Quiet.

How the stars could gleam so bright, and a night sky be so clear eluded Jake Cotton. Especially in contrast to the misery below. Thieves and murderers in the night. Crooked alleyways filled with steaming sewers and rotted flesh. These days, the poor littered the streets. Their decaying bodies decorating the streets with their downtrodden faces, and their ragged clothes. Sitting upon gray pavement stained with crimson blood that is their own. They just don’t know it yet…

Yet, while the economic crisis shattered the lives of millions and created a whole new impoverished class, he supposed it was not so different than he remembered home being before he left. The rich still lived extravagantly. This time, the poor became more numerous. And more violent. Gangs were at each other’s throat in order to survive.

Jake left the country to leave a life of abuse behind. Away from home he found a world filled with chaos and destruction. Blood and iron. Fire and smoke. Blooded trenches entrenched in his mind forever. The scalding imprint of gunfire and screams resonated within the stream of his consciousness, seeping through his mind like a trail of flames illuminating the fragments of memories… nightmares unwanted.

Now, returned home. The hero’s welcome without the welcome. Unceremonious. Walking back into familiar streets, only to find them foreign. Glass and brick; constructions of nostalgia and reminiscence, now faded into a childhood long forgotten. Childhood lost.

A father now dead, and a mother buried long before him; Jake Cotton was alone. Although, he was alone from the day he was born. This only made what was already known, official.

No family, no friends, no money, no home. He never had a home. He never had a family. His friends are all dead. What does money mean now? Only survival.

The silence seemed to lift. Sounds of cheerful children and families. Laughter and smiles. One of the few times of happiness the city had. A spring carnival. This was a place where Jake could pick up extra cash. Just enough to cover necessities, and some small luxuries. Like the cigarette that hung from his mouth. Smoke from the end rising into the night air.

A cool breeze blew by, sweeping his sandy blonde hair. He looked out to the crowd around him. Several children idolizing him with their awestruck eyes. Impressed older men. And, women staring at him with gazes that were not so innocent.

“Come one, come all, come see the show of the night! A phenomenon from our very city, born and raised. An honorable soldier who served in the bloodiest conflict of our time! He is Jake Miles Cotton, ‘The Golden Kid’!” The announcer stood by him, blaring out words with his microphone. Claps and cheers erupted from the audience.

“He’s got the quickest gun and the best shot in New York. The country, no… The world! Watch as he shoots down these bottles in less than six seconds. Come on Jake, step on up!”

Jake stepped away from the railing he leaned against. He grabbed a pistol from the table and dropped his cigarette, stomping it into the concrete. No longer listening to the announcer, lost in his own zone.

He was a circus freak. Where he belonged. Normal people together while he stood by himself. Separated. Divided. This was the life for which he was suited.

A series of quick shots. Three bottles shattered. Another two blasts flared out from the barrel. Two tossed glasses in the air broke apart. A third one was still falling, it was the second glass of the final two. The last bottle sat on a railing at the edge of the pavement they stood upon by the water. His finger steady on the trigger.

Click.

The last bullet seared through the falling glass and hit the far bottle on the edge cleanly. Everyone in the crowd cheered and roared.

Jake nodded at them and waved. No smile.

At the end of the night he counted the green dollar bills in his hand and pocketed them. Another smoke hanging from his mouth.

He turned to a co-worker clearing out some equipment.

“I’ll see you round next time, right Jake? You’re not gonna’ vanish on us again.”

Jake grabbed his lighter and placed it into his pocket. “See you on Thursday.” He walked away from the exiting crowd and on down the street.

The dumb spring festival by the East River was as shitty as the economy, but for some reason, whatever families still had cash in their pockets came to the pointless event to squander any money they had left on stupid acts performed by people who were as poor and desperate as those who threw the cash. It was probably one of the last things that held together the sanity of New York City, though it was still a waste of the city’s money.

But Angel McBride wasn’t going to complain. This was her favorite time of year, not just because the harsh winter was finally gone, but that she could weave her way through the crowd and pickpocket people mercilessly. She also was quite successful in stealing some of the crappy food that was available there.

However, there was someone new this year; a boy who wasn’t normally part of the ragtag group that got together to entertain the crowd at the festival. It was a blond boy, who the MC said had just returned from the war. That got Angel’s attention; but what impressed her even more was his skill with that pistol. It was enough to impress her, something which wasn’t all that easy. This was the first time she herself had gone out of her way to talk to someone about the gang since Deon, which was about a year prior.

Angel quickly pulled her hair up into a ponytail and tied it down with a band before jogging after the mysterious boy who had departed into the streets.

“Golden Boy!” she shouted behind him.

Jake wandered down the dark streets of this city, some lights brightening his path as he walked. He came to a stop, hearing a the nickname the announcer from the carnival used. Turning around to turn his cool, blue-eyed gaze onto the blonde girl in the camo tank top who had caught up to him.

He studied her for a moment. Jake reached up and pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke out into the air.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Angel came to a stop in front of him and smiled, though she was panting slightly.

“You’re pretty good with that gun,” she complimented him with a smile. Her blue eyes scanned him up and down, sizing him up.

Jake didn’t return her smile. He just looked her up and down, like she did him. Not sure what she was after.

“Yeah, why are you really here? I’ve lived long enough to know a compliment is followed by a favor.”

“You’re pretty smart,” Angel observed, her smile unwavering. “Is that your only job right now?”

He scratched his head and squinted his eyes. Looking at her more closely. “I take on a lot of different odd jobs. This is just one of them. Why?”

Angel looked around quickly and came a little closer to him.

“How would you like one where you’re set for life?” she whispered.

Jake shot his gaze to her eyes. Intrigued, but guarded. “And how does my gun help you?”

Angel smiled and played with her blonde hair a bit.

“I’m the head of a little group,” she explained. “We stick together and chip in to get what we want. Food, a home, protection.”

She stressed the last point by staring into his eyes.

“And sometimes there are times when a gun—or someone good with one—is needed to...facilitate this process.”

He stood there in silence, taking in everything she said. His mind wandered to the small amount of pay he received. Being alone during this economic crisis, especially with gangs running rampant was difficult.

Gangs…

“You mean a gang.” Jake said, taking another hit of his cigarette and pulling it from his lips. The smoke puffing out into the air. He held it over to Angel, offering her a hit.

“I’m not sure I trust gangs.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Angel replied with a shrug. “You can label them however you like. We’re just sticking together because it’s better than fending for yourself alone.”

She took the cigarette from his hand and held it between her fingers loosely for a moment before she held it to her lips and took a slow drag. She handed it back to him as she puffed the smoke out with a smile.

“All I’m saying is that I don’t normally offer a spot in the gang to just anyone, and I see something special in you. Is that all so wrong?”

Jake took the last two drags of the cigarette and flicked it to the ground. Crushing it underneath his foot and grinding it against the ground. He looked past her smile, into her eyes and listened to her words carefully.

Finally, reading between the lines of her speech, Jake shook his head.

“Seeing special in a gun handler is a bit suspect. I’m going to say no to your offer and find something better suited for me. I don’t like the way you talk, and I don’t like the way gangs like yours do things. I’m pretty sure I know what you want me for, and the answer is no.”

Angel frowned and sighed, not content with his response.

“Well we all have to get by somehow,” she answered simply. “Maybe one day you’ll change your mind.”

“Maybe one day you’ll change yours. Hopefully sooner than later for your sake.” Jake turned his back to her and began walking down a different alleyway. “I’ve had enough killing in my lifetime.”

Angel cocked her head at his curious response. Then, it made sense. He was a soldier after all. He had probably killed more than anyone in her gang over in Hungary. She supposed she had to respect that choice.

“Thanks for the smoke,” she called out to him suddenly.

Jake raised his hand in acknowledgment. His way of saying goodbye.

---

As he continued on through the city, trying to make his way to one of the many shelters, someone waved him over. At this point he had to wonder if it was another gangster trying to pitch him their idea. Reluctantly, Jake moved to him but kept his distance.

“Hey there brotha. I saw you at that carnival. Damn good with that gun. Damn good. Best I ever saw.”

Jake sighed and started to walk away. The man grabbed him on the shoulder and Jake quickly shoved his arm off and then gripped it with his hands and shoved him up against a wall, twisting his arm up his back.

“Shit man. Damn! Okay, okay. I’m sorry for touching you. I just wanted to talk.”

“Then talk.”

“Look, I know that blonde offered you a job. And you denied her. Seemed like you saw her game and that impresses me, man. But,”

Jake twisted his arm more and the man groaned in pain. “Get to the point.”

“Fuck! Alright! She’s part of the Amaranth Wolves. And they don’t play around or take kindly to rejection. Especially her. She might got a cute smile, but she got a nasty bite. Trust me. I’m here for your sake.”

He looked at the man for a moment before releasing his arm. The guy straightened himself out. Dusting off his ragged long sleeve shirt.

“I want you to join with me and several others who you’d find are just like you. Wait wait. Before you turn your back on us as a gang or whatever. We don’t use guns except as last resorts. We don’t kill. And we don’t steal. Straight up trades, and some illicit sales here and there. Scavenging work. Other’s losses are our gains, ya know?”

Jake looked at him. Thinking it over.

“The Wolves, other gangs, and cops are going to be obstacles for you. Making it alone out here is hard. Especially for someone lost like yourself. We’re called The Lost Ones.” He said while pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of the north star on his wrist. “For the lost and misguided. We help each other out. Everyone who wants to help others and themselves, that is. And you could leave whenever you wanted if you didn’t like it.”

“How much cash and food do you bring in each week?”

The man laughed. “Enough to feed a lot of people. Believe me, when it comes to resourcefulness. We are it.”

Jake reached into his pocket for a cigarette but stopped. He looked up at the sky and sighed.

“...Alright. I’ll check it out. But if I don’t like it, that’s it.”

The guy jumped excitedly. “You’ll love it, man. The name’s Ryker Gaines. You can call me Ryke.”

“Jake Cotton.”

Ryker smoothed his hand through his long black hair. Then he shook Jake’s hand. “I’m gonna call you Cotton. Got a good ring to it.”

Jake almost smiled. “My friends used to call me that.”

“Now your new friends will. Just follow me. We gotta meet up with the others at the Tersei bridge and I’ll set you and them up with a job. Let’s go.”

Ryker walked off and Jake followed.

---

Angel walked back to the Wolves’ hideout quietly. She made sure the coast outside the abandoned building was clear before stepping inside and finding the hidden entrance that led downstairs into the lower level, the headquarters for the Amaranth Wolves. The place wasn’t half bad. Angel was a gangster, but she was still a girl and would not allow her base to be a pig’s sty.

Incandescent bulbs hung from the ceiling and served to illuminate the room quite well and a red handprint on the wall showcased the gang’s insignia. A few couches were placed around the room, along with various crates. Most of these were empty, but some of them were filled with bags of chips. bottles of water, cans of food, boxes of crackers, and other nonperishable food items. There were tables with some decks of cards, a broken TV set that everyone said they could fix but never did, flashlights, and other basic accoutrements. In the corner were two crates, one full of boys’ clothes, one full of girls’. They were communal, but members were allowed to keep their own clothes to themselves. All of the weapons were stored in a room next to this main one: there wasn’t much. They had a few guns but were lacking in the proper ammo. They also had a few knives in the room, but a good amount of them were now quite dull and needed to be resharpened.

There were quite a few people milling around the basement when Angel returned.

“Angel!” one of them called out to her as she came down the steps. “Did you nab anything at the Festival?”

Angel nodded.

“About fifty bucks. A decent amount of money, I’d say.”

She made her way to the back of the room where a small safe was bolted to the ground. This was where she kept the funds for the gang. Only she had a few other higher-ups knew the combination. The members of the gang trusted each other… But money oftentimes made people do regrettable things.

She crouched down and unlocked it, adding the fifty dollars to the cash that was already in there. She hadn’t counted it all in a while but she was sure they were around two or three hundred or so now. It wasn’t much, but it came in handy when they actually needed to buy things legally.

When the safe was locked again, she sighed and stood up and found a seat on an unoccupied couch. It was visible on her face that she was bothered about something, but some of the members were too afraid to badger her when she could possibly be in a bad mood.

Logan walked briskly down the side walk to the homeless shelter. She was wearing her best set of clothes and her nicest smile, paired with her coldest eyes. The other people walking around her averted her eyes. No one let their beautiful rich daughter out walking the streets these days. But she wasn't rich anymore, and she certainly didn't care if she was pretty or not.

It was ridiculous how they placed the homeless shelter all the way downtown. That meant either getting a cab or walking miles, and Logan didn't have enough money to pay for a taxi. They cost went up for cars, subways, and cabbies after the economic crash.

Miles and miles for Logan then.

When Logan reached the shelter, she took a deep breath. She wasn't nervous about much anymore, but visiting her father had dictated all her emotions. Her last visit ha gone disastrous. He asked when he'd be able to see his wife again.

Logan pushed open the doors and walked to the front desk. They gave her a visiting pass and she walked to her father's room.

She knocked on the door. "Dad?" Logan asked. She opened the door when a reply didn't come.

George Wellington sat in a torn up and beat arm chair, staring out the window into the courtyard here most of the people staying there worked like slaves. The only reason George got a free pass was because he was a respected man.

"Dad," Logan said as she kneeled by his chair and took his hand. His palms were rough from the work he did as a young man. He was born poorer than the dirt under his bare feet but when he was a teenager he worked and worked and worked until he sat upon a throne of gold and money. Now he was back at the start.

George turned his head to his daughter slowly, his eyes glazed over. He smiled and cupped the side of her face.

"India," he said, his eyes swimming in tears. "She told me you'd come, Lila told me you'd be here."

Logan frowned. "No, Dad, it's me, Lila."

"I have missed you so much India," he told her.

"Dad, please, it's-it's me. Lila. You know what happened to Mom. She..." Her voice trailed off.

"How is home, dear? Had any great parties without me?"

Logan told and told her father over and over that she wasn't her mother, that she was gone, she wasn't coming back. But George just kept asking her things about how Lila was and the servants.

"Dad-Dad, please, listen to me," Logan begged with tears streaming down her face.

"Don't you cry now, India. I'll be with you soon."

Logan looked down and released George's hand.

She left without another word and closed the door behind her.

A small satchel fell over the top of the couch that Angel had sat on and landed on the cushion next to where she was sitting.

"Open it." Deon said. He was standing behind the couch, and now that he had dropped the satchel next to his leader he folded his bare, muscular arms over his broad chest, the scarification of the red, bloody hand looking prominent on his right arm bicep; more-so than his sleeve of tribal tattoos going down his left bicep.

Inside the satchel was a bundle of twenty-dollar bills, all rolled up and adding up to two-hundred and twenty dollars, however the look on his hardened face didn't give into the fact that he looked pleased with his impressive haul. Instead, his golden eyes looked down on Angel from behind her in a cold stare, the thick, eight inch scar cutting up through his left eyebrow and wrapping over past his left ear making his stare look that much more cold, almost seeming to stare Angel down just as much as his eyes were.

"You should have had backup." He said after a long pause, letting his arms unfold and rested his hands on the back of the couch, leaning forward to be able to talk with Angel closer. "That meeting you just had with pistol boy, that could have ended badly for you. I spotted you heading to the carnival on my way back with that." He said gesturing to the satchel of money, explaining to how he knew about it. "As much as I wouldn't mind seeing your brains plastered all over the street, I'd be pissed that it wasn't because of me." He went on and cracked a smile, a very subtle hint to those that knew him that he was voicing a small bit of concern about her daring move.

He let his right hand up from the back of the couch and ran his fingers through the small patch of unshaved hair on the top of his head and pulled himself the rest of the way away from the couch, stooping down to pick up a bottle of Whiskey that he had set down just before he dropped the satchel of money on the couch.

"Oh, by the way..." He said turning, taking a few steps backwards as he was still facing Angel but still walking away. "There was two-fifty, but I had something very important to pick up for myself." He raised the whiskey bottle and cracked a smile. "So if we got nothing going on for the rest of today, and you don't feel like any more suicide missions that I have to watch your ass over, then I'll be in my room."

Technically, Deon didn't really have a room. No one did, but with Deon's personality, intimidation, brute strength and all-around 'I don't give a fuck' outlook on life, it was pretty easy for him to take a section of the warehouse and make it perfectly clear that it was his territory, and not many in the Wolves dared to challenge that.

"Feel free to join me Angel Baby, I could use a massage for all my hard work." He added on with a wink.

Minato cracked the Jukusen beercan in his hands, tossing it aside onto a pile of beercans that far exceeded the limit of the trashcan they were in. He grabbed another one from the sixpack on the small table in front of him. “Ahn, only two left..” he thought to himself when he leaned back into the cosy torn down sofa. He opened the beercan and extended his free arm over the couch, taking a few gulps of beer before leaning his head back. “So I'm with the Lost Ones now. Guess it's better than being a part of the Amaranth Shitstorm.” He grinned in silence as he thought up the few names he had heard of the Amaranths. He knew the leader was called Angel, which is quite a weird name for a gang leading, gun toting, murdering idiot, but apart from her name he didn't know shit about her so he would like to know if the rumors about her violence were true.

Minato leaned up again and stood up, walking to a cabinet which was missing 1 of the 3 drawers. On top of it was a cheap stereo system. He grabbed a CD holder laying next to the stereo system, opened it and went through the many many CD's in it. He grabbed one of the illegally copied CD's labeled ''SD Junksta'' with permanent marker, put it inside the stereo system and cranked up the volume. Oldschool Japanese rap started playing, Minato bumping his head to the beat as he mouthed the lyrics to himself. He walked back to the couch and sat down again, chugging down the last beer in the beercan. He leaned his head back again on the couch and enjoyed the music.

“I should ask someone for some info on the Amaranth Dicks. It would be useful to know who we're rivalling.” He jumped up from the couch, turned off the stereo system and walked over to the door where he grabbed his jacket from the coat hanger. As he put it on he walked through the door and slammed it shut after him, not bothering to lock it because everyone knows stealing in the poor neighbourhood won't give you any good loot anyway. It would be like a rich man going to the poorest man on earth and taking a milligram off of the potatoe the man has. He's gonna be glad he got to keep the rest of the potatoe. “Gonna eat potatoe for dinner tonight.” Minato liked potatoes. And ademame. He liked food in general.

When he walked out the door of the appartment building he jumped up and down a few times, appearing energetic for a boy living in the slums. He stretched his arms a bit and jogged on his place for about three seconds before walking down the right side of the street. Despite the misery around him he smiled, for no reason what so ever. His goal for the day was finding out more about the Amaranth Douchebag group, and he figured he might as well ask some of the more respected members of the group. No doubt they'd help a new guy out, right? He was instructed that there was an emergency hideout in Tersei, a few blocks from where he lived. But since it was an emergency hideout and not a gigantic sign saying ''We're the lost ones and we're a gang! Come get us!'' or otherwise something known as a base he figured nobody would be there.

Walking down the street Minato also noted the lack of (working) cars. Economical crashes were something interesting. The few cars that were still running were used to transport people.. where? There were no jobs. Where would you go with the car? And the cost of the gas was probably higher than the pay you'd get anyway. Ahn, that explained the lack of cars, ofcourse. Oh, right, where are people gonna be if they're not at the emergency hideout. Probably under some bridge.

In front of him he saw a fire in a barrel, with some people standing around it. Judging from the corner they were standing on, it was obviously Nagami and his friends, who were a part of the Lost Ones as well. He's the reason Minato actually got into the Lost Ones, acting sort of like a bridge for him between himself and the Lost Ones. “Oi, Nagami, any idea where I can find someone that could help me out with some stuff? I need to ask some questions about some Lost Ones related stuff.” Nagami grinned and nodded his head as a greeting, grabbing a bottle of Kirin Fukkoku Lager and giving it to Minato before even answering. “Yo, Minato! How you been, homeboy! My homie, man! Minato is my homie!” Nagami was a stereotypical Japanese gangster, using language you wouldn't expect from a Japanese guy like him. He even dressed like a gangster, sagging his pants down low, but still using a belt, because logic wasn't something he'd use. He had a white stained A-shirt on and a New-Era style cap, turned backwards. Minato always grinned when he saw this fool, but once you got to know him he was really a good guy. “Yeah, I'm your homie. Thanks for the beer.” Minato said. He smiled at Nagami and pulled the cap off of the bottle by smacking it against the rim of the barrel with the fire in it. A bit of glass chipped off so he made sure not to drink from that side, being a careful guy and all.

“But where can I find someone for info?” Nagami looked around himself clumsily, already a bit drunk despite it not being that late. He pointed in a direction, seemingly random, but Minato just said whatever and thanked him by folding his hands together with the beer in between and subtly bowing. Nagami's reply was hilarious. “No problem, G! You go get some info, we keep the hood clean, my man! We keep it clean, my boy!” Minato chuckled and drank some beer again before putting up his hand as a goodbye and walking off.

After some time Minato saw a sign that said ''Joshua's Body sh-'' Where the word ''Shop'' was supposed to be, someone whited it out using white graffiti and sprayed down the Lost Ones insignia, namely the North star. Maybe Nagami was right. Minato walked inside the store and put up his hand. “Hey.” The guys inside chilling out looked at him and then without replying continued what they were doing. They probably thought he was an outsider. Minato seemed unimpressed. He looked around and saw a girl standing around, not talking to the others or working on something, atleast so it seemed. Minato walked up and put up his hand again. “Hey, I'm Minato. I'm Nagami's friend.. he ehm, sent me here. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the Amaranth Wolves? I'm sorry if you're busy, I'll go ask someone else then. I kinda wanna know what the Wolves are all about and stuff... and I kinda wanna know what I'm supposed to be doing now that I'm with the Lost Ones. I mean.. standing around probably isn't my job now, right?” The beer bottle was still in his hand and he gulped down the last of it before casually standing in front of the girl.

Wiping the grease off of her fingers onto the white plain T-shirt she was wearing, Deserae headed over to the small (and only) refrigerator The Lost Ones had in Joshua’s Body Shop. Making sure that her hands were relatively clean, she opened up the mini fridge and took a quick peak inside, noticing immediately that they were running dangerously low on iced coffee. With a slight frown, she took the only double mocha iced coffee left and gave it a good shake before popping off the lid. She took a good, long drink, reveling in the delicious taste that coated the inside of her mouth before heading back to her creation.

Deserae hoisted herself up onto a small pile of tires she compiled together for a makeshift place to sit when she wasn’t working on her car and looked The Beast over. The Beast, as what Lost Ones hung out in the Body Shop began to call it a few years back, was Deserae’s baby; the only thing that she ever really cared about in this world since it was the first thing she began to work on when she gained her freedom as a Lost One. She had put in nearly three years into the custom built ‘machine,’ forced to use what bits of workable scrap metal she could salvage over the years. She didn’t care though, and honestly she didn’t ever really expect it to run despite all the years of hours she put into the damn thing, it was just a nice hobby to have to keep her mind away from things; mainly her past.

Despite being with The Lost Ones for the past three years, she was often-times mistaken for a new recruit. She liked to keep her head low and her nose out of the other members business, doing well to keep from drawing attention to herself. Even the people that hung out here in the Body Shop with her often-times forgot her name, and those that didn’t often whispered behind her back and made fun of her for being such a social outcast, but Deserae kept her mouth shut and head held high despite what things she overheard them saying about her.

Even now, as she sat there, she could hear two of the boys whispering back and forth a good ways away, asking the other if they remembered what her name was, and then snickering about something relating to a suggestive looking grease stain on her white shirt. Deserae couldn’t help but to roll her eyes as she took another drink of her iced coffee. Boys were so dumb, but men were worse. At that very thought, she felt a shiver roll down her spine causing her arms to coat with goose bumps and a split-second flash of memory entered her mind; her Uncle’s smile.

Nearly dropping the glass bottle from being startled so suddenly, she fumbled to keep the iced coffee firmly in her hand and shook her head, closing her eyes hard. Even now; after nine years; the memories were still there. She was so busy trying to keep her heart-rate under control and catch her breath, that she hardly heard a boy’s voice addressing her.

“Hey, I'm Minato. I'm Nagami's friend.. he ehm, sent me here. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the Amaranth Wolves? I'm sorry if you're busy, I'll go ask someone else then. I kinda wanna know what the Wolves are all about and stuff... and I kinda wanna know what I'm supposed to be doing now that I'm with the Lost Ones. I mean.. standing around probably isn't my job now, right?”

Deserae opened up her eyes and blinked, staring at the Asian boy wondering first, where the hell he came from and second, why he spoke a million words per second. It took her a few moments after he finished speaking for her to even register everything he said, and only then did she slide herself off of the small stack of tires to retrieve her jean vest she left on the floor next to some tools she had been using on the underside of The Beast earlier and slipped it on. It wasn't because she had a sudden feeling of self-consciousness and made an attempt to hide the "suggestive grease-stain" but because this boy reeked of alcohol when he spoke, and it made her stomach turn. She'd do anything to get away from that rancid smell.

Nagami, she should have figured. Of course he’d send anyone who asked to The Body Shop. She rolled her eyes a bit, adjusting her jean vest to fit her better. If Nagami sent over one more person…well, she didn’t know what she would do, but it was getting really old, really fast.

“You don’t have a job with The Lost Ones. The only one that pays you is yourself.” She said rather flatly, hoping that would answer his question and that he would leave her alone. She briefly thought over asking if he knew if Nagami did any time in prison. She only wanted to know because of the way he wore his pants. Not many gangsters today knew that wearing your pants below your butt originated in prison as a way of men telling other men that they were open for a wild time. And if Nagami didn’t know that, then she would have a pretty good time laughing about it to herself.

“You’d do best to steer clear of the Amaranth Wolves, unless you fancy your head on a pike.”

A youth in old and torn clothes lay against an alley wall, panting heavily. He had long dark brown locks of hair and piercing emerald eyes, and had a small baggie clutched to his chest. He knew he didn’t have long, and gulped down what precious air he could. He had gone to meet with two gangsters he met at a park to buy some cocaine, and when he’d shown up they’d tried to mug him. Typical.

He’d gotten lucky, and a cop had seen, tackling one of the two gangsters. Somehow, in the confusion, the youth had been able to get both the coke and his money before fleeing. One of the gangsters had gotten away, but he seemed scared enough he didn’t want any more of ‘the thug life’.

Atticus was beginning to feel better when a police cruised rolled past his alley on the street, two officers obviously looking for someone, probably him. He didn’t understand how such a simple drug deal could have spun out of control into such a problem. Atticus hated many things, but cops were among the worst. In a world that was clearly going to hell head-first, what was so low about getting high?

He looked inside the baggie, and just by eyeballing it judged it to be an eight ball. He had scored. He stood up and lit a cigarette, exiting the alley and making his way quickly down a side street. Looking up into the sky, he saw heavy and thick clouds overhead, and right on cue, Atticus felt a raindrop land on his cheek. He shook his head and shivered, continuing on his way.

He figured he would head back to the Amaranth Wolves for the night, wary of the rain. Though he was new and young, he had already found a small corner on one of the upper levels of the warehouse near a window he had called home. It was dark, and easily missed. He called it the Perch. Yet he was only a block or two away at Huxley Cemetery that he was walking past when his eye caught a familiar name.

Henry Flagg.

After Atticus had lost his little sister, and became even more lost and alone in the world, he had met Henry. Henry had mentored him and taught him how to more effectively live on the streets, and was good to Atticus when nobody else was. But Henry was also hooked on heroin, and was HIV positive from dirty needles. His mentor had taught him to be a loner and survivor out here in the cruel world, and with his death came the last death of the last of the homeless boy’s compassion.

”Aye Oh, Nigga Fuck You!” came the frenzied scream of the remaining gangster, having stumbled through the same Cemetery fleeing from the police as well. Atticus turned to the yell, and found a rock smash into his forehead, sending him sprawling backwards. He fell onto the grave of Henry Flagg, and felt blood begin to trickle down his forehead from the impact. The gangster was approaching him slowly with a knife, and Atticus was seeing stars.

“You ain’t got no cops to save you this time, white boy.” Came the furious snarl once more.

Yet as he would reach the youth lying on the soft green grass, and appear to loom over him, Atticus himself would reveal a boot knife with lightning quick precision, planting it firmly in the leg of his assailant. He would scream in pain and anger, and the ragged teen knew he had to act quickly. He had coiled himself on the ground into a perfect leaping positon, and did so now to tackle the man to the to the earthy floor.

The knife fell from his hand in the confusion, and Atticus snatched for it, but failed. The gangster had it once more, and the boy grabbed at his wrist and bit into his knuckles, causing him to bleed and drop the knife. This time, Atticus reached it first, and was able to wrestle himself to a sitting positon on the man’s chest. He would plunge the knife down, but the wounded gangster caught his wrists, stopping the stabbing.

The knife slowly descended downwards, and fear and panic began to manifest in the wounded thugs eyes and face. He began to whimper lightly as it drew ever farther down and closer to his throat, the intended target.

“Aye nigga please man, I got a kid, man. You can keep it, alright? You can keep it, you can keep it, you can ke-“

The knife sunk snugly into his throat, sending warm red blood spurting out into the open air, and Atticus could smell the iron in the air. He began to cough and choke, and pull at the knife in his neck, but the life quickly drained from him and he lay still. The youth would roll off him and fall to the ground exhausted. This man made three deaths by his hand already, and once more he had been a cold and efficient killer. A kind and warm soul that could shed its humanity when needed to commit the most heinous of crimes.

He rose and began walking home immediately, leaving the corpse of his slain foe on the grave of his friend. The rain was beginning to come down more heavily now, and he wanted nothing more than to get back to the Perch, do a line of white girl, maybe smoke a bowl to the rain, and fall asleep.

This was just another day in the life of the Damned.

Minato looked the girl up and down, then looked her in the eyes. “Ah? Ah? What's that, a head on a pike?” Was this girl a coward or was she trying to get rid of him? Minato looked over the bodyshop, letting his eyes fall onto the orange car. The rims especially caught his eye. “Their leader, Angel, is she capable of doing such things? Putting heads on display?” Minato didn't really understand she wanted him gone and took her answer as an invitation to ask more. He looked the car over more, the logo on the front catching his eye the most. Interesting to have a car these days. Wonder if they had gas. He looked back at the girl and smiled.

Minato's eyes dwindled down to the ''suggestive'' grease stain and looked to the boys on his side. They were laughing silently, presumably about the grease stain as there was fuck all funny around besides that. Now, Minato could play the hero guy you'd read about in stories and say something about it but he just smiled and waved. He wasn't even sure if they were laughing about the grease stain anyway. “Either way, you should get that cleaned. Just water it down with water from the tap or something.” He looked at the car again and let his eyes dwindle down to the hatch where you could fill it with gas. When was the last time they had it running? Could've been a while, unless the girl was rich and spent a fortune on gas. She didn't look rich however.

“And which of the Wolves should I look out for? Any really dangerous ones with them? Ex-convicts? Murderers, rapists, gunslingers, desperadoes?” Minato was probably bothering her a lot with these questions, but what were the odds of her even remembering his face? He wasn't a noteworthy person and would probably blend in well within the masses of faces in the Lost Ones. “Oh, please forgive me, I haven't even asked your name yet. Unless you're one of those mysterious cliché people that wears a hoodie over his eyes all the time and stays in the shadows.” He grinned and looked around again, seemingly having trouble concentrating on having a conversation and looking at the one he's talking to.

His mind wandered to his other question again, as he wasn't quite satisfied with her answer. “Ah.. yeah. I get that I make my own money. I'm not here to leech off of the few friends I do have. I meant.. how can I make some money for the Lost Ones? Part of running with the crew is pulling your weight. I wanna pull my weight. How can I do that? How can I help? Do you need me to do anything? Maybe.. maybe I can help you with that.” He pointed at her car. He figured if you're gonna aim for something you might as well aim for the bulls eye. He didn't know much about cars but maybe he could gather some stuff for her, or whatever. He wasn't even interested in cars at all. Then again that might even refrain him from trying to steal it away from her. Maybe she'd see that. Or maybe she'd just see him as a money hungry Asian boy that wanted to make a quick buck and possibly mess up her lovely four-wheeled machine of death. Matter of fact, Minato half expected her to see that. He just had to wait what she'd say.

Angel's eyes had been shut for a moment. It probably looked like she was deep in thought, but she was feeling tired at the moment and was in fact resting. Her light eyes fluttered open when she heard something plop onto the couch next to her. Surprised, she looked around to see who had dropped the satchel there, and she caught sight of Deon standing behind her. His yellow eyes glared down at her as he told her to open it.

"It better not be some cop's severed hand, Deon," she grumbled as she snatched up the bag and opened it, peering inside. A hefty green roll of twenties stared back at her. "Whoa, nice work!" She reached inside and clutched the money. Flipping through it, she counted out two hundred and twenty dollars. That would nearly double what they had stored away already. She was about to get up and lock the twenties in the safe when she noticed Deon was still staring at her.

"What?" she asked him, confused.

"You should have had backup," he muttered after waiting a couple of seconds to respond. He leaned forward and got closer to Angel. "That meeting you just had with pistol boy, that could have ended badly for you. I spotted you heading to the carnival on my way back with that." He pointed to the satchel of money he had given her. "As much as I wouldn't mind seeing your brains plastered all over the street, I'd be pissed that it wasn't because of me."

Angel snickered at him.

"Well, I'm certainly very sorry about almost pissing you off," Angel replied in a mockingly sad voice. Then her expression returned to normal. "I'm a gang leader, Deon," she reminded him. "I know how to protect myself. That kid wouldn't have hurt me just for coming up to him and offering him a job. After all, I'd say the little mission I went on to recruit you was way more dangerous." She winked at him, which was her way of thanking him for his indirect concern.

She stood up and went over to the safe to lock away the money when Deon told her he had spent thirty dollars of the money he had gotten on a bottle of whiskey he was now sipping on casually. She rolled her eyes at him, not really caring. Thirty dollars didn't make much of a different to her; he had still brought a good enough sum of cash.

"Feel free to join me Angel Baby, I could use a massage for all my hard work.

Angel had already locked the safe again and was facing the teen with her arms crossed.

"You worked hard, Deon," she admitted. "But to earn a massage from this girl, you're gonna need to haul in two million dollars' worth of diamonds straight from Sierra Leone. Come find me when you manage to do that, mmkay?" She winked back at him and flipped her hair at him sassily before walking away toward the stairs that led back upstairs. In reality, she just wanted some time to be alone and to... think. She'd have too many distractions in her hideout after all. Additionally, she didn't have any more 'suicide missions' to do that day, so she was in no rush. Before going up the stairs, she grabbed a gray hoodie and a blunt knife she had left out a few days before. After pulling the hoodie over he head, she slipped the small dagger into it's middle pocket. Now she was ready to go.

Instead of exiting off the ground level, Angel continued to ascend in their base's stairwell. Once she got to the roof, she saw it was raining. Thankfully, with her hood over her head, she was protected well enough from the fat droplets. They were warm now, as the weather had warmed up as well with the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Under other circumstances, she wouldn't have minded just walking in the rain in a regular shirt, but today she wasn't in that kind of mood.

She walked to the edge of the roof and looked over the cityscape in the darkening sky. No emotions came to her with the breathtaking view, however. With a sigh, she leaped off... and landed on the roof of a neighboring building that was of the same height. This was an easy task, as many of the buildings were crowded close together and had very small gaps between them.

People are so small. Millie thought, contemplating the insignificance of the human race as she stared down at the carnival from the roof of a nearby apartment block, her legs dangling over the edge. Up here, Millie felt she could almost touch the sky; the stars seemed so close, the moon looked so big. Below, the people were ants. Puny and unimportant, it baffled Millie, the impact human life had on everything. Most of the time, human life seemed to be the only important thing, the center of the universe itself.

Standing up and looking over at the open door, through which she’d reached the roof, Millie felt a breeze ripple through her loose red tank top. She inhaled deeply, the fresh, spring air an allusion to the warm summer that would surely follow. Millie, personally, couldn’t wait to trade in her jeans for shorts and looser clothing. Looser items were easier to run and climb in. Taking one last look at the sky from this level, Millie made for the door, closing it behind her and hurrying down the steps. Angel didn’t worry about many people, she didn’t care what many people got up too in the gang, but Millie was almost an exception and there was always the possibility that she’d get the heat about where she’d been.

The heat in the streets below was a sharp contrast to the clear air on top of the building. Down here, where bodies rubbed together as people made their way through the throngs of carnival-goers. She heard gun shots in the distance and paused for a second. Nobody else seemed disturbed and Millie moved before she was knocked over and trampled. Truth was, in this neighbourhood, you never could put it past anyone – gunshots could be a carnival attraction or someone’s last sight. Millie played with the ‘I’ necklace she wore as she walked around, moving from one attraction to the next. It was the only thing she had from her mother, the only thing her mother had brought from her other life, as Hayden had always referred to it. Hayden had been like a father to her, since she’d had neither of her birth parents there to care for her.

She didn’t even know who her father was, if he was even alive. She didn’t need to know. Angel and the rest of the wolves were her family, even if they were a temperamental bunch and sometimes Millie felt a little bit out of place. Sure, she’d grown up there and been there longer than half of the gang, but most of the time she felt like a bit of an outsider. They were always up for a fight and picking at each other. Millie could, and would, stand up for herself when needed, but in truth she’d rather avoid conflict all together. It was, in fact, a rare occasion when someone picked a fight specifically with her.

“Excuse me,” She heard someone behind her speak and turned around. There was an old man standing at a candy floss stand, holding out a stick of the pretty pink stuff to her. Millie shook her head and started to say she couldn’t afford it, but the man was already pressing it into her hands. “You take, you sad so you take.” She smiled and looked from the sweets to him. He returned her smile with a toothy one of his own, fake-gold plated teeth winking back at her.

Millie carried on her journey through the carnival, wondering if any of these people could be related to her and have no idea. The pink stuff was delicious, it melted on her tongue as soon as it touched it and it tasted like pure sugar. Before she got chance to finish the candyfloss, rain started falling from the sky in big droplets and Millie watched, sadly, as her candyfloss melted down in the rain. People around her were grumbling, running for cars, shutting down stalls and Millie herself was suddenly wishing she’d remembered a coat.

She threw down the stick and ran through the crowd, making her way down Main Street to the alley that was the first in an intricate series that led to the hideout. She made sure she wasn’t being followed as she skipped from alley to alley, nimble as a cat and silent as a shadow. A shadow fell over her as she finally made it to the hideout. Glancing up, Millie saw a lithe figure in a grey hoodie standing on the roof. Angel. Taking one last glance around herself, Millie ducked into the building and hurried down a level into the hideout.

Deserae began walking away from the Asian when he opened up his mouth again and started asking more questions. She stopped in her tracks, sighed, and finished up her iced coffee. This kid really wasn't getting it was he? But she didn't have the heart exactly, to tell him to buzz off. She had to force herself to remember back to when she first joined The Lost Ones, and how confused about the entire situation she had been.

Just answer a few more questions, then you can go take a nap or something. She thought to herself and forced her body to turn around and look back at the boy. Her eyes narrowed a bit when she spotted him looking over her car, but he seemed to be looking it over with interest rather than destruction on the mind. Still, she kept an even closer eye on him from then on.

"Angels a sweet name, but she's anything but. There is a reason she's the leader. We used to have a guy in our group, Knuckles. Got his nickname from having three of his fingers missing up to his knuckles. I bet you can guess how that happened."

The boy's eyes looked at where she could only assume the suggestive looking grease stain was on her shirt, and felt herself subconsciously pulling her jean vest closed tightly, folding her arms across her chest for that extra protection. A second chill crawled down her spine, but this time she managed to keep the goosebumps, and memories at bay. She completely disregarded his laundering advice and walked to the corner of the room where a very old, beaten plastic garbage can was located and dropped the glass bottle into it, hoping the boy was out of questions now. She was wrong.

“And which of the Wolves should I look out for? Any really dangerous ones with them? Ex-convicts? Murderers, rapists, gunslingers, desperadoes?" He only paused for a moment before opening his mouth once more. “Oh, please forgive me, I haven't even asked your name yet. Unless you're one of those mysterious cliché people that wears a hoodie over his eyes all the time and stays in the shadows.”

The latter remark made Deserae roll her eyes and pull her arms in even tighter over her chest.

"D.J." She said after a while, half-expecting him to open his mouth once more and ask a million more things. "Call me D.J. And as for the Wolves, you gotta look out for all of em, but I suppose I can give you a few names to look out for." With a dejected sigh, she made her way over to the small pile of tires and took a seat, a bit annoyed with herself that she had given the impression earlier to this boy that she would be open for discussion.

"Angel's got this guard dog, practically follows her everywhere and does a lot of her dirty work. He goes by both Darth and Deon. If Deon sounds familiar it should. Before he joined up with The Wolves he was a professional cage fighter, a real celebrity, but he put that all behind him to bash some skulls in. About six months ago he tore a homeless guy into shreds because he was bored. If you really wanna see him in action, I've heard he does the illegal kind of fighting, underground. There's supposed to be a match going on tonight, but I ain't stupid enough to go there to be sure. It's just what I've heard.

Another name I've heard thrown around is Milllie. There isn't a whole lot going around with her name attached to it, which only tells me that she's a Black Widow; strikes when you least expect it. Maybe she lures in people with her sexuality? I don't know, all I got on her is a name.

The same goes for Logan. I've come across Logan once or twice and I'm pretty sure she's a girl, but she's still got a deadly bite like Angel. Rumor has it though that if the price is right, Logan will do just about anything. That can be potentially good for us, or very, very bad. Best just stay away from her altogether.

Atticus used to run with us, but got kicked out when he started getting too violent. Not only is he now a Wolf, but he's also a traitor; he killed one of The Lost Ones. He's a lot like a Tasmanian Devil, you back him into a corner and you can kiss your life goodbye, he ain't afraid to take a life."

There, that had to suffice his curiosity now right? Or maybe she gave off too much information to the boy at once and opened up a bunch of NEW questions. That thought irked her, and she quickly climbed out of her 'seat.'

“Ah.. yeah. I get that I make my own money. I'm not here to leech off of the few friends I do have. I meant.. how can I make some money for the Lost Ones? Part of running with the crew is pulling your weight. I wanna pull my weight. How can I do that? How can I help? Do you need me to do anything? Maybe.. maybe I can help you with that.”

Deserae's eyes snapped over to the Asian to see him gesturing towards The Beast and her eyes narrowed.

"Don't touch the car." She warned with a slight edge of venom in her voice. "You wanna make money? You go out there and take it. Easy as that. We ain't got no rules as to how except murder, we don't stoop that low. Keep your hands clean, and whatever you can salvage, steal, or earn is yours."

"I have a cousin in the Sierra Leone." Deon joked as he watched her leave with a wide smirk across his lips. His eyes looked down to her ass, watching it shake as she headed up the stairs, totally lost in thought until one of his own thoughts pushed his mind away from sex for a split second. "Oh hey!" He called after her. "I got a fight tonight. I could use a cheerleader, clothing optional!"

He let out a small laugh as he heard the door she went into slam a bit harder than it needed to and sauntered over to his area of the warehouse on the ground floor. He plopped himself on arguably the only good seat in the place, a beaten up, old red loveseat that Deon definitely got his use out of. He kicked off his shoes and relaxed back in the chair, setting the glass bottle of whiskey between his feet on the floor and rubbed his tired eyes. The money he had brought in for The Wolves wasn't exactly easy to get, he had been out for nearly thirty-six hours before he felt it was time to return to the warehouse, though that was probably more his stomach talking and lack of sleep than the rational bits of his brain.

He heard one of the entrance doors creak open and he moved himself in the chair to peek over into the next room to see Millie coming in. Again, his eyes glanced over the womanly figure in appreciation before his mind snapped him back to reality, eager to take up whatever opportunity he could get right now.

"Hey! Mill Billy!" Deon called out and raised up his arm to show her the bottle of Whiskey he had in his hand. "I got a bottle of whiskey here to share in exchange for a back rub. I know you would normally rub me down for free so take it as a bonus." It was a bold jest, but most everyone that knew him knew he didn't take any other way when it came to talking with women.

He shook the bottle in his hand, letting her hear the tantalizing liquid sloshing around inside to try to seal the deal.

Besides Angel, Millie was the only other person in the Wolves that he had known ever since he joined the group. Word had it that Millie had been around just as long as Angel had, maybe even longer but Deon didn't care about that. If she were a threat to take up Angel's post as leader strictly because of how long she had been running with the wolves, then he'd eat his own boxers. The way he saw it, the only person even worthy of dethroning Angel would be himself, but he was far too exhausted to even think about that right now.

"Watcha say baby?" He asked, bringing his thoughts back to Millie once more along with his eyes looking her over less than subtly.

Minato thought he had enough information by now. He was slightly put off by the tone of her voice when he mentioned helping her with the car. Maybe she didn't want to talk? “D.J? Thank you very much.” He folded his hands together and bowed subtly to thank her. “However, if I annoyed you, you could have just said so. Just because we are Lost Ones doesn't mean we have to be friends. You can hate me. In the end we are still brothers and sisters. I will help you even if you are my worst enemy. That is my way, and that's also my promise to you, so remember it, D.J.” He smiled at her and looked around, letting his eyes fall on the car again. It was pretty. He sighed and looked back at D.J. Despite Minato's mixed feelings about cage fighting, he felt like he should go. Yes, he definetely should go! He stuck up his hand and waved faintly at D.J before leaving. “Good night D.J, good night random guys sitting in the back. Cya around.” he said as he walked out the door.

He walked through the streets, passing Nagami and fistbumping with him before sticking his hands back into his pockets and walking to his house again. He let the names of those important figures pass his mind. Angel, Deon, Logan, Millie, Atticus. It made him wonder about the Lost Ones top-dogs. Minato figured that D.J was probably one of the people he needed to impress to get more respect all around. And right now he wasn't off to a good start. And he didn't really know any other Lost Ones. Ahn, he'd try to impress her somehow. Maybe he could go to a part of town that still had lots of cars and check them out. Maybe he'd find useful stuff for her car or whatever. “She loves that car more than the crew, I think,” he thought to himself as he opened his still open door and walked in, dropping his jacket on the coat hanger before shutting the door. “and that is good, because it gives her incentive to stay with the crew. She would probably never be a traitor. Even if it was just to keep the car in one piece.” Minato's mind wandered all over the place sometimes, thinking stuff that was somehow related to one another but seemed completely irrelevant as well. It helped him though.

He put on the stereo system again, letting some more rap beats of the old, old Anarchy Crew out of the stereo mix. The bass pumped loud, but not loud enough for the others in the appartment complex to hear. Their English was laughable at best, the accent ruining whatever English they did manage to say. Minato milled over thoughts on the cage fight. He felt as if cage fights were the devils spawn of all martial arts. It wasn't an honorable style of fighting, and the youth that practiced cage fighting usually was the type that go for the balls when they're not in a cage. But, Minato had to admit, it was one of the most useful styles for streetfighting. Either way, Nagami would know where to go. Minato thought he got invited by Nagami once as well. Nagami's words on the cagefighters ringed through his head. “Imagine the biggest dumbest idiots of the city, who spent way too much hours in the gym, on 'roids, in a cage that gets locked after they go in. They'll kill each other for the glory of winning. And the crowd is pretty bad too. You'll know when you get there.” That probably said enough about Deon. He shut off the stereo system mid-song and walked off again, not taking his jacket this time. Fuck the rain.

Fuck it hard.

---

Minato opened the hangar doors, noticing a very small crowd of people outside a stairs leading down. One was sitting on a barrel at the side of the stairs, with his foot on the railing so you couldn't get past. Looked like a mean ass guy, too. But he was no cagefighter, considering that he had tried to hide a knife in his pocket. Cage fighters have a bit more honour than that. Minato approached the group, and was kinda glad that he wasn't a recognisable member of the Lost Ones. This cage fighting place was practically at the center of the fricken territory of the Amaranth Bitches. He'd probably have been grabbed and kicked out by the first Amaranth that recognised him. That's probably all that they would do, considering as far as Minato knew, there was no full scale war going on, just a rivalry. And we all know how rivalries end.

He approached the guy at the barrel, asking him if he could get down to the fighting level. The man didn't say shit, just held up his hand. “Um, how much?” Minato asked. The man replied, “For you it's five fiddy.” Five fifty.. okay, reasonable. Minato picked the money from his pockets and handed it over, upon which the man removed his leg and let him through. Once Minato started walking down the stairs he put his leg back and looked at the crowd outside the doors.

Minato heard the crowd through the heavy metal door, that was probably made using scrap metal. He opened the heavy door and walked inside, closing it after him. The crowd was already going wild, could it be that there was a fight going on now? Minato decided he'd look at it while waiting for this ''Deon.'' He approached the crowd and pushed his way past the people, moving a bit more towards the front, but stopping about 3/4th into the crowd. There was a muscular man pounding the shit out of another muscular man. They were both bleeding, it seems. Most of the blood was on the one guy's knuckles, so that was probably not his..

The man punched the other guy in the face again, then grabbed his head by the back and send his knee flying into his chin. The blood spats flew into the crowd, and they went wild for it. Nagami was definetely right about the crowd, and the fighters didn't seem like an intellectual bunch either. It seems the fight was over now. One of the guys was carried out of the cage while the other paraded triumphantly. Most of the crowd cheered, but there was a few eerie looking guys in the crowd, that probably lost a bet.

Minato took a look around and noticed a sign that said ''bar area.'' He could definetely use a beer. He followed the sign and pushed himself past the crowd again, finding the sign next to a stairs. He went up and sat down at the bar, hearing an announcer who was now in the cage, using an old microphone to try and get over the crowd. He was announcing the next fighters, or some other shit. Minato didn't care. He just wanted a beer. “Bartender! How much for a Fukaku beer?” The bartender walked over to him and looked him up and down, looking at his face, his loose A-shirt and his arms. Probably looking for gang signs. He then replied to Minato, “It's 10 dollars.” That's a fuckin' rip-off if you've ever seen one. Minato grumbled and grabbed through his pockets, grabbing about 20,60 and put it on the table, it was his last money anyway and he didn't have to save for anything. “Give me two. How much would it be if I were a wolf?” The man raised an eyebrow and ignored his question, and put down two cold Fukaku beers. Minato grabbed them both and moved to the railing of the bar, which was relatively quiet. It was probably because of the fucking overpriced beers. Then again, there was a lot of money involved in this type of place, so the big-shots would be able to afford it anyway.

Minato leaned on a concrete pillar at the railing, and put his extra beer down on the railing. He drank some of the beer from the other then wiped the wetness away from his lips with the back of his hand. “Wonder when Deon gets here.” Looking around he decided that the bar area would be a good vantage point, considering it offered a good view of the cage in the middle, and there were not much people around here that could pick pocket you. One disadvantage was that it would probably also be very clear that he was watching, in case anyone recognised him. Haha, just kidding. Who would recognise him?

Logan needed to forget today. She needed to drown in alcohol and fighting. Best place to do it was here. She couldn't quiet remember the name of the place. The alcohol made her head fuzzy and warm, taking away both important and bad memories.

"More shots please," she slightly slurred out. The bartender came over with another round. Logan placed the money she owed him on the table. They knew she was a Wolf, so they have her a major discount. She looked over at the bartender and saw him charging an Asian guy way too much. She chuckled to herself. He was glad she joined the Wolves and any other gang, or even stayed out of it all. The Wolves were vicious, sure, and very demanding, but they had multiple perks. Like not having to pay ten bucks for one beer.

Logan knew one of her...coworkers would be having an appearance tonight. Deon was the best of the best, and she knew if she bet all her money on him, she'd certainly get a very kind amount in return.

She finished her shots and got up from her stool, wobbling a bit. She moved towards the railing, a bit away from where the Asain guy stood. She watched the current match play out, switching who she was routing for each time one got a hit. She would always be on the winning side, no matter what.

Jake and Ryker spent a long time walking down through the streets of New York. Ryker tended to be overly paranoid in his travels. He took them down several different alleyways and other routes to make sure they wouldn't run into a single Amaranth Wolf. It took a lot longer to get to the Tersei bridge, but at the same time it was much safer. At long last, the gray, worn down steel bridge was in sight. The economic crisis hit everywhere including roads. And, a spot like that bridge wasn't quite as important to the richer members of society. They didn't see the need to spend too much money on its upkeep. The pavement on it was broken and cracked, metal beams ragged and rusted. But, Ryker smiled nonetheless.

"That's home right there." Ryker commented. It was evident on their walk that Ryker had a strong knowledge of the area. Knowing just about every in and out of the turf they walked on. "I can't tell you how much I've walked on, under and around that bridge. Tersei, man. Home sweet home. You never did tell me where you're from." Ryker smiled over at Jake who remained as stone faced as ever.

"You never asked." Jake replied. Ryker chuckled. "You're a real tightly wound up guy aren't ya? Haven't seen you smile much, if at all. So, where you from Cotton?"

"Amaranth. Don't worry, doesn't mean I got some urge to kill you and everyone else. I don't really know what to call home anymore. This place changed so much after the war. But not for me." Jake followed him underneath the bridge. No one else was around at that moment. Ryker glanced around and shrugged.

"I've got another place we can go to. It's an auto shop not too far out. The jobs I have in mind are in my pocket, but you need to meet some of the group first." Jake nodded and reluctantly followed him. Unsure if the man was just playing with him or not.

"You fought in the war, right?"

Jake nodded and pulled out a cigarette to smoke. Puffing that gray vapor into the air. "So that's why you're so good with that gun."

"It's a cheap trick. There were better shots than me out there."

"But you survived. And either way, you still have great aim. Probably helped you live out there. Heard it was the worst war the world has ever seen."

He didn't know the half of it. The memories that painted cold, sleepless and blood filled pictures in his mind might haunt Jake for the rest of his life. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could still see their faces. Even upon return, sometimes the simple sounds of a car screeching or a door slamming were enough to make Jake jump and get defensive.

"I was lucky to survive."

"Well, we could definitely use some of that luck, then." Ryker smiled at him, always finding something positive to talk about.

Jake shook his head. The rest of the way to Joshua's Body Shop was a long quiet journey. Until Ryker opened up the door and trotted on in, happy to see that at least someone was there. He could always count on Deserae to be there most of the time. "D.J.!" Ryker shouted out excitedly as he walked in. "What's going on girl?" His eyes glanced over to The Beast, as did Jake's. "The Beast is looking pretty damn good. That's her baby," He added looking over to Jake. "Just don't touch it, she's real protective. She's a mother to that car."

He looked back at Deserae while moving over to one of the workbenches, pulling the envelope out of his pocket and placing it down. "We might have a new member, D.J. His name is Jake Cotton. I like to call him Cotton. Sounds real tough. Someone you'd want in a tough situation, and from what I've seen I believe it. And Jake, that's Deserae Cunningham. But make sure to call her D.J. She's a bit picky." He smirked, teasing like always.

Victor woke up and ran his left hand through his hair, he sat up in his bed and turned over so that his legs hung over the side. He stood up and walked over to his prosthetic, he reached down and picked it up around the elbow in his left hand. He brought it up to the metallic port in his right shoulder and connected the two, he felt the mechanisms fall into place and clenched his fist while contracting his elbow. He smiled as he heard the metal whine together and he pulled on a small overshirt that hardly covered his arms. He walked to the bathroom of his small apartment and ran some water into his left hand and brought it to his face, he grabbed a hand towel with his right arm and patted down his face. He tossed the towel onto the counter next to the sink and walked to his closet pulling his leather jacket out, he slipped his right arm in first then his left and left his apartment. He was making his way towards the club hangout when the rain began pouring down, he was thankful for his leather jacket, his arm didnt function well with water in it. He continued on his way to the club, his pistol was tucked in his belt on the small of his back, he had his knife in his pocket alongside his lighter. He made his way to the abandoned warehouse and walked through the main entrance, he passed some of his fellow members and made his way to the main hang out area, he saw Millie ahead of him and briefly looked her up and down before looking ahead and seeing the bad ass known as Deon, Victor admired him for his brevity but couldnt say much for his smooth talk.

Victor sighed and walked over to a special cooler he had branded with a spray painted V, he opened it and pulled out a bottle of Svodka. He wasnt much a whiskey guy but he loved Vodka, any kind really so long as it wasnt some fruity bullshit. He twisted the top off the bottle and brought it to his lips tilting his head back in his right hand, he took a swig and let out a small cough. He walked over to where Deon was and flashed a smile, he sat on the couch adjacent and took another swig.

"How goes it D?" Victor said holding the bottle in his right hand.

John got off the phone with his contact at the precinct, "FUCKKKKKK." He screamed at the ceiling in the tiny apartment that used to be his families, but was now a empty husk just like John, he threw open the front door and walked out into the hallway tucking away a tiny recording device and out onto the cold New York street.

Fifteen minutes of walking was all it took and John stood outside Joshua's Body shop, taking a look at the faded building before he walked in composing his emotions he saw a new face and two old ones the police were particularly interested in "Sup guys, whose the newbie?" He asked studying and analyzing the new guy.

Deserae had since gotten back to work on her Frankenstein car once the Asian boy left. His open social demeanor had cut a raw edge into the pit of her stomach, wondering if he really could be a potential threat with a big ego or was just a dumbass with a big mouth. She decided to go with the latter. Now with a small amount of caffeine pulsing through her blood to keep her awake, she had removed her jean vest once again and popped open the hood of The Beast to get back to work. She looked over the handful of engine parts she had managed to collect over the years; true the area was littered with cars she could steal engine parts from, but the real trick was finding parts that were actually capable of working.

She briefly walked over to a plastic bag on the floor next to her vest and pulled out a handful of different spark plugs, unable to know if any of them worked really until installing them into the engine itself. It was tedious work, and she didn't have many tools to work with, but eventually she got it in place but was now elbow deep in car grease. Maybe she should take apart everything she had in there and wipe it down first?

Deserae stood up quickly, hearing her name being called and hit her head on the hood of the car in surprise. She knew that voice, but what the hell was he doing here? Rubbing her head, and ignoring the fact that she was now putting engine grease in her hair, Deserae turned around and stepped away from the car to look at Ryker and gave a curt nod, acknowledging his presence there. It was only there that she realized that there was another man standing next to Ryker, and Deserae wanted to scream.

ANOTHER newbie? Why do they always end up here?

She kept her face calm though, showing no sign of being uncomfortable but couldn't help but to size the blonde boy up and down a bit. He was a big guy, in all the right ways. She had to wonder if a guy built like him could give Deon a run for his money, God knew someone had to.

"We might have a new member, D.J. His name is Jake Cotton. I like to call him Cotton. Sounds real tough. Someone you'd want in a tough situation, and from what I've seen I believe it. And Jake, that's Deserae Cunningham. But make sure to call her D.J. She's a bit picky."

"That...sounds incredibly racist..." Was Deserae's only reply, of course in relation to the Cotton bit. She stood there awkwardly for a bit, wondering if Ryker needed her to do anything, but his attention seemed to be on Cotton so she let out a small sigh and got back to work on her car, starting by separating all the pieces and pulling them out one by one for a good cleaning.

That's when John walked in. Deserae didn't need to look at him to know, nor did she jump from being startled either. John was kind of the loudmouth in the group, at least in her opinion, and quite frankly something about him just didn't set right with her for some reason, and it was more than the fact that he was male. At least, she was pretty sure it was. From the safety of practically being invisible underneath the car hood, she let out another sigh, larger this time.

Maybe I should go see someone...I can't hate men forever can I?

Millie looked like a drowned rat. Her hair was soaked from the rain, clinging together and dripping down her chest and back and her tank top stuck to her like a second skin. She was shivvering by the time she walked into the hideout. Thank god it's not white. She thought, watching Deon's eyes rake over her like some kind of animal. She walked over to the crate at the back of the room and dragged out a towel that she draped over her shoulders and used to dry her hair off a little bit.

Her teeth ground together at the sound of the nickname Deon had christened her with. There was little privacy in their hideout and Millie hadn't been raised to be shy about her body, so she stripped off the soaked vest top, throwing it and the towel at Deon's head. She pulled a grey hoodie on over her underwear. "I'm good, thanks." She said, in response to his comments about the alcohol. "Aren't you fighting later? Surely you need all your wits about you for that. Well, whatever wits you claim to have, anyway." She joked, making her way over to the cupboard in the corner and taking out a packet of biscuits.. "What do you think? Could tonight be the night that the infamous Deon is finally going to be dethroned?" She sat down on the loveseat beside him, curling her legs beneath herself and biting into one of the biscuits. She was finally warming up, but her hair was still dripping, uncomfortably, down her back.

She saw Victor walk in and look at her up and down and she rolled her eyes, watching him as he went to get a drink and then moved over to where she and Deon were sitting. "How goes it D?" Millie waited to be acknowledged, but when it didn't come she cleared her throat and waved her hand in front of her.

"Hello? Either I'm invisible, or you're sexist." She remarked, with a sarcastic little smirk on her pretty features.

Victor grinned and took another swig of his vodka when Millie spoke, he liked her, she was spunky and fun to be around, and her body wasnt anything to look over, well rather it was. He couldnt deny that he was attracted to her but he didnt show it, he was much more collected than that.

"Like I would miss you," He stood and extended his arm out taking her hand in his and bowing down grandly to kiss the top of it, he did a second bow and sat back down, "Good enough for you?"

He smiled broadly and took another swig, "How are you today Millie?"

Deon made a bit of a face when she pulled on a hoodie, covering up her extremely tantalizing womanly figure, but was pleased when she decided to plop down next to him on the love seat. He raised his free arm to drape over the back of the chair as Millie got comfortable and then lowered his arm back down, now draping across her back with his hand on her far arm, using this position to hold her against him a bit with the excuse that he was trying to keep her warm; and since he was a man, his body could very much more-or-less be described as a heat rock.

He waited for Millie and Victor go through their little exchange before he bothered to answer Millie's previous comments, though though he'd address Victor first.

"At first I thought he didn't acknowledge you because he was smart enough to not talk to my women. But now I see that he's just a plain moron." He commented with a snarky attitude, an less-than-pleased smirk on his lips to match; watching with a raised eyebrow as Victor got up from his knees from kissing Millie on the hand. He raised the glass bottle to his lips and took a few, long, full drinks, only lowering it when he figured that their little exchange was done with.

"Anyway, Mill Billy, I'm doing this to give the other guys an advantage. See, with me intoxicated and fighting, they will think that they might actually have a chance..." He paused to chuckle. "...but they won't. Besides, I drink when I fight all the time. Usually it's not until after I reach the arena but whatever."

He bent forward slightly, keeping his arm around Millie, to put the glass bottle of whiskey on the floor once more between his feet before relaxing back into the chair.

"I got a couple spots open for shirtless cheerleaders tonight, that could very well be the deciding factor whether I win or not." He shot her a sideways glance. "And you WANT me to win." He added on before she could come back at him with a snappy remark. "When I win, I get money, and that money goes to the Wolves. But, if you're find with eating stale biscuits..." He reached into her lap with his free hand grabbed a biscuit for himself, taking a bite and ignoring the crumbs that fell down onto his chest. "...then all the more power to you." He shook his head and put the biscuit back, reaching once more for his whiskey bottle to wash down the nasty taste.