Per kept Rusco in the corner of her eye, feeling the tension in the air and waiting to see what he was gonna hit these two with for fighting. She could feel him suck in a breath, about to start in, when the sound of footsteps echoed into the warehouse. The whole room turned and found Dog jogging in. He reached them and reported his findings, and Per watched Rusco deflate carefully. Dog was probably the favorite member, and a win for him always calmed Rusco. He handed the money over and she watched him thumb it, estimating the amount. What she could've done if that money was in her hands was unimaginable. Rusco shoved it into his pocket and far from her reach, and moved on to scold the other men. If she had the guts, she might have given him a look, even said something, about not being allowed to do anything but sit on her ass and suck dick - but that was not her place and she knew it. Besides, this shithole was a hell of a lot better than the one Rusco found her in, she was in no position to complain.

Rusco nodded to her and she offered the freezing bag in her hands up to the first taker, Tito. She had never spoken to him and he had never said much to her, and it was clear that wasn't about to change. He took the ice like she wasn't even there, and shuffled away like a spoiled kid who had just been told he couldn't get candy. A few others followed him on his way, and the room emptied a bit. Per glanced at Orren, still dripping blood, and moved back to the kitchen for more ice. She wasn't one for cleaning up other asshole's messes, but she couldn't revolt against this any more than she could anything else. She did what Rusco told her to and she didn't fuck up, and she got to live another day. Which was good enough for her.

She snatched up the ice and shut the top, turning around and finding him staring at her. She didn't know him, probably hadn't said more than five words to him in the last few months, but he hadn't said anything to her either. All she knew about him was that he had a flash temper and was Dog's little brother. So she didn't say a thing, didn't give him a look, didn't do anything about it. There was a reason the guys didn't talk to her, didn't look at her for too long, didn't sit too close to her. They were afraid, of what Rusco might do to them. So they stayed away from her - and there wasn't any other way she'd want it. She crossed the room and grabbed a rag, and then made her way back over to Orren. He was rubbing his neck and not meeting her eyes, and as angry as she had seen him get before he didn't look like any sort of threat now. But they never did, did they? She reached up and pushed the ice to his eye and the rag against his nose, trying to avoid the scarlet river flowing down his chin. She held it for a moment, waiting for him to take it from her, but he made no such movement. She watched him, waiting for any movement. "...You gonna take it?" she asked quietly.

It was night time in the South Side. After beying here for nearly a year Carlos came to the realisation that this place is not so bad, at least not like those from the North made it look like. He was grateful to the TI-32 leader, Rusco for hiring him as a hitman and trusting him to do his job right. Carlos promised he will do his job as perfectly as possible and all enemies of the TI-32 will fall before the bullets of his guns. And Carlos is a man of his word and intends to keep his promise. Tonight he will add one more person to his list of victims, however the unfortunate fool had nothing to do with any gang.

Carlos was sitting on his black Honda bike. He was dressed with blue jeans, black t-shirt, black leather coat and black leather gloves. A helmet was covering his head. His target was on the other side of the street, trying to pick up a hooker. Carlos gets off the bike, takes off his helmet and puts it on the bike as he slowly makes his way to the other side of the street. Once he gets there he looks at the hooker. "Get lost honey!" Said Carlos as he pulled out his Smith & Wesson 686 revolver. Not wanting any trouble the hooker left, leaving Carlos alone with the guy. Carlos then grabbed the guy by his neck and pressed the revolver against his stomach. "You've been a very bad boy Jack. And i'm afraid that will cost you your life." Said Carlos as he pulled the trigger, shooting Jack in the stomach. After he fell, Carlos shot him again in the head.

The two gunshots echoes loudly in the night as Carlos turned around and headed for his bike. He placed the revolver in the shoulder holster he was equipped with, grabbed his helmet putting it on his head and got on his bike as he started it and left the scene, with the loud noise of the bike echoying through the streets. After making a couple of turns Carlos stops in front of an apartment building as he gets off the bike, pulls out his helmet and gets inside the building climbing the stairs all the way to the 3rd floor, where he stops in front of the 2nd door to the right and bangs on the door three times. A blonde woman, in her 40's, opens the door and lets Carlos inside as she closes the door behind him. "What's going on! Did you do it?" She asked him. "Yup! That bastard is dead." Said Carlos with his arms crossed. The woman then heads to a draw which she opens and pick a wad of cash out of it. "Here you go, 600 $, just like I promised. I know it dosen't compare with the money you get from working for those gangsters but whatever." Said the woman with her hands on her hips and looking down on the floor.

"Tell me! Is there something wrong with me? Am I ugly or something? Why did he do that to me? Why did he cheat on me with hookers?" Said the woman frustrated. "I have no idea! And you're not ugly. For someone whose 46 and living in the slums you actually look ravishing." Said Carlos, beying a gentleman as usual. Then the woman started crying as Carlos embraced her and started patting her on her back. "I loved him you know? This is not fair." Said the woman as she got off of Carlos's embrace. "Thank you! You're pretty sweet for a killer." Continued the woman as she wiped off her tears. Carlos then looked at the money, took 100 $ away from the wad and put it on a table, leaving the woman's apartment with just 500 $ instead of 600. Carlos winked to her as he closed the apartment's door. Then he climbed down the stairs, got outside, hoped on his bike, put on his helmet and rode away, heading home.

"Oh...yeah thanks." Orren took the ice bag, his face still heated. He stood there awkwardly in the doorway, not realizing that he was keeping her from getting by. He wondered why she was standing there in front of him. Should he say something?
"So...what's your name? Your real name I mean. I mean, I know your nickname, but it's kinda' dumb so. Not that you're dumb! I just mean..." He shouldn't say something. Orren's face was turning redder by the moment, and when he heard a laugh from behind him, he could have died.

Jack stood behind him, face in hand. His shoulders shook as he tried to keep his laughter contained. Finally, he grabbed Orren by the arm and pulled him out of the doorway. "Just quit while you're behind, kid."

Meanwhile, Dylan was finishing up with his last customer of the night. He took the money and headed home, his tired feet scraping the sidewalk. It was a long walk across town, but he'd done it plenty of times. At least it was nice out tonight. By the time he reached the south side of town, he was worn out, thirsty, and out of his favorite little pills. As Dylan lumbered by, the noise and lights of a pub caught his attention. He heard music playing, people laughing, TV's shining from the window. It looked pretty cool in there. His hand patted the thick wad of bills in his pocket as he considered. Surely Amber wouldn't mind if he got himself a drink; what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Dylan turned and slunk up the steps and in the door. He looked like a bedraggled mess: his curly hair all over the place and his clothes smelling like five different perfumes. Not that his appearance ever bothered him. Dylan went up the bar and sat himself down, leaning heavily onto the counter. He stared at the bottles behind the counter blankly, his mouth slightly agape.

Nicole did not acknowledge the words the woman had spoken. She began to take small steps towards her, keeping her arms close to her chest as a subconscious form defense. When she had closed the gap about halfway, she stopped again. For several seconds, she was frozen. Whoever this woman was, there was something about her that reminded Nicole of someone. She couldn't quite remember who, but there was something vaguely familiar. Then again, she had thought the same thing with everybody else she had been tangled up with. At this point, Nicole wasn't sure if all of these people actually reminded her of someone before or if she was just drawn in by some sort of similar feature.

Regardless, Nicole continued her baby steps forward, examining the woman before her. She took in every feature, every wary glance, every cautious movement. Every drag of the cigarette, Nicole followed closely. She was being naive and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself. There was something that completely drew her in. But once again Nicole looked to her past; no matter how many times she had found herself sucked into somebody, she had just as quickly pushed herself out or found herself pushed out. Nothing lasted forever in this city, and trust was perhaps the rarest commodity around. There was nothing permanent for Nicole. She could not keep herself in one place for more than a few months, at best. Every time she could recall, she had been betrayed or she had run off. Emotional attachment never meant much to Nicole for very long. So the question she found herself asking was, why this woman? Why do all of that again and again when she could just move on and avoid the struggle of having to leave once more? Nicole had no answers, just the unshakable feeling that this woman was all she wanted to focus on at this very moment.

With a sudden start, her hand dove into her pocket. A corner of her mind acknowledged the ridiculousness of her spontaneity, but she didn't care. She pulled out the silver watch she had stolen from the drunk earlier. With a newfound energy, Nicole closed the remaining gap between her and the woman in front of her in a flash, and held the watch out in front of her. And just like that, her moment of confidence faded as quickly as it had come. Her body language shifted dramatically: her shoulders dropped, her arms drifted back towards her chest, and she seemed to shrink into herself. Her arm holding the watch had dropped, and Nicole weakly lifted it back up towards the woman in front of her. She gave a slight nod, though she was unsure if she was really behind the idea of offering away a watch that had caused her more problems than she would have liked.

Flint sipped at his drink, when he finished he had another and soon was on his third when a tall man, probably around Flints age, walked into the establishment and sat beside him.
He looked gormless and unhealthy, probably some kind of junky. Despite this he smelt intoxicating, with perfume filling the air near Flint. Probably from woman willing to pay for him. Flint felt a little sorry, wondering how low one could fall. He also felt better about himself, not relying on narcotics to keep himself sane.

Flint turned to the man. "Flint, Flint White and you?" He said answering a question he wasn't asked as he offered his hand to the tall gentleman. "Rough day?" He asked taking a sip of his drink.
"Maybe this guy would like a gun" Flint thought to himself "Prostitutes where one of the most murdered jobs around here." Flint kept his thoughts to himself as he talked to the man, maybe he would bring it up later.

She nodded without smiling as he took the bag from her hand. She blinked and looked at him, waiting for him to move out of the doorway, but he didn't. He just kept watching her. His face looked redder than usual, but Per expected it was from the fight.

He started talking, and it sounded like he was making conversation because she had stuck around, not because he was holding her there. What was her name? Was that a joke? Why did he care? Per's eyes ran over him, the feet shuffling and the red cheeks and the way he was speaking...was he embarrassed? Was this some huge joke? They were in a gang hideout right now, and she was his boss's bitch. He had just been in a fight for Christ's sake, and now he sounded like the boy who had asked her to prom three years before. What a world away that was.

Before she could figure out what to say, a loud laugh sounded behind Orren. He spun and Per peered over his shoulder, but it was just Dog. Great, more people to block the doorway. He laughed for a little bit and then grabbed Orren and moved. Persephone grabbed a bag of food off the counter by the door and finally slipped past the guys. She shot them a glance and moved out to find a place to sit in the bigger room.

Dylan turned to look at the man, his eyes hazy and blank. He slowly began to realize that the guy was talking to him, not some invisible entity standing between them. "They say I ain't allowed to tell folk what my whole name is being, but you can call me Dylan." His speech was slow, tired, drug out and given no effort. It was just as sloppy as the rest of him. "I guess you could call what today was a rough day, but it think it could always have been rougher."

With that shining piece of philosophy, Dylan slumped over onto the counter and half heartedly raised one arm into the arm. "Waiter," he croaked. The bartender made his way over, gave Dylan one look, and shook his head.
"I can't give you alcohol on my good conscience, buddy. How many drinks have you had tonight?"
"I ain't drunk nothing," Dylan said, face laying sideways on the cool countertop. He wasn't helping his case. The bartender looked over at Flint with a raised eyebrow.
"You with this guy?"

The streetlight flickered, and then went out, going back on after a few minutes. It was like this with many streetlights near the apartment building, no one had done maintenance on them for about three years. All the electricians and shit were entirely too scared of the street gangs who lived in the area, and the staff who were still alive had been too old. Some of them still lived in senior homes, and even an elderly couple had gone insane from the gloom and had been sent to an asylum. Not that Lilith cared, it was just that the lights seemed intent on letting her eyes adjust to the dark, and then flicker back on, blinding her. She was walking to a liquor store nearby her home, (because she had self-control and wouldn’t get hopelessly and utterly sloshed like somebody) and had stopped at an old bus stop to check the time. A light drizzle had formed a little before she left, and she had thought she could rush to the store, grab a bottle of rum (vodka if they had none) and hurry her ass home. Of course, once she had reached the stop, the drizzle had developed into a downpour. She cursed.

Not knowing what to do, Lilith pulled her hood down once more and ran the rest of the distance. It wasn’t far, so she was only in the rain for about thirty seconds. Still, it was enough for her hoodie to get soaked. She walked to the back, ignoring the creepy forty-year old clerk (probably new, considering she’d been here several times and she had never seen him before) who was staring at her lecherously. There she checked for her favorite brands and grabbed a 1.75L bottle of Bacardi that sat haphazardly on a dusty plastic shelf inside a fridge, leaning on some other bottles. A dust cloud rose as she picked it up and settled on her hoodie sleeve, causing Lilith to wrinkle her nose. She walked back to the cashier to pay for the bottle, taking out her wallet at the same time. The man leered and rang it up. “Thirty dollars, doll.” He was thin with his ribs showing, as many peoples were wen they were out on the streets, and definitely lying about the Bacardi, which was twenty dollars and always had been. Lilith wanted to smash his face in.

“What?” She hissed,” I don’t fucking think I heard you right, sir. A 1.75 Bacardi is twenty in this store, and the owner never changes his prices for it.” Mainly because he was one of her best clients for both hacking and info, but those were small details. “You heard right, doll. That beer is thirty dollars. Owner changed it last night.” Lilith grabbed his shirt with her right hand, slamming the other into the counter. “I happen to know the owner, pedophile, and you know what I think?” She pushed him so he stumbled and steadied himself on the the wall opposite. It wasn't hard, considering how much he probably weighed. “I think you’re trying to earn a bit extra, shit-ass.” A ten dollar bill was sticking out of his pocket, probably from some person who fell for the trick.

The clerk punched her on her jawline. For a scrawny man he was pretty strong. Up close she could see lean muscle, unlike the gunsmith she had seen to the other day. He wasn't messing around, either. Shit.

The man was like a zombie, it was hard for Flint to take him seriously as he spoke he nodded along though, moving a piece of long blonde hair from his own face.
There was an exchange with Dylan and the bartender, then the man behind the counter turned to Flint.
"You with this guy?" he asked.
Flint looked up to the bartender, "Yeah don't worry, ill make sure he gets home safe" Flint removed some bills from his wallet "Just get him a beer" He muttered looking to the man beside him. The bartender would be sceptical "He has just had a long day" Flint explained lying but, hopefully the bartender would serve him. knowing someone would make sure Dylan got home.
Flint turned back to Dylan after the exchange, "Well Dylan I am Flint and..." He trailed off as he went into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "I sell guardian angels" Flint smiled, placing the small piece of paper in front of Dylan. A phone number was written on it. "Im sure you don't feel safe walking around at night, going into peoples homes.. you never know when someone might want more then what you offer..." Flint said matter-of-factly.
"I've sold to many..." Flint struggled with the word "Working men" he muttered hoping that was the polite way of saying it.
"Some of my merchandise is small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, so its not like it would be obvious " Flint sipped his drink.
"Just think about it anyway, keep that number and I am always ready to offer protection from anyone needing it."

"We're also out of a couple of other stuff I need to make my next batch of 'blast'. I'm going out to buy some groceries." John said as he dropped his empty mug in the sink already half full with dirty dishes. He then took a pack of smokes from his pocket and took a stick out. He held place it on his lips and lighted it. John took a deep breathe of the tobacco smoke and after a few seconds, let it out through his nostrils.

"By the way Ray, some kids are having some kind of party at northside, at the "clean" part of the city. Some rich kid's been posting about some big rave over at his house. Seems like a good place to sell some acid. I've already made some yesterday when I've heard about it. I need you to go over over there and sell some of our stuff, if you're up for it. I kid I know there should let you in if you want to. You can take the car if you want to, I'm going for a walk."

John didn't wait for Raymond's response as he headed for the leaving room to grab his blue, cotton jacket and his navy blue cap. He grabbed a gun from underneath a table and headed out, gently closing the door behind him. He kept his cap low and his hood on. He had his pistol placed in his pants, tightly squeezed between his back and his pants.

'Lithium batteries, cold pills, salt and beer.' John kept repeating in his brain as he walked down the street.

The door slammed, and Ray grunted a belated affirmative. He knew the place and the guy. He had been there last year, selling the same stuff. It was a real moneymaking opportunity. Last year, they had made a couple thousand dollars. He stood there for a bit before getting a pot of coffee going and jumping into the shower. After he came out, he poured himself a mug and took a sip, grimacing at the bitter heat flowing down his throat. He got dressed and started rooting around in the drug stashes. Acid would be good, but what they really needed at a rave was some X. He could probably sell at twice the usual going price and sell out too. He pulled out two baggies of ecstasy and the acid John had set out. He put on his jacket and walked out to the garage with the bags. He threw the bags into the glove compartment and checked under the car seat for the pistol stashed there. Sure enough it was there. He checked the clip, full, and the gun's chamber, loaded. Time to go.

About thirty minutes later, he had arrived at the rave. Sliding the pistol in the back of his pants, he took the baggies of drugs and placed them in his jacket pockets. He opened one bag of X and took one of the pills out. He popped in his mouth and swallowed. A smile slowly spread across his features. Time to find his contact and then make a few bucks.

Eros only watched at first, not quite sure how she was supposed to react as the girl slowly edged towards her, taking the smallest steps it was physically possible to make whilst still moving forward. Hell, she was sure she'd seen snails take bigger steps than the girl, and they didn't even have legs. Still, she let the girl keep on edging, letting the cigarette in her hands numb any feelings she actually had over the matter. Besides, the girl didn't look like she could ever be much of a threat, looking like more of a runner than a fighter, and Eros wasn't the kind of girl that couldn't handle herself. Admittedly, she wasn't strong, never had been, years of damaging her body in the name of beauty had ensured that, any muscle she once had eaten away by her own body as it desperately clutched to whatever food it could find to keep the vital cells functioning, her cold heart still beating, because she sure as hell wasn't feeding it. What she lacked in strength she made up in intelligence, she liked to think, having been in the top sets at her school all the way up until she ended up dropping out, pulled away from a good life by her own selfish actions. Not that she'd ever admit it that, oh no. Admitting it was her own fault that she ended up in the South was never going to happen, not while she could help it.

By the time Eros was pulled back to reality, the girl had managed to scuttle even further forward, a sudden surge of confidence sending her even further forwards until the gap was finally closed, Eros having managed to not move an inch during the entire process. She offered the woman another warm smile, disregarding the fact that she'd been ignored when she spoke on the grounds that the girl was clearly quite strange. An anomaly, so to speak. She seemed confident yet nervous at the same time, and, whilst Eros was fairly sure she wasn't on any sort of drug, she couldn't help but question the erratic behavior. 'Maybe she just has problems,' she thought to herself, but, then again, didn't everyone round here? Shrugging the thought away, her face quickly contorted into a confused delight as the watch was offered up to her, some sort of welcome gift or present. Whatever it was, she wasn't about to deny it just because it was off a stranger. She loved presents, always had done and always would do.

"Thank you, honey," she drawled, accepting the watch as gracefully as she could, even swapping her cigarette into her other hand so she could clasp it with her more stable fingers, running her thumb over the face of the watch. "I - uh - can I do something for you, or?" she quickly added, raising a delicate eyebrow at the girl, finally able to really, properly look at her now she was closer. She had the familiar traits of someone from the South - slim figure, almost ill looking, but she was short too, standing at just under five foot, or, she looked it anyway. Still, she was pretty, Eros couldn't deny that, maybe even beautiful. Her gaze continued to flicker from the girl to the watch, fingers still gently brushing against the surface as she waited for some sort of response.

The bartender took the money and went to get Dylan his drink, hesitating for a moment as if he was considering changing his mind. Dylan turned back to Flint.
"Hey, thanks man." He took the card that was offered. Dylan knew he didn't have money for whatever the guy was selling, angels or some shit, but he put the card in his pocket anyways. The bartender returned not too long after and set a glass bottle down in front of Dylan.

Dylan pulled himself up off the counter and took the bottle, tilting it up to drink. He hadn't had a good beer in a while. "So where you stay at, man? You headin' towards Marbridge road?" That was where Amber and Rachel's house was, where Dylan lived. He didn't want to trouble to guy too much with a ride home, but he sure as hell didn't feel like walking.

"Man, what was that shit?" Jack asked as he walked along the sidewalk, Orren beside him. "You act like you ain't never seen a bitch before."
"She caught me looking at her," Orren grumbled, still embarrassed about the whole thing. Jack laughed.
"You gotta play it off. 'Hell yeah I was lookin' at your ass, it's pretty fine.' Chicks dig that shit." He gave Orren a nudge with his elbow. Orren had a feeling that the kind of 'bitches' Jack was into wasn't the same kind he was into. Jack was a notorious "love 'em and leave 'em" type. Orren liked to at least try to keep a steady girlfriend, but most of the girls he'd ever dated weren't interested in a committed relationship. They mostly just wanted him to buy them stuff.

"Hey man, don't sweat it. We all do stupid shit sometimes. Look, I'll buy you a few drinks and we'll forget it ever happened." The pub was only a few blocks from the gang house, making it a prime target for members to go and blow whatever money they earned. Jack and Orren were pretty frequent visitors. They went in and headed for their usual place at the bar, only to find that some drugged up slob was sitting on one of their stools. Orren made a face of disgust and moved down a few seats. Jack plopped down next to him and pulled out a cigarette to light.

Lilith threw an experimental punch. The man dodged it pretty easily, and swung his right fist at her chin, to which she responded by countering it. Her fist met the man’s upper lip; however, she was too slow to counter his fist to her collarbone. She took a few steps back to analyze the surroundings. There was the counter in front of her, the fridges to the right, and shelves behind her. The store was small and the exit to her left. She gave the guy enough time to get out from behind the counter, and then rushed him, aiming a roundhouse kick to his solar plexus. He tried dodging it, but it clipped his elbow, and he quickly jumped out of her range, and then broke out a knife. Lilith’s eyes narrowed. She had also brought a knife, her switchblade, but she had no intention of killing the employee. It might lose her a valuable client. The grip on his knife was very loose – he had no conviction in his grip. He was afraid of killing another person.

“You’re bringing a fucking knife to a fistfight; hiding behind a blade to protect your shit when the enemy hasn’t the same luxury. How pathetic. I bet you have to pay people to even be in your presence.” His features went scarlet. “Don’t try to fool me, girl. I know you have a knife, too. Stop babbling and pull it out.” Lilith smirked. It was men like these who were too easily riled up. If she played this right, she’d be home-free sooner than she thought.

“This started out as a fist fight, shit stain. One does not involve knives in fist fights. Well, apparently some fuckers do, but you can’t really blame them for having their brains in their ass!” Lilith dodged a stab, using his momentum to crash him into the fridges. His boss wouldn’t be very happy with that. “How was I to know that you weren’t going to pull it out? Women are deceptive little liars. They should know their place.” Lilith raised her eyebrows, flicking away a piece of black hair from her eyes. “That’s fucking sexist. Someone’s had lady issues.” He managed to strike her arm, ripping her hoodie and causing her to swear. He grinned and moved in to stab her, but she swiftly rammed the heel of her palm into his temple, knocking him out. The man fell to the floor. He would be up in a few hours, plenty of time to run. She sprinted out the store and through the streets, reaching her apartment. The owner would be back soon and she didn’t want to be there when he chewed out the clerk.

Settling down on her bed, she bandaged herself up, getting some rubbing alcohol to disinfect her cuts, soon realizing she had left the Bacardi at the store. “Shit!” Lilith hissed. After the fight she had looked forward to getting smashed, but in her haste had forgotten to grab the rum. She packed up some extra weapons to ensure that she wouldn’t get injured like that again, concealed her bruises, and headed off. She could always get a bottle off of Adrian or something.

As the woman took the watch from her hands, Nicole slowly brought them back to her chest. Her only response to the woman's thanks was a quick nod matched with a weak smile. Once more she began looking the woman up and down. She was bent over slightly examining her shoes carefully when she realized she was being spoken to.

"I - uh - can I do something for you, or?" Nicole's head snapped up. Now that the question was brought up, Nicole realized that she didn't actually know. She took a slight step back, as if she were physically pushed back by the question. She looked down at the ground, her mind racing. What did she want from this woman? What was it that drew Nicole in? Why this woman in particular? She wasn't sure, but she knew that she felt a little bit more relaxed than normal. She knew that there was something comforting about this woman and that she didn't want to leave. The slightly more rational side of her mind recognized that this was a wild, twisted form of love. A feeling that didn't come to her often, and when it did she usually found herself regretting it. But again, Nicole recognized that she had had that thought before, and she knew that she wasn't going to do anything about it. Or, more accurately, she couldn't bring herself to do anything about it.

Nicole searched for a response, twiddling her thumbs and biting her lip lightly. All the questions were still running through her head, and Nicole still had no answers. She searched through everything she could remember hoping to find the reason this woman felt so familiar to her. Her hand mindlessly drifted to her pocket and gripped a small locket hidden within. She flipped it open inside the pocket, thumbing its contents. It was empty, save for an engraving of her name and her birthdate. She wasn't sure where it came from, but she'd always had it. Like the panda bear. Nicole smiled at the thought.

Nicole wasn't sure what she really wanted from this woman, but she had an idea. Revitalized with confidence once more, Nicole snapped the locket closed and moved closer to the woman. She reached for her hand, taking it as a daughter would her mother. This was a decision she'd regret later, she knew, but the consequences didn't mean much to her right now. Nicole looked the woman before her firmly in the eyes. In the corner of her mind a voice whispered, I hope you know what you're doing...

From beneath his cap, Clint vigilantly observed the alleyway encounter unfold, his body fully concealed by the all-encompassing shadows that plagued the South Side. His eyes, accustomed to darkness, quickly adapted to the poorly-lit alley and began profiling both individuals. The Walking Woman was fairly thin, a typical trait for the South Side, but she didn’t carry herself like many of the slummers. Her clothes were well kept, and she was quite clean. If Clint had to guess, he would say she was a North Side college girl who went on an “excursion” to the South in search of drugs or danger. He'd seen many of their broken bodies lying on the street. However, even in the face of a total stranger, she didn’t lose her cool composure. Perhaps there was more to the Walking Woman than the eye could see.

The other shadowy figure from the rooftop, the Roof Girl, was the polar opposite of the Walking Woman. She was easily identified as a South Sider by her shabby clothes and thin frame, let alone her skyline activities, but her body language was timid and meek, a fatal flaw that could very well result in death in the South Side. Clint was surprised the young girl even made it to adulthood, although it could hardly be called that, as she was maybe just over 18. The South Side had a strange way of shortening its resident’s childhoods though. A voice cut through the dark, confident and kind, and while he couldn’t see whose mouth moved, Clint was certain from the tone it was Walking Woman speaking. He couldn’t make out what she was saying either, the words garbled by the throb of harsh electronic music emitting from rundown bars on Main Street. With a flash, the Roof Girl closed the gap between the two and extended her arm towards the other. Every muscle in Parker’s body tightened, like a tiger waiting to pounce on its prey. He gripped the police baton tighter, his knuckles cracking and heart pounding.

A scream cried out, but not from the alley. Clint spun around, accidentally knocking over a metal trash can that he’d hid behind, just in time to see a disheveled girl with one heel on run past the entrance to the alley; moments later, another figure dashed by, in their hand a silver blade turned crimson from the luminous lights of a trashy nightclub reading “Seven Sins.” Parker, knowing all too well the possible outcome, dashed out the alley, forgetting the two women behind him; he almost reached the exit before his a sharp pain, all too familiar, stabbed into his left knee, bringing him to a staggered limp. He gave a sharp yelp and a curse, but fought the urge to collapse. The agony was brought on by an old wound, a shattered knee from a motorcycle accident ten years ago. The wound healed, but without proper stretching, a simple run could cause him considerable pain. Clint forgot to stretch today.

Parker hastily lurched around the corner, and quickly wished he hadn’t. Slumped against the brick wall was an emaciated young girl with blood blossoming from several locations on her dirty white shirt, the hilt of a knife jutting from between her ribs. Her lifeless blue eyes stared upwards, directly at a hooded man with a hundred dollar bill clutched greedily in his red-stained hands. The man turned just in time to see Clint standing before him, swinging his left arm to extend his baton with a swift click-click-click. The two had met before, obviously not under the best circumstances, as the hooded man dropped his money and began stepping away, a stammer caught in his throat. Clint recognized the man from the small tattoo of a cross on his cheek; he gave him a good beating before for threatening prostitutes, but Parker never thought he would be capable of this. He decided to make sure he wouldn’t ever be capable of such atrocities ever again. The man threw a few punches at Clint, landing two solid blows to his jaw and stomach, though he barely reacted. In a blind rage, the vigilante swung the baton at the man’s head, resonating a solid crack which brought him to his knees as he clutched his bleeding head. Clint kicked the man over and gave him hell. He reached for the knife in the girl. Parker broke his hand with the baton. The man tried to cry out for help. Clint crushed his throat in with his boot. He continued stomping and stomping with his good leg until nothing was left of the man’s head caved in like a rotting pumpkin. He never even thought to simply shoot the man.

Hands shaking with rage, Clint pulled his scarf down and tossed his hat into the street, running a bloodied hand through his hair. He slowly sank down next to the dead girl, knee still stiff, with his eyes fixed on the single crumpled bill that sat on the sidewalk. He’d given it to her.

Flint was thankful that he took the card, maybe he would call when he wasn't so .... dozy..
"So where you stay at, man? You headin' towards Marbridge road?" Dylan asked as he enjoyed his beer.
"Yeah just a street or two away." Flint finished his whiskey and raised his hand. The bartender looked over, Flint lifted the glass and then looked back to Dylan. The bartender poured another whiskey and slid it to Flint.
"So I haven't seen you around, don't come here often do ya?" Flint glanced over his shoulder then looked back to Dylan. He picked up his glass and it seemed the whiskey was finally taking its toll. Flints hand was sluggish as it pressed the glass to his lips.

"Uh, okay?" Eros replied, accepting the hand like she'd accepted the watch, no idea what was actually going on, but doing her best to work with it anyway. That was the thing about the South, just as you thought you'd gotten used to all questionable activities: the gunshots in the night, the scenery that was littered with more beggars and prostitutes than actual litter, you thought you'd seen it all. You thought you'd adjusted, but you hadn't. The reality was is that there was always going to be something weirder, always going to be someone breaking the boundaries of 'normal behavior'. Eros hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet, but she was getting there, slowly. Slipping the watch in her pocket, she turned to say something to Nicole as she laced their hands together, guessing that it didn't matter what she said, Nicole wasn't going to give it a verbal response, whether it was just out of shyness or something else.

"Do you-" she was cut off by a bin falling to the ground behind her, causing her to spin round, only just managing to keep from falling over in her heels, eyes narrowed defensively at the site. Bins didn't fall on their own, she knew that much, which meant someone must've knocked it over, but who? She'd been sure they were the only ones in the street, well, apart from the trash on the sidewalk that she'd had the pleasure of enduring before. That meant someone must've been by the bin, doing what exactly? Watching? What was there to see, other than Eros and whatever-her-name-was hold hands? That was the only conclusion she should come to, so she turned back to Nicole, thin lips pulling into a mischievous smile, eyes lighting up with a glamorous curiosity.

"Fancy an adventure?" she finished quickly, amending her sentence from asking for a name to something a little more exciting. She took a slow step back in the direction of the knocked over bin, leaving their bony fingers interlocked as her teeth pressed against her bottom lip, hoping Nicole would decide to join her in the escapade. Sure, it might be dangerous, but where was fun without a little bit of good old fashioned fear? Either way, Eros was going to investigate, it was just a matter of whether the girl came too.

Lilith’s phone vibrated as she got a new text from one of her regular clients, requesting information on the more illicit activities going on in some famous phone company. She glared at it, grabbing it and texting them to bother her during her work hours. Right now was her downtime. She took a sip out of the bottle of rum that she had stolen from Adrian’s house, making sure to keep herself fairly sober. To be fair, she had left a twenty on his kitchen counter, in the spot where it had stood before. Besides, it was his fault for not locking his window before he went out, even if his apartment was on the second floor of an inhabited building with actual staff. Something the raven-haired female was lacking. To her defense, there was a tree beside his window, and many thieves lived around anyways, so she did him a favor by locking it on her way out. She had used the door this time, once she was sure no one was there at the moment.

Currently Lilith was wrapped up in her quilt, her arms free but still somewhat restricted, just enough so that she could still take a drink and tap her cellphone screen. Her eyes were fixed to the window beside her bed. There were drunks, thieves, and gangsters alike littering the gray, gloomy streets, each going about their own business. The thieves and pickpockets stole from the gangsters, who in turn beat them up once they found out, while the drunks laughed, cried, told their life stories, and screamed at her window, shrieking that there was a ghost in the building. Okay, maybe she didn’t look that great, considering there were light circles under her eyes, she was pale from lack of Vitamin D, and her hair was tangled up. Still, they must’ve been really drunk if they thought she was a specter, either that or mentally retarded, which was a valid excuse. She smirked, watching one of the gangsters beat up a drunk who had screamed about her in his ear.

Her apartment wasn’t that far from the ground, only the third floor, so she clearly saw Asian characters on the gangster’s arm. Japanese, if she was correct. She’d seen the characters before, when her dad had invited an Asian man to dinner so they could talk about some mafia-related business. He had a similar tattoo on his neck. Lilith opened up Google Translate to make sure. The tattoo was Japanese for yakuza, Japanese organized crime. He was probably visiting. The apartment building shook and plaster rained down from the ceiling. Lilith looked out of her window once more. The yakuza member had just thrown the drunk into the building, and the drunk’s sober friends had started fighting with the guy. They were dangerously close to the building. She honestly didn’t care what happened to them, but she couldn’t let them destroy her house. Lilith jumped out, brushed her hair quickly, grabbed her protective gear, her dagger, her imported Beretta 9000S, and ran out the door.

"Nah man," Dylan slurred as he set down his bottle. "The bosses don't like me comin' up in here and spendin' dough, you know? But a guy has to every now and then." He was already drugged off his ass; the beer wasn't helping. Dylan looked as though he may doze off any second. His eyes drooped, and he seemed all around sluggish.

Meanwhile, down the counter, Jack couldn't help but take notice. He tilted his head back to drink from his own bottle, his eyes landing on the thick wad of money carelessly stuffed in Dylan's pocket. He set the bottle down and gave Orren a nudge. Orren, who was still stuck on his embarrassing moment with Per, snapped out of his day dreaming and looked over. It didn't take him long to see what his brother was eyeing. Orren gave Jack a glare and went back to his beer. Whatever Jack was planning, he wanted no part of it.