, had been utterly transformed; a monthly income of a hundred dollars was enough to ensure a damn good life for them and their families. Therefore, seeing Dutch, their benefactor, was even more heartwarming than seeing their own long-lost fathers.

"Gentlemen, you've worked hard!" Dutch smiled, gesturing to the two gunmen with a benevolent wave, allowing them to lead their horses into the ranch. "Let's go to Mr. Marko's. I wonder how my good friend is doing these days."

"Yes, sir!" Following Dutch's instruction, the two gunmen, their smiles still plastered on their faces, led their horses towards Mr. Marko's so-called "shed."

Before they even got close, the bizarre, spherical steel structure Mr. Marko had painstakingly built for his arcane electrical experiments came into view, shimmering faintly in the twilight. Even Mr. Marko's frenzied voice and Arthur's exasperated shouts could be heard from afar.

"Is this okay, Marko!" Arthur bellowed, holding a strangely beeping instrument. He jabbed a metal rod he held into the ground, seemingly engaged in some mysterious, alchemical ritual.

"Oh, yes, Arthur, there are three more metal rods here! You need to find three more positions, my boy!" Mr. Marko's voice, brimming with joyful urgency, emanated from inside the shed.

Watching this classic, utterly bizarre scene unfold, Dutch felt a curious tingle crawl up his scalp. He could already confirm what Mr. Marko was doing: the mad scientist was still feverishly researching his damned robots, fantasizing about using his metallic minions to rule the entire world!

"Alright, gentlemen, this is far enough. We'll take care of the rest ourselves." Dutch motioned for the two gunmen to return to their posts, then deftly maneuvered his horse, riding with Hosea towards the shed.

Mr. Marko, a character in the game explicitly modeled after the eccentric genius Tesla, indeed possessed extraordinary scientific research capabilities. His very template was almost entirely Tesla's. The only tragic difference was Marko's untimely, mysterious end; after finally perfecting his dream robot, he was found dead, killed by something unknown (probably the lizard people controlling the government) ,it could have been the robot, or not, as the robot didn't appear aggressive and ran far away, but its cage was violently broken from the inside.

Dutch harbored no particular objections to Marko's mad robot research. Such eccentric scientists, he believed, shouldn't be overly restricted or micromanaged; many groundbreaking inventions were made unintentionally, and too much interference simply stifled their abilities. But he absolutely could not die again. Losing such a high-end talent, a true visionary, would be a catastrophic loss to Dutch's burgeoning empire.

However, it wasn't a thunderstorm now, the usual backdrop for Marko's lightning-fueled experiments. This made it seem less like he was building a world-conquering robot and more like he was debugging some kind of mysterious signal.

Dutch and Hosea, their faces etched with a profound curiosity, dismounted and stepped into Mr. Marko's chaotic laboratory.

As they entered, they were greeted by a truly frenzied figure. Marko, clad in a ridiculously pristine white lab coat, was clutching a small, disc-like object, practically vibrating with excitement as he shouted. In front of him stood something resembling a signal tower base, bristling with an bewildering array of buttons and wires, all connected to a large, circular metal creation humming ominously in the center of the room.

Dutch and Hosea, ever the observers, remained silent, not daring to disturb Mr. Marko's maniacal research. They watched, utterly fascinated, as Mr. Marko continuously directed Arthur to insert metal rods in various, seemingly random, places outside, while he himself constantly fiddled and adjusted the complex base in front of him. The two worked, a bizarre, synchronistic pair, for what felt like half a day.

Finally.

"Marko, I've inserted all the metal rods! Where the blazes should I put this bowl-like thing now?" Arthur's voice, startlingly clear, emanated from the small, disc-shaped object in Mr. Marko's hand, despite Arthur being nowhere in sight.

(Electronic amplifiers, unheard of in this era, were invented in 1930. Yet, Mr. Marko and Arthur in the game somehow used them for communication, even with electronic vibration, showcasing Marko's truly astonishing genius).

"Holy cow! A walkie-talkie!" Dutch suddenly straightened, his eyes wide, staring blankly at the frenzied Mr. Marko. He exclaimed inwardly, a silent shout of disbelief, but still made no sound. Walkie-talkies wouldn't be invented until 1936, decades away!

Hosea, beside him, was even more utterly shocked, his eyes wide as saucers, staring intently at the maniacally laughing Mr. Marko. Good heavens, at this time, the phonograph, that marvel of recorded sound, had only been invented less than thirty years ago.

Although Dutch himself owned a phonograph and often delighted in showing off his refined taste to the gang, everyone had only seen phonographs with their needles, playing pre-recorded sounds. Who had ever witnessed sound transmitted in real-time like this?! It was nothing short of witchcraft!

And listening to Arthur's voice, clear as a bell, emanating from the small, disc-shaped object in his hand, Mr. Marko burst into an even more frenzied, joyful laughter.

"Hahahahaha, I succeeded! Mr. Morgan, I succeeded!!!"

He danced a wild jig, tears streaming down his face, his eyes fixed on the disc-shaped object. "

Oh, my God, I really developed it! Damn it, I really developed it!!! HAHAHAHA... Dutch, my friend, I can finally repay you!"

Marko laughed until tears streamed down his face, his voice choked with emotion. He stared at the disc-shaped object in his hand, dancing with unbridled joy, his mouth continuously spilling Dutch's name. It was clear, utterly clear, that he truly, genuinely, considered Dutch his closest friend, his benevolent patron.

However, at that precise moment, Dutch's voice, calm and utterly composed, suddenly echoed from the doorway of the room.

"Oh, Marko, my friend, what on earth have you researched? This is truly astonishing!"

Dutch's voice made Marko literally tremble. He spun around abruptly, his wide eyes fixing on Dutch. Only then did he realize that Dutch had appeared in the laboratory at some unknown point, now looking at the disc-shaped object in Marko's hand with an expression of profound, theatrical shock.