san francisco total war

In 2013 gang war has escalated to an all time high. Coppers losing control New gangs fighting for their piece of the city. It's been declared a danger zone only one part of the city not controlled by one gang or another. Cops only clinging on to control the city's one uncorrupted area. Their are Four Gang in total not including smaller gangs.

Santanios: A Spanish gang lord came over from Spain to make his name His gang clinging on to a small cocaine business he fights to keep control of the Hallas.

The Bombers: A classic San Francisco gang lord Joi rules this gang his temper getting the better of him often. he believes force is the only way to rule and has a firm hold over the war zone.

The Titans: A few powerful men are loyal to the Titans but most are smaller gangs who have been hired to work for the Titans, they are paranoid and keep themselves locked away in their strong hold in the Cary surviving on a moonshine running business as well as Extortion.

The COPS:The police themselves have turned into a gang in their fight against them they hold strong only over the Sweet.

Their are Six different parts 0f the City The wall this part of the city is were the wall that traps the city's residents inside is. The hallas is control of the beaches and smaller suburbs, The slums is were upcoming gangs make their name and gain power, the war zone is were most of the fighting goes on, in the Cary you can buy almost anything and smugglers get people in and out of the city, The Sweet is the only part not controlled by a real gang But it's under the protection of the Cops.

Rules [they had to come some time]

no perfect characters
no killing others characters with out their permission
tasteful names please
if your going to have a new gang that your in you need to have at least 3 character profiles for them the other guys don't have to have detailed profiles unless to want them to [have to have Name ,age, profession
You can have drug and gory stuff just no detailed sex scenes
must post profile

profile:

Name:
Age:
Gang:
profession:[Hit man, upcoming foot soldier, sharpshooter, negotiator or second in command]
History:
appearance:
personality
salary:[will change as gang gets smaller or lager]

can start writing when we have four character not including mine more can join when ever

Example profile
Name:Jack [Jackamo]
Age:21
Gang: the Bombers
profession: Hit man
History:parents were Irish and Italian he moved over to San francisco before the walls went up has helped Joi rise from the dirt and is one of Joi's most trusted friends it's easy to stay hidden in the city but if Jack comes looking for you it's hard to stay lost. He has a apartment in the Sweet and in the Hallas. He has lost many friend in his gangs rise too power but keeps chilled.
personality: funny with friend as well as Calm and chilled probably from most of the weed he smokes
Salary: $5oo,ooo a year as well as extra money he is payed for hits
Appearance:A white and Black suit hair it gelled back in a neat model his eyes are rarely not shielded by a pair of Italian sunglasses.

Have fun with this and don't let it die please.

**If this isn't allow just tell me and I'll change it**

Name: Jasey Rae (Her dad calls her Jase, gangmates called her Jasey, and the other gangs call her Poison)

Age: 18

Gang: The Bombers

Profession: Hit woman/spy (If that's okay)

History: Her father is gang lord Joi, so she's lived in Cali most of her life. Her mom was killed when she was five, back in 2000, which made her father turn hard. Thankfully, he takes all his anger and depression out to the war zone instead of taking it out on her. He did, however, hit her once when she was twelve because she snuck off in the middle of the night, and instantly regretted it, promising never to do it again, and never did. Even though he's cold hearted to some and ruthless sometimes, he's really just a normal dad to Jase. When she was thirteen, and in a fight with another gang, she was hit in the head with a crowbar. She was blinded in her right eye, but doesn't let it affect her. She's extremely untrusting to people she's not familiar with, like most of her fathers gang other than those whom work close to her father.

Appearance: http://shiskababe.deviantart.com/art/To ... k-65930839

Personality: Like her father. Hard to pursuade, angered-easily, and tough. Sometimes, also like her father, she's got a heart of gold.

Salary: 500,000 yearly, but really gets paid whenever she wants.

Other: Up for love, and blind in her right eye, though it's only noticable to her and the only people that know are her father and herself.

Name: Deeds Overlander
Age: 22
Gang: The Titans
profession: second in command
History: He was raised in a poor neighborhood and learned to steal from his mom and dad. When he turned 14 he joined the Titans and worked his way up to his current rank when he was 21. Not much else is known about him because he is reluctant to reveal it.
appearance: he is white but with very tan skin that makes him look otherwise. He has 3 scars on his face on going from his right eye to chin, one from his the left of his chin down and around his neck and one on his check running across his face from left to right. He has black hair and very dark brown hair. He is 5 foot 10 and muscular though it does not show much.
personality: though his exeter may be menacing he has a great sense of humor and loves to laugh. Though when you get on his wrong side he can be ruthless. And he can be very sarcastic
salary:Has no fixed salary he gets it depending on how good a job he does though he averages 725 a week.
Other: he is a pot addict and smokes cigarettes as well

profile:

Name: Felicity Carre (Newt)

Age: 12

Gang:The bombers

Profession:sharpshooter/ messanger

History: Felicity is very tough for her age. Her mom was German and her dad was Polish. She was born on the streets and learned how to fight there. She got her nickname for being very fast and hard to catch.

Appearance: Short thick blonde hair up to her chin, defiant violet eyes, small but light build, fair complexion and a sprinkle of freckles. She has an imposing stance.

Personality: Tough, tough, tough. More so than some of the older members. Her life on the streets taught her dicipline. She's very strong, very quick, and very defiant. She never follows rules unless she sees the sense in them. She's one to ask questions. She's a tomboy.

Salary:As much as she can persuade the leader to give her. Usually around 1000 bucks a weeks. She's real good at what she does.

Other: Up for love
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Name: Sterling Carre (Hornet)

[Age:12

Gang: the Bombers

Profession: Sharpshooter/ messenger

History:Felicity's twin brother. They work in a brother sister team and are most efficient. Same history as Felicity.
Got his nickname by being quick, and having amazing accuracy.

Personality: Almost as tough as his sister. He's very serious and headstrong. Won't let anyone tell him what to do. And very protective of his sister.

Salary:As much as her can persuade the leader to give him. Usually 1000 because he's really good at what he does.

Appearance:Short mussed blonde hair, bold violet eyes, small but light build, fast, fair. Looks like his sister.

Other: Up for love

Name: Conner Rae
Age: 14
Gang: the Bombers
profession: hit squad
History: Son of gang lord Joi his mother died in 2000, even though he is Joi's son he holds a low rank only being in charge of a small hit squad who's job is to protect the mansion were Joi lives, he idolises his sister he too want to be a hit man
Appearance: Long messy hair weirs hoodie and baggy jeans often has AK47 hanging at his side
personality: always happy and trying to be funny very jumpy and positive
salary:as much as he needs
other: up for love

* we can start now *

Jack

I sat in the leather chair looking up at the ceiling. I held my roach in my left hand, the room was a homey brown with book shelves packed with money and guns I only half listened to the conversation Joi was having with the other major gang lords, over the Web cam. None of the gang lords trusted each other which is why they had only met through the web cams I heard Joi's second in commands voice come up over the web cam as the other gang lords logged off. "Joi my informant in the Asian gang over in new york says that the Titan loyal who were over their had a bit of a disagreement, if we whack [kill] them it might be in are best interest". Joi nodded only half listening. I took a puff of my roach before looking up and seeing Joi look at me "Jack" he said I nodded remembering his house rules no smoking, I flicked the roach out of the window. Joi looked back as the screen more interested "where can we hit them"
"the Titans are trying to patch up their relation ship with the Asians you can whack one them their the other one staying in a hotel in the sweet, atlas I think it's called under heavy protections"
"thank you Fred I'll find out which restaurant it is my self" Joi logged out and turned to me "another one " I said starting to roll up some more weed for when I got out side "yeah yo heard you know what to do," Joi said pausing as he watched me wrap my roach ,"why do you kill yourself like that Jack" He said seriously "you know it's just nice, like sex, speaking of sex has Conner you know knocked her up or is it just a rumor" Joi sighed at my question "yes it is true, I do hope when my daughter decides to have children if she ever dose that she will have more taste than that of my son".
"I have to agree with you their he may be my godson but he is a bit of a twat" Joi laughed and I laughed
"you know Jack if anyone else had said that I would send you too kill them, but I highly doubt you'll stick a gun in your own mouth". The smile from my face faded as it did from Joi's. I got up and over to the door when I opened it Jasey was sitting patiently on a sofa waiting for her turn to talk to her farther. I opened the grand door of the mansion out on to the war zone past the row of cars were shattered buildings and other things. I walked to my Ferrari protector, it was the most state of the art car ever made everything touch sensitive and it was basically indestructible missile proof glass and much more, as I opened the car door I was welcomed by the car computer voice. It read my finger print before the engine started I pressed another button and the steering wheel came out
I grabbed it and marvelled as I always did at the superb handling.

Name: Mickey Conti

Age: 24

Gang: The Titans

Profession: Hit man

History: Orphaned at the age of ten when both of his parents were killed in a riot for the support of a casue he never found out - his mother, trampled to death when the crowds rushed the police and his father beaten to death by a police officer mere moments later. He roamed the streets for two months before being recruited into a small gang of pickpockets and brutes staffed mainly by boys of his age. It reminded him quite a lot of an old film he had once watched with his parents when they had still been around - "before the cruelty of the system took them" Mickey always said - about a similar sort of gang living in Victorian England. The film was called Oliver and for the first few days Mickey kept expecting the boys to group together and start reminding him that "you got to pick a pocket or two". However not long into his stay he saw the leader of the gang - a strict man who only went by the name of Mr San with more cunning than a fox and more wit than a boy of ten could ever fully appreciate - violently beating one of the boys who had, as Mr San had muttered, "performed a misdemeanour". This struck home to Mickey the harsh reality of his situation even more than his parents' deaths (as he had not be present when they had occurred. He had only heard stories in the news) and during one particular robbery Mickey hastily exited Mr San's gang and disappeared into the setting sun. He ran for blocks, tears streaming from his eyes as the wind bit at his lank figure; he was free.
That night he was visited by two of his old gang-members who had been sent to "tie up a loose end". After they'd had landed a few punches one of the boys pulled a pistol out of his waistband and instructed his fellow member to "move aside so I can shoot the sh*t-bag". Luckily for Mickey this boy had never handled a weapon like this before that night and he forgot to take off the safety catch. As the gun clicked uselessly and the would-be killer's face clouded over with fear and confusion, a member of another, gang who had been watching Mickey all that day, stepped in to end this charade of a murder. In one smooth moment the man disarmed the boy and slapped him to the ground. He swiftly brought the gun up to point at the boy still standing, clicked the safety off and began counting down from five. It took him till "three..." before the boy finally realised what waited for him at the end of this countdown and scarpered, his downed mate be damned. His downed mate already fleed.
And so Mickey Conti joined his second San Fran gang, and he's still in it fourteen years later.
Mickey rose through the echelons of this new gand swifter than his saviour on that fateful night had turned the gun on that boy and so had some say in the decision to join the Titans' forces. Despite his original protests Mickey has grown accustomed to the Titans' influence, not to mention their financing, and is proud to be out on the streets representing them.

Appearance: Loves old mobster movies, and in an attempt to reclaim some of that past glory, normally dons a pinstripe suite with vertical stripes that make his already lithe figure seem almost stick thin. Beneath the jacket with rest the simialry designed waistcoat adorned with dual holsters each holding a pistol snugly to his wirey physique. He uses these regualry, along with his fists and whatever else he can lay his hands on - sharp or blunt - in his day-to-day business and cleans, polishes and checks both each night before resting in his luxurious, but lonely, silk-sheeted double bed.
Occasionally adds a pair of descreat sunglasses to the outfit, but will always wear his jet black hair slicked back whenever he leaves the house. His fingers are long and dexteritous and his smile has an unsettling edge to it that makes even his comrades' spines shiver.

Personality: cruel and uncaring, although also quite sly. Has a very short temper and, when it is fully unleashed, he can be vicious.

Salary: depends on the hit

----------------------------------------

Name: Frank Howlert

Age: 38

Gang: Cops

profession:Sharpshooter/ Well Decorated Footsoldier (in the medals sense of things...he doesnt have good dress sense or anything)

History: At a young age Frank had a happy upbringing, although both his mother and Frank had suspicions that Frank's father was an alcoholic due to his many unexplained nights away from home. It wasn't until Frank was fourteen that they discovered the truth. Frank's father was a homosexual and these absences had been his courting periods with various suitors. Frank's mother was disgusted - she was a very traditional woman - and, when she was not able to get anything in the divorce, took Frank to live with her sister in San Fransisco. A year later Frank and his mother came home one day to find "Auntie Emma" lying in a pool of her own blood half a block from their shared accomodation. With no real law system remaining Frank and his mother moved into the house permanently. It was these years of his life that transformed Frank from an innocent, hopeful boy who dreamed of becoming a baker, into the hardened and suspicious man we see today. It was the shooting of his mother during a robbery when Frank was eighteen that finally convinced him to join the police force.

Appearance: Stocky build, practically lives in his uniform (think eats, sleeps p***es. everything). His scabby and greasey skin is caused by his over-use of cigarettes ("Those things'll kill ya you know Frank" "Yeah? what about the scumbags im fightin every day on the streets? Not as much of a threat?...whadaya think?") and the number of microwave meals cops are forced to eat now that they've lost even more funding.

Personality: embittered by his many years spent on the force, Frank strongly believes in his 'just' cause to deal with these gangs and will use whatever means he sees necessary to rid to eradicate this "disease" (to quote the man himself).

salary: 450K a year (he is, as is the case with most of his fellow officers, disgusted that their salary is less than most of the 'illegal' gangs they are trying to stop. "Aren't the cops meant to be the well-equipped ones?")

Motto: "I am the law. You can't beat the law". A line taken from the inside cover of one of his favourite old band's (the prodigy) greatest hits album.



*sorry if this is a bit long lol, i got a teensey bit carried away im gonna try a post but please let me know if its too dark*

I has question!
Where are the characters situated at the moment? Do they live together being a gang or do they just go their separate ways at night and just rejoin in the morning?

The gangs are like the old italien mafia only the highest ranking or family would stay together in their compound most will go their ownways at night and may not come backtogether in the mourning.
Kobain it can be as dark as you want it is suppose to be a harch story

DEEDS

Deeds's sat down in his hotel suit on the top floor. The room was very comfortable and large but Deeds was not suppose to leave the room he was in. He was in a room about the size of a basket ball court with a large bed facing the door, there was a computer in the center and a TV on the right wall with a sofa parallel. Deeds was alone, with only 4 guards stationed at the the out side of the door. Deeds was dressed in a loose fitting surfer shirt and a bar of baggy cargo pants. he had a machine gun hanging off his belt and several rolls of bullets criss crossing his shirt. The gun was finger print sensitive so only he and the guards could use it though. Deeds sat down at the desk and turned it on. Instantly the image brought a picture of his boss James Cray head of the Titans. the man on the screen was black, he had a no hair on his head and he had red eyes that came from his colored contacts.
"hello Deeds" the man on the screen spoke with an italian accent that he had had gotten from living there for most of his life. "i hope the place is fitting for you." the man then seemed to see something and squinted hard to make it out. "Deeds why did you have to burn the bush in now." the man sounded very disappointed.
"sorry it is just there is nothing to do here, the TVs out this things locked and you would not even bring my Ipod for entertainment but luckily i found this under the bed"
***sorry hit submit by accident***
deeds adjusted his shirt and then continued "but seriously i meant to have enough time for my head to clear but this is extra strong stuff, and who do you think left it here anyway it was sort of werid"
"i do not know" the man on the screen was shocked "but you must get to the hospital that stuff might be contaminated with worse stuff then it already has. ames hit a button. then on Deeds side the door opened and a guard came in and pressed a neddel to deeds neck and then whispered "its okay we are the good guys" and a second later Deeds was out cold and not another second had past before he was whicked down to the basement and also doctors office.

Mickey Conti

He pointed one of his pistols at the cowering woman's face. It's barrel glinted in the moonlight and Mickey had to restrain from getting lost in his own admiration of his polishing skills. But he couldn't help himself; it was a fine weapon. It was a gun that reminded men of why guns had been invented. It's sleak, metal body glinting like an eagles beak. And if this was the eagles beak then Mickey always assumed he was the eagle, proud and strong, the lord of birds much as Mickey liked to think he was a lord among men. And much like an eagel and its beak, Mickey always felt comfort and power in the idea that he could use his "beak" to bring death to anyone he wanted to bring it to. But whilst an eagle killed primarily to eat, Mickey killed primarily to live. And not just because, as a hitman, his job centred aound killing people, but to really live: Mickey needed killing like a drug addict needed his next fix. He had used this metaphor repeatedly around his gang and by now they were sick of it, but Mickey couldn't help it, the feeling of power of..."manliness" that came with it was too much to resist. Every time Mickey picked up one of his pistols and felt its coldness against his welcoming palm, he figured what he felt at that point was similar to the reason a lot of people like sex. That sudden rush, that feeling of....well the 'o' word in an essance. But Mickey did not know for sure just how close the feeling he got every time he grasped his pistols came to that feeling. Because Mickey was a virgin. What with his turbulent child-hood Mickey had never really had a chance to go through that awkward stage most call adolesance. Even from the age of ten he was thrust into a very adult world and so, whilst his body did still go through puberty the way any person's body would, he never had a lot of experiences that most teenagers had. And one of those was having sex for the first [clumsy] time. Some of his 'associates' had suggested rape, but Mickey refused out-right to that. He may be one of the crulest men roaming the dilapidated streets of San Fransisco, but even he had standards when it came to things like that. Mickey could quite easily beat and torture anyone you put in front of him, but ask him to force a woman to do...that and he would never, could never. In a nutshell: Mickey was f***ed up.

With his metaphor complete, Mr Conti once again focused back on the present reality. The woman he and his associate had cornered had given them both a funny look whilst venturing through the edge of their territory in an effort to take a shortcut home and so they felt obliged to "teach her a lesson".
"Please, nooooo!!" the woman squealed, "I didn't mean no harm, please please I just want to get home...Jim'll wonder....oh please don't....please no..."
"Shut up you b***h" Mickey's comrade grunted at the woman, brandishing a lengthy slice of piping and slapping it against an open palm to signify his rediness to use it. Mickey sighed.
"I believe what my associate is trying to say my dear is that we do wish you could quieten down to perhaps something more resembling...silence?" at this point Mickey half turned to his more thuggish partner as if confirming this with him before continuing regardless of the fact he had not recieved an answer, "Yes I think that would be better don't you? I wouldn't want either of us to do too much damage to you," he paused to give the woman one of his infamous grins. If she had made it home that night she would have sworn that her blood had actually turned to ice at that point. "Now all this is really about is that little look you gave me an' Johnny when you passed us on the street out there," Mickey carried on, "I'm sure you didn't mean nothin' and I'm sure it'll never happen again, but we can;t really take that risk can we? I mean what if everyone starts givin' the Titans' men 'looks'? Before we knew it there could be uprisings and terrible things would have to happen," Mickey paused again. This time to raise and lower his pistol slightly, just to remind his victim that the threat was still there. Almost as if he felt he should be included in this, Johnny tapped the pipe against one of the rings adourning his fingers. And Mickey talked on, nearing his conclusion, "But I would be willing to let you go if you could really promise me, really promise me, that you could be trusted not to start sowing the seeds of rebellion in the minds of ones oh-so much weaker than that of you and I."
"Yes, yes I promise on my father and my son and my house and...and on the Titans!" the woman exclaimed, finishing by pointing one finger in the air, as if she had just had the greatest idea since someone had got tired of eating slabs of bread and decided to cut it into slices instead.
"Oh no," Mickey chuckled, "Words have no value if not backed up by actions...or money. Tell me, how much you got stored in that beautiful hand-bag of yours?" In her haste to get the bag open the woman fiddled with the clasp like it was the hardest puzzle she had ever faced. Finally she wrenched the bag open, ripped out her purse and pulled a large wad of cash out of it and thrust it towards Mickey, her hands shaking like leaves in a fall breeze.
"My, that is a lot isn't it?" Mickey stated condescendingly, "Tell me, how much is there? Let's hope its enough to pay for you to keep your life." But who can put a cost on life? Mickey pondered, Why...I can! another voice rose up from inside him, I, Mickey, lord among men can, and will, he thought. Other members of his gang, ones who were his rank or higher at least, always warned him that if his head got any bigger he'd never get through doors. But he cared not for the thoughts of others and so for the most part ignored these warnings.

The woman, shaking even more furiously now, began counting the money but after only a few notes had been counted her fear got the better of her and with one great shudder of fear she dropped the notes onto the grimy alley floor. Mickey feigned shock and began mockingly reprimanding the poor woman.
"Now look what you've done. You've got my money dirty, and Look! some of it's running away" [Just like you did from Mr San his thoughts interjected] "Now I can't accept dirty money, imagine what kind of reputation I'd get? Oh no, deary me no. My dear sweet...lady, I am sorry but I cannot accept that price," and, almost absent-mindedly Mickey shot the woman between the eyes. Her rigid, dead body slumped down onto its back and a small pool of blood began to form in the dirt into which its head had fallen. Johnny, who had jumped and nearily dropped his pipe when the shot went off - the sound reverberating round the confines of the narrow alley - had pulled himself back together by the time the head had hit the floor and stood slightly worried as he watched Mickey kicking at the 'dirty money' in disgust. Johnny was a fairly new addition to the gang and as such had only heard stories about Mickey's volatile nature. To witness it now first-hand, Johnny began to understand why everyone gave Mickey a wide berth whenever possible. Suddenly another thought popped into Johnny's head at this point; it was a memory of something else one of the other gang members had said to him regarding Mickey - "Rule No.1 kid: Don't interrupt with Mickey when he's in one of his moods...or when he's with his pistols. If there had ever been a time Johnny felt he might need that rule it seemed to be now; Mickey was definitely in one of his 'moods'.
With a suddeness that shocked Johnny, Mickey's head shot up straight again, like he was coming out of a trance, and another one of his smiles began to develop on his face.
"Johnnyyyyyy, good work there," Mickey beamed. He walked over and patted Johnny on the arm. Johnny nearly jumped a foot in the air. "Why don't we get back to base eh?," Mickey suggested, glancing up at the darkening sky before dropping his gaze straight back to Johnny. His arm now slid round to Johnny's very tense back as Mickey lead the new recruit away from that evening's carnage and back out onto the empty street. "Not bad for a day's work," Mickey muttered almost to himself.
It was dark by the time the two arrived back at their gangs base. They got back just in time for that evenings entertainment.

*oops :s missed a couple off posts while i was writing my mammoth post (sorry its was so long, i got carried away....again). I dont know whether my posts any good any more....and bout the gangs base etc. cud i just have it that Mickey's a high rank so is allowed in and because he's so messed up most are too afraid to tell him to get rid of Johnny?*

HORNET/NEWT

"SSHHHH Hornet! He'll hear you!" Newt whispered/yelled at her brother. The two men turned around instinctively.

"Look what you've done!" she said in the same tone that was more of a contained yell. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Me?" Hornet answered.

"HUSH! Wait till' I say go." Newt whispered, really, this time.

The two men came over. When they saw who it was, he snarled.

"Mickey Mouse! What are you doing away from Disney World?" Newt teased. It was a lame provocation, but it seemed to get the right affect.

"You f****g bitch. I'm not sparing you this time." His face turned red and he raised his gun. He shot but Newt dodged.

Meanwhile Hornet moved himself into position and gave the other man a roundhouse kick and he was down. Mickey whirled around to attack Hornet but Newt punched him hard near the neck and he doubled down in pain. Hornet grabbed his gun and the money and ran into the shadows with Newt trailing behind.

**Just pointing this out before anyone gets the wrong idea about Jasey; she's a virgin, not some whore. She may act like it, but she's never actually 'done' anything with anyone. She turns extremely shy if she's in a room alone with some unknown guy, and usually is helpless, due to a childhood fear of unknown men.**

Jasey Rae groaned and shot out of her father's office, slamming the door behind her. He was always treating her like a child! Newt and Hornet, the youngest of the gang, had more fun than she did. Jasey rolled her eyes and pulled on a leather jacket, not zipping it up so she could show her midrift. She ran out of the base, shooting towards the closet ally that she could disappear into. The second she started running again she tripped over to figures with violet eyes exactly the same. "Hornet! Newt! What are you do- agh!" The twins pulled her to the ground next to them, holding identical fingers to their lips. Jasey glared and lowered her voice a few octaves. "What are you guys doing here?! You're supposed to be staking out the leader of that new gang!"

"We've already killed him!" Newt exclaimed in a hushed voice.

"We also caught Mickey Mouse near our base! He shot a woman and we jumped 'im!" Ah, so Mickey Mouse escaped from Disney Land again, huh? With one last glare Jasey turned into a small alley, eyes locking on a woman who'd been shot inbetween the eyes. Jasey Rae shook her head and walked to the dead woman's side, closing her eyes, that had already fogged over. Yes, Jasey killed for a living, but never would she kill someone that wasn't in a gang, unless they were a threat. Two pairs of footsteps sounded down the alley, one angrier than the other.

"Where's my f***ing money!" Mickey screamed in anger. Jasey grabbed the thick pipe above her head and pulled herself up, crouching on it like a cat, her sharp eyes never leaving the two men and her hand resting on her gun. Poison was about to strike, and kill.

Frank Howlert

One Love by The Prodigy blared out of the set of mini-speakers Frank had erected in the grimy hovel that his peers aknowledged as an office. Frank on the other hand simply regared it as the same thing as his house, and the whole city really: it was a sh**-hole. However, with his eyes closed and the semi-hypntoic beats from an age long gone by blaring out of the poor-quality speakers, Frank felt transported back to a simpler time. When his parents had been together, and they had been happy. Before the wall, when there was just him, his neat little collection of Prodigy albums and baking. He'd been half good at it too, baking. Oh his mother had been proud of her little Frank. And of course back then he had been too naive to notice the sniggers at his talk of pastries and flans and rolls and even the odd souflette if he practised and had adult supervision. God how Frank missed those days, before his father's...confession, his coming out of the closet when everyone had been much happier with him in it. And then all of the horrors that had followed. But now was Frank's time, and Frank wasn't going to waste it remeniscing about times he's rather forget. Instead Frank, as One Love merged into 3 Kilos, leaned back and thought back to a late summer in 1984. Little Frank sat on the curb as he waited for his apple crumble to cool on the front windowsill of their humble yet welcoming kitchen. Frank could see himself sitting there as a boy of nine, checking the watch his father had given him on his eighth birthday then suddenly jumping up as if he had been stung. Time was up, the crumble should be done. Frank followed his younger self around to the back of the house and to the windowsill, and there sitting like a glorious work of art was his apple crumble. The first one he had ever baked.
As Frank neared the crumble however, he saw a fly making a bee-line [Frank always found that funny: a fly making a bee-line, not a fly-line...] towards the crumble. It was at this point that Little Frank remembered what his mum had told him that flies do to food: "They throw up on it Frankie, and then they suck it all back up again." Little Frank thought this was just icky when he first heard it, but now it sprung into his mind like a huge red, neon warning sign. That fly is going to puke all over my first apple crumble Little Frank realised just as the fly in question landed neatly on top of the crumble. Like someone had set off some dynamite in his pants, Little Frank sprung forward to stop the fly committing it's terrible deed on his crumble. Little Frank did get the fly off, but sadly in his mad-cap frenzy to be rid of the fly, one of his windmilling arms caught the edge of the crumble and sent it spinning off the windowsill and onto the newly-paved patio in Little Frank's back yard. Oh how Little Frank cried, and his mum came out and held him and, after finding out what was wrong, knelt down in front of him and, looking into his eyes, said
"Don't worry dear, there's plenty more apples where they came from. We can make another, how about that? Yeeees come on now we'll go inside together and Get Up And Do Some Work!"

Frank didn't remember his mothers words being quite that abrasive, or her voice going so deep...then he opened his eyes and was greeted by his commander staring him right in the face. Frank observed the man's face in detail for a while, whilst his boss (for loss of a better word) just stared at him angrily, his face turning the colour of beetroot. Arthur Miller was a large man. And that was being kind.
To say that the man in front of Frank was 'large' was like saying snow was 'quite white'. In other words it was a gross under-statement. Arthur Miller was huge, so huge that when they had first arrived at what currently served as their base of operations, the rest of the team had had to hack away at all of the doors to make them wide enough for him to fit through. And his level of achne seemed to have got stuck around puberty, so the majority of his face, a face he was now thrusting upon Frank, was covered in zits, and some were oozing. Frank gave a short, inner grimace at tis last fact and then tuned in to what Miller was saying. He was a man of many words so it was worth catching the few he did say.
"So, you an' a couple o' tha boys are gonna be goin' out on a riad aboout ooo I'd say...now," with that Arthur finsihed and, after a mini pirouette of one hundred and eighty degrees he exited the sh*t-hole office. Frank sighed as he begrudgingly turned his near-broken speakers off, pocketed his I-pod [never could be too sure these days. You'd leave something in one place and come back to find it in a completely different place. Like someone else's pocket] and strode out of his office, across the hall, down the stairs, took a right at the bottom and made his way into the make-shift armoury.