"Stop! Everyone, stop!"
The grand villa, which had descended into a chaotic maelstrom of blows and screams, was instantly silenced by Dutch's furious, resonant roar. His voice cut through the air like a blade, commanding absolute obedience.
Over a hundred gunmen, their faces flushed, their expressions still alight with a frenzied excitement from the brutal work, stood guard around the villa, their bodies taut, their eyes burning with a fanatical gleam as they watched Mr. Van der Linde, standing imperiously in the center of the hall, his figure radiating undeniable power.
Although Mr. Van der Linde had audaciously declared that this revolutionary document was issued by Mayor Henry Lemieux, every single man in the room, from the lowest gunman to the highest-ranking officer, knew precisely what was really going on, and who truly held the reins.
Arthur and Mac, their fists still clenched, their faces grim, paused their relentless beating of Mr. Henry, their arms frozen mid-swing, obeying Dutch's implicit command.
"Van der Linde, you can't do this! Dammit, you're dragging all of us to ruin!" Even while being brutally beaten and lying on the cold floor, Mr. Henry continued to shout frantically, his voice hoarse with desperation and rage, his head thrashing from side to side.
Damn it, he thought, a burning desperation fueling his defiance, he couldn't help but shout, because Dutch Van der Linde was carrying out these utterly illegal, revolutionary activities in the name of his prestigious Lemieux Family! If he didn't speak up now, his entire Lemieux Family would be irrevocably doomed, branded as traitors and revolutionaries!
And it wasn't just him who was consumed by anxiety; other Saint Denis dignitaries, lying battered around him, were also gripped by a similar, suffocating fear. As Arthur had read out the document's shocking contents, they now fully understood that they were condemned. They could only become Van der Linde's puppets in the future, mere figureheads stripped of all power, or even worse than puppets—merely pigs and dogs kept for convenient scapegoating, their lives utterly at his whim!
"Van der Linde, the East won't let you off, I tell you!" one dignitary, his voice trembling but defiant, managed to rasp out, shaking a bruised fist at Dutch. "No one will want you to show off like this, you're corrupting the whole society! You're tearing it apart!"
"Sh*t!" Dutch roared, his eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous fury. His jaw tightened, a vein throbbing in his temple.
Amidst his thunderous roar, the gunmen standing ready, their steel pipes still gripped tightly, were about to step forward, their eyes eager, to continue beating these damned Saint Denis dignitaries, to silence their insolence. But Dutch, with a quick, decisive gesture, stopped them with a raised hand, a simple, firm movement that commanded immediate obedience.
His face, moments ago contorted in rage, was now unusually grim, a mask of cold displeasure. He stared at the Saint Denis dignitaries sprawled on the ground, still loudly threatening him, their defiance a personal insult. The grimness on his face then suddenly, chillingly, twisted into a slow, deliberate smile, a predatory baring of teeth: "Hmph hmph hmph, Mr. Lemieux, is this what you understand as civilization? Is this what you understand as the East? Your pathetic, archaic notions?" He took a step forward, his voice dripping with contempt.
"You pathetic parasites, you hateful vampires," Dutch spat, his voice laced with venom, pointing a damning finger at them. "You simply don't understand what true civilization is, what the inevitable tide of the times is! You are blind!"
He continued, his voice rising, resonating through the hall. "Civilization has arrived, Mr. Lemieux, but you lie clinging to the decaying corpse of the old era, pushed along by the relentless waves of progress, yet mistakenly believe that your own putrid stench is the very breath of civilization! You are diseased, archaic remnants!"
"I tell you," Dutch declared, his voice ringing with a chilling conviction, "we slaughtered all the gangs and outlaws in New Hanover and Lemoyne, we cleansed these lands, not so that you barbaric people, devoid of morals and bottom lines, could better oppress the good, honest folk! No!"
His voice became a thundering denunciation. "You pathetic parasites have long been abandoned by the times, cast aside by history. You are like the two great families of Rhodes, clinging to old ways, destined to perish beneath the irresistible waves of true civilization! You are an anachronism!"
And then, Dutch's voice swelled, becoming a grand, self-aggrandizing declaration: "And I, Dutch Van der Linde, am the true representative of civilization, the very wave of civilization itself!" He raised his right hand high, holding it aloft like a prophet, his palm open, proclaiming his noble integrity, his vision for a new world.
"Van der Linde!"
"Van der Linde!"
The gunmen, swept up in the magnetic fervor of Dutch's impassioned speech, were excited, frenzied. Their faces were flushed, their eyes burning with zeal. They roared and shouted, their voices a thunderous chorus, declaring their unwavering loyalty, their allegiance pledged entirely to Mr. Van der Linde, their self-proclaimed bringer of a new era.
"Alright, gentlemen, listen to me!" Dutch commanded, his voice settling into a firm, authoritative tone, his gaze sweeping over the assembled, eager faces of his men.
"Later, all these Saint Denis dignitaries," he gestured dismissively at the groaning figures on the floor, "will be confined like pigs in that old villa the Wicklow Family foolishly gifted us. There must be no less than a hundred gunmen patrolling around the clock, day and night. I need to ensure they cannot escape, and not even a single message, no matter how small, can be sent out! Their voices are to be silenced!"
Dutch's expression hardened, a grim determination setting his jaw. "Gentlemen, we have passed the most crucial step, the initial hurdle, and the time for harvest is upon us. For your better lives, for our shared ideals, for the vision we all believe in, I need you to be dedicated and fulfill every single task I assign with unwavering commitment!"
"From now on, the political affairs of Saint Denis will be fully taken over by our gang, managed and controlled by us," Dutch stated, his voice ringing with a new authority. "But all related records, all official decrees and documents, must be made in the name of these dignitaries! They will be our puppets, our unwilling scribes!"
"We are the shadows of these dignitaries, gentlemen," he emphasized, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "and should not, must not, appear in the light! So, gentlemen, keep a close eye on them, ensure they are utterly compliant, and ensure no problems arise! Their signatures are our currency!"
"Furthermore, gentlemen, as I said, I want to create a perfect living environment for everyone. So, starting today, Saint Denis's security department will be entirely under your control. From tonight onwards, Saint Denis will not tolerate any illegal criminal activities, or any damned hooligans and desperadoes! This city will be clean!" His voice was sharp, uncompromising.
"From now on, Lemoyne will completely belong to our Van der Linde Gang and the vast working population!" Dutch declared, his arm sweeping in a grand, possessive arc, claiming the entire state.
As the saying goes, when Dutch roars, Saint Denis trembles.
In just one stormy night, under the cover of relentless rain, the entire city of Saint Denis had been completely transformed. Its old order shattered, a new, ruthless power asserted.
Edicts, officially issued in the name of Mayor Henry Lemieux, but bearing Dutch's true will, continuously emanated from Mr. Henry's estate throughout that long, rainy night, their content implementing sweeping changes across all aspects of Saint Denis's governance and society.
The heavy rain in the sky was slowly subsiding, its intensity diminishing to a drizzle, but the streets of Saint Denis were now bustling, filled with hurrying figures, a new energy crackling in the air.
In this era, the various systems in America were still in a very imperfect stage, especially in the raw, sprawling West. These so-called officials either held lavish banquets every day or dedicated their time to finding ways to personally benefit themselves, lining their own pockets. There were no deeply ingrained, complex government affairs as a true bureaucracy might have; at most, they merely judged a few captured gunmen, passing cursory sentences. Because everything was intricately linked to capital, belonging to the personal affairs and whims of the wealthy capitalists, the Saint Denis Government in its old form could only manage some basic order issues, acting as little more than a corporate police force.
So, even a non-professional like Dutch Van der Linde, with the invaluable benefit of a modern perspective and an understanding of systemic weaknesses, could quickly grasp and control all aspects of Saint Denis's administration, exploiting its inherent flaws.
Time slowly passed, marked by the gradual easing of the storm, and the heavy rain finally ceased completely, the last droplets carried away by a soft, whispering wind.
Accompanied by a wisp of glorious morning glow, painting the eastern sky in soft hues, pedestrians finally began to appear hesitantly on the streets of Saint Denis, emerging from their homes into the new, uncertain dawn.
"Creak!" With the distinctive, groaning sound of the Saint Denis Saloon door, Pauli, the saloon owner, a burly man with a perpetually tired expression, walked out onto the street, stretching his arms above his head.
"Hmm, that's strange, why are there so many more police officers in the city?" Pauli scratched his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked left and right, his gaze sweeping across both ends of the street where his saloon was located.
His saloon was situated in a part of the city where the lower classes gathered, a notoriously unruly district, and he had never seen police officers patrolling here before, certainly not in such numbers. But today was different; today, there were three police officers on duty at both ends of this very street. Their police uniforms looked strikingly new and handsome, a stark contrast and much better than the old, shabby, ill-fitting uniforms from before.
Moreover, each of them carried a rifle, held with a professional grip, and stood ramrod straight at attention at the two intersections, their postures almost military, as if on guard, a stark departure from the usual slouching laziness.
No, not only were their stances standard, but even their demeanor had changed! Pauli thought, his eyes widening in growing surprise.
Pauli carefully observed the police officers on duty at both intersections, scrutinizing their every movement, their expressions. The more he looked, the more he became surprised, and the more certain he became of his observation.
Changed, he concluded, a dawning realization. It must have changed! These police officers are completely different from the previous Saint Denis police officers! They are new, they are… disciplined.