Sunlight was beginning to spill through the barred windows of cell block A as yet another day dawned on the Alderney State Correctional Facility. The uneasy sleepers of the cellblock were still giving off a chorus of quiet snores and tossing-and-turnings when a raspy voice broke over them in cell A-2.

“Walter, you asleep?”

Walter had been lying awake on the top bunk using a stray beam from the morning sun to look at a picture he had been staring at every day for the past three years he had been behind bars. Natalie’s green eyes were gazing at him from middle park a decade ago on a Spring day. His wife’s supple lips were stretched ear-to-ear as she wrapped her slender arms around their daughters’ shoulders and Abbey must have found it pretty funny as she had a half-laugh-half-smile etched on her gentle features.
The picture was of a young girl. Her chocolate brown eyes gazing out from behind brown curls and a half-laugh-half-smile etched on her gentle features. In this picture she was dressed in standard hiking gear and was struggling to lift a giant hiking pack which she must have found pretty humorous.

“Walt.” Chapman’s voice was more incessant this time.

“Go back to sleep.”

Chapman ignored the request. “I was wonderin’ ‘bout that tattoo on ya’ chest.”

Walt’s eyes turned down to his bare chest where Hebrew script was followed by the numbers 29:17 were emblazoned over his heart.
“It’s a verse from the Old Testament.”

“What’s it say?”

“I broke the fangs of the wicked and snatched their victims from their teeth.” Walt’s eyes tightened as he answered.

The siren that served as the prison’s alarm began to wail and the other prisoner’s began to stir.

BANG. A club cracked against the bars of their cell as a prison guard walked past. “Wake the fuck up, you fucking degenerate bastards.”

After a few more strings of expletives and another blare of the siren the cell doors slid open and Walt slipped on his shirt. He walked into the long hall and looked into the other prisoner’s faces as Captain Joseph Belko worked his way back down the hall with a troop of guards. He stopped in front of Walter and grinned before addressing Chapman who was moving slow.

“Did you hear me you old piece of shit?”

“I can’t move any faster.” Chapman said as he gripped the bars and filed in next to Walter.

Belko stepped forward pushing Chapman up against the bars of his cell with his chest and Walt gripped his fists and ground his teeth. He was tired of Belko’s shit. “Are you talking back to me, Chapman?”

“No sir, just tryin’ to explain.”

“Listen hear you little shit.” Belko raised his fist and brought it down toward Chapman.

SMACK. That was the noise that was made as Belko’s fist smacked into Walt’s palm. He lowered the guards fist and looked him dead in the eyes, “Leave him alone”.

“Who the fuck do you think you are Day?” Belko shouted as he brought his free hand up toward Walt’s face, but he managed to block it.

Then came the club from one of Belko’s cronies that connected with the left side of his jaw that sent him staggering to the right. Then one to the back of his neck, another to the back of his leg that sent him crumbling to the ground, then a boot in the gut, then another, and another, and another. Chapman tried to intervene, but they had him pinned to the bars of the cell.

“Enough, Belko.” Warden Comstock’s voice echoed down the long corridor and left only silence in it’s wake. The bottom of his wingfeather tipped dress shoes clacked as he moved slowly toward them. He waved his hand at a few of the guards, “Get the rest of them out of here.”

When the rest of the prisoners were gone and it was just them, Comstock had two of the guards drag Walter to his feet. His face was beginning to swell from the baton and he could feel his body protesting every breath. Comstock stepped forward and grasped Walt’s chin with his fingers. He pushed up so that they were looking eye to swollen eye. The Warden’s eyes were a cold grey and the weathered wrinkles that recessed his face gave him the appearance of stone. “Walter, I don’t think you understand how severe the gravity of the situation you find yourself in. With Goldberg dead and not drawing attention to your case and with Commissioner Fitzsimmons wanting you to follow him, the noose has tightened around your neck. So, my advice to you is that you start being a good little inmate, capiche?”

Walt just stared into those cold grey eyes. This brought the back of Comstock’s hand into his already bruised face. “Do you understand me you worthless little fuck?”

Walter still didn’t speak, but this time it warranted instead a disdainful laugh as he wiped his hand on Walter’s shirt. “Go clean the bastard up and throw him out on the yard with all the others.”

The warden threw his hands around for emphasis and the guards dragged him off to the showers.

Borodin was silent that early morning, then again he was often quiet when he was around the other inmates in the prison. When they looked at him he was sure they thought so many things about him, and Borodin thought plenty about them. He was not so old that he was senile, not by a long shot, most of these poor bastards were nothing more then street thugs once upon a time, young punks who thought they were tough. That was the life of most of these men in this place, their stories shared and similar in a pot of lies and deceit. There were a few however that actually were not thugs, it was those inmates that Borodin had a bit more respect for, they were not here for rape or for shooting a gas station attendant or some act of animistic fashion, they were here because they were not afraid to test the boundaries of this bitter world. It was those few that were so much like Borodin, however regardless of his respect he did not talk to them, because honestly he was not here to acquire new friends, in fact he was for a lot more then that and not simply because he killed that pathetic woman raping bastard, no that was simply all part of the plan, but they didn't know that. They only ever knew what he wanted them to know, because they were stupid and misinformed puppets of a government system that could give a less of a shit. Borodin scoped around for a minute looking around the dirt yard of the court yard, as usual there was slim guard activity, probably walking around and torturing some of the prisoners again for wake up call, didn't matter much to Borodin anyways, pulling out a pack of Redwoods Borodin placed one between his lips and pulled out a match lighting it with his thumb, lighting the smoke he took a long drag off the cigarette and blew a smoke ring.

Borodin hated Redwoods but it was the only cigarette around this place, and he needed to be sure that his signals were received without the guards knowing any better about it. Almost like clock work a couple men walked up to him and slowly took a seat next to him and pulled out cigarettes of their own. Borodin slowly leaned back against the table he was sitting on and relaxed his back on the wall behind him and spoke to the men.

"Kakovy muzhchiny govoryat na vneshney my pochti gotovy ubiraytes' otsyuda?"

("What are the men saying on the outside are we almost ready to get the hell out of here?")

"Vse idet po planu, ser, oni ne govoryat, yeshche paru dney ili okolo togo, poka storony. Ochevidno, oni pobezhali v nemnogo koryagu."

("Everything is going according to plan sir, they say another couple days or so until hand. Apparently they ran into a bit of a snag.")

"Chto ty imeyesh' v vidu zagvozdka?"

("What do you mean a snag?")

"Vidimo koreytsy vse yeshche kislyy o tom, chto intsident s uchastiyem svoyego lidera umirayet na vashikh rukakh. Oni nastaivali dovol'no trudno v posledneye vremya, pytayas' privlech' nashe vnimaniye, za to, chto ya ne znayu. Yego ne sobirayus' byt' schastlivym Vot pereryv navernyaka ".

("Apparently the Koreans are still sour about that incident involving their leader dieing by your hand. They have been pushing pretty hard lately, trying to get our attention, for what I don't know. Its not gonna be a happy prison break thats for sure.")

"Chert koreytsev prosto ne znayu, kogda uyti. YA slyshal, chto odin iz ikh kruga sobak nakhoditsya v tyur'me zdes'. Vozmozhno, my dolzhny sdelat' primer nim, poka my vse yeshche zdes'. Chto yego imya ... Kho-Sop Chzhon yesli ya ne oshibayus' ".

("Damn koreans just don't know when to quit. I hear that one of their lap dogs is in prison here. Perhaps we need to make an example of him while we are still here. Whats his name... Ho-Seop Jeong if I am not mistaken.")

"Neuzheli on dazhe znal, chto eto, kto snyal svoyego bossa?"

("Does he even know it was who took down his boss?")

"Somnevayus', chto eto ser, on byl boleye korichnevogo sil'nyy vstrechnyy veter plyus-minus. On ne men'shuyu ugrozu v lyubom sluchaye, my mogli by legko poluchit' odin iz drugogo v tovarishchey, chtoby ubit' yego."

("Doubt it sir, he was more of a brown noser give or take. He is not much of a threat either way, we could easily get one of the other in mates to kill him.")

"Poluchit' T-Bone, chtoby sdelat' eto, on, kazhetsya, yest' chto-to protiv koreytsev v lyubom sluchaye. On naslazhdayetsya razryvaya konechnostey vyklyuchen, poetomu ona dolzhna byt' dovol'no gryaznym stsena, dostatochno, chtoby pokazat' te koreyskiye der'mo otstupit'."

("Get T-Bone to do it, he seems to have something against the Koreans anyways. He enjoys tearing limbs off, so it should be a rather messy scene, enough to show those Korean shits to back off.")

"Vy poluchili eto Mr.Borodin my poluchim v kontakte s nim i pursuade yego sdelat' eto."

("You got it Mr.Borodin we will get in contact with him and pursuade him to do it.")

"Khorosho teper' rasseivayut vy znayete Strazha staraya cocher, on mozhet zavoyevat' populyarnost'."

("Good now scatter you know the Warden is an old cocher, he might catch on.")

As the got up they casually threw their cigarettes to the ground and walked away in different directions to avoid suspicion and disappeared. Borodin got up silently and took another drag off the cigarette, he had not made it far however before he was approached by three men who were at least a head or so shorter then he was. All three of them were of Korean ethnicity, and they looked rather cold to Borodin and the way they looked at him made him think that they were not happy to see him. They all seemed to stare at him for a time, Borodin kept the eye contact, his eye's like stones baring in their eye's. It was a couple minutes before the one in the front of the other two decided to say anything.

"I know who you are Vasily Borodin, an I know what you did to our Leader, I never imagined that I would wake up today and be told that your Russian ass was here in prison this whole time. I would have never imagined a man like you would have gotten put in prison, but lets just say its all the more luck for me, because when I get out I will be a hero for wiping your ass off the face of planet."

Borodin took a last drag off the cigarette and blew the smoke straight into the Korean mans face making his eye's cringe slightly from the arid smoke. Tossing the cigarette to the ground Borodin crushed it under his shoe and looked at the Korean with a rather amused look on his face, giving out an bemused laugh Borodin looked at the Korean and spoke in a think deep Russian accented voice.

"If you don't stop threatening me the only thing your gonna be remembered for on the outside is that you got another Koreans head stuck up your ass hole. Do you truly believe that you can just walk up to me and kill me? Is that what your trying to say, because if you think that three against one is gonna really give you the upper hand your more stupid and deluded then I gave your kind credit for. Kkangpae died the way he lived, a pathetic little coward bitch, who was only good for stabbing someone in the back instead of facing them head on like my father was. I cracked his fucking neck with my bare hands after beating the hell out of him until he was crying for his life, he should be lucky I showed him mercy instead of preforming Zamochit on him."

The tension between Borodin and the three Koreans was now immensely high that was no doubt now, the three men were damn near red in the face from the things Borodin had just told them and honestly he hoped they were mad, their leader was no man, the way he killed Borodin s father was a cowards way, not the way of a respected man. He deserved to die with tears running down his cheeks while he begged for life. Thats why Borodin had no respect for the Korean Mob, because they were too afraid to face someone head on, they came out of the woodwork when the time was opportune and sneak attacked and then ran back into the woodwork waiting for the next opportunity, they had no honor. When the three Koreans all pulled shanks from their pants, the time for the inevitable scuffle was almost immediately at hand.

"Your gonna die you Russian scum, for Kkangpae! How dare you insult a great man like he was a dog!"

The time for talking was done now as the first of the Koreans rounded on Borodin with the sharp piece of metal, Borodin side stepped the angry Korean and grabbed him by the throat with and outstretched arm with a rather large hand and yanked him off his feet in one strong tug, in one move Borodin raised him in the air then slammed him onto the ground back first with a rather harsh cracked emitting from the Koreans back. Borodin brought his eyes to the other two Koreans who were looking from him to their brother who was now on the ground. The prison alarm suddenly blared then, the guards had already caught onto the fight that was now taking place, the last remaining Koreans were now aware their window was closing and lunged at Borodin together with the intent to kill him before the guard got there first. Borodin was quick and brought his hands up, he caught both of the Koreans together, each hand he held holding the sharp piece of metal, in one swift move Borodin twisted both of their arms breaking them with relative ease, and then he pulled them bodily together and smashed their skulls with each others in a bone cracking collision. As they fell to the ground the guards finally arrived armed with assault rifles pointing at Borodin.

"Down now Borodin!!!"

Borodin put his hands up and over his head as he slowly went to his knee's, there would be no point in fighting the guards it would only stand in the way off his escape in the next few days if he went into the hole for a month. Besides they knew the Koreans started it and he would be acquitted soon enough for defending himself. Borodin felt the sting of a baton smacking him in the back, falling to the ground he had a pair of cuffs slapped on his wrists behind him. He was bodily dragged up to his feet and then he was escorted away.

The metallic clanging sound of a nightstick beating upon the door of the solitary confinement cell compassionately known as 'The Hole' to the inmates of the Alderney State correctional facility was the first thing John heard that day, being awoken by none other than Officer Graeme. A disgusting example of the corruption in law enforcement, the patriotic American whom was in his late twenties and sported a thick, black-haired crew cut atop his youthful face. His baby blue eyes were quickly visible through The Hole's peephole as it slid open in order to allow the officer to see the inmate currently confined within. His eyes being met by the aged bluey-brown ones belonging to potentially one of the most dangerous and unstable criminals within the facility. His medium length dark brown hair was swept back, and held in place by the heaps of sweat generated from the Englishman's wrinkled forehead, with a deep sigh the man rolled over into a seated position as Officer Graeme opened the door to the cell.

"Oh what, is it time for our monthly picnic Officer?" Smith asked sarcastically from behind the most arrogant and cocky smile that had ever been seen on a human being. His accent being a blend of both Cockney and Estuary English accents and speaking patterns, as he chuckled lightly Graeme sighed deeply and began to speak. "Hardly. Today's the day your limey ass gets out of the hole, or did shit-for-brains forget?" He mocked, but struggling not to bear his teeth at Smith in disgust as the two men exchanged their conversation of concealed mutual hatred. But in an instant the officer's baton was raised up to the British Bulldog's teeth.

"I'm gonna escort you straight to the yard, you will have thirty minutes. After that you will report to Dr.Ramsay for your next psychological evaluation. Any more funny business like that stunt during the cons versus guards baseball game and I'll smash these fucking teeth of yours from your mouth. Are we clear?"

"Absolutely crystal mate, c'mon then, let's get cracking. Need to work on my tan you see." Smith joked as he stood up, being motioned to move forward by Graeme. But as he did so, the Englishman felt an incredibly sharp pain in his side as the bastard slammed his nightstick into his ribs. With a hefty groan and the severe buckling of his body to the right, John growled a little and continued to walk. Being prodded in the back of the head by Graeme's baton with every step of the journey from the solitary cells to the dirt-yard.

When the two men arrived, the young Texan gave John a shove forward and told him to 'get lost'. To which Smith quickly retorted by asking Graeme if he had a cigarette he could spare, stangely enough though, the Officer obliged for once and tossed the inmate a half empty pack of Redwoods. A lighter within the card packet. In a signal of thanks John gave a two fingered salute to the Officer and planted one of the classic American cigarettes inbetween his pursed lips, a large cloud of thick smoke bursting from his mouth moments later when the cigarette was lit. A small fireball engulfing the tip.

"Started to forget what you bastards taste like in there." He muttered to himself as he began to almost patrol around the yard, eventually finding himself by the courts within which many of the facility's African-American residents would spend their yard time playing basketball and discussing their lives on the outside. But there was a certain someone that 'Smithy' was waiting for.

"Fucking children," Hal Jeong sneered as he saw the three Korean men wheeled into the infirmary, broken into uselessness. The alarm had sounded, everyone had dropped to the floor as instructed. A major fight. And of course, it was his men that were being carried away. They must have gone up against the Russians. They might as well have gone and tried to punch the cement walls down.

"Bush league amateur hour bullshit. I'm tired of these no-account children thinking this macho street bullshit solves anything." He shook his head. "Wars inside turn into wars outside. We've had Cosa Nostra and the Dominicans, we don't need to add the Russians into the mix."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" the other man demanded. White, heavily-built, a tiny but detailed skull tattooed right in the middle of his forehead with a small 1%. Heroin and a rough lifestyle had taken a toll on the man, but he was still vigorous, powerful. And most importantly, he could be controlled. Billy Grey would claim otherwise, naturally, but he was relatively easy to manipulate. All it took was a little flattery.

"This where you come in, Mr. Grey," Jeong said, slipping a Redwood into the man's palm. All it cost for an audience inside was a cig or maybe a can of Sprunk. "I need you. You're respected, people listen to you in here," he lied shamelessly. It was mainly that the man was white. He could get up close to Borodin without being jumped immediately. If he failed as a go-between, Grey's beating or shanking was no skin off his nose. "I want you to go to Borodin whenever he's released from solitary and propose a truce, so we can sit down and talk things out. Like two responsible businessmen."

"What makes you so sure the Russkie is gonna listen?"

"He's not a stupid man. He knows there's no profit in this violence. Now, off you go," Jeong said, smiling as he put another Redwood behind the biker's ear. Grey grunted in annoyance, but sauntered off on his errand anyway.

Jeong nodded. Now, all he had to do was wait and see.

Borodin was silent as he sat in the small room with the guards, they almost seemed to not even care that he was sitting there as they talked lowly among themselves, probably deciding if they should follow protocol and throw him in solitary or make a deal with him. It was no big secret to many of the higher inmates that the guards were as slippery as oiled up snakes. An anyone who knew anything about the outside mobs, it was that Borodin was a higher up in the food chain in his respected group. That more often then not caused turmoil, one day a guard treats a high ranking mob member bad, next day the guards family is dead, they knew this better then anyone this is why they preferred to tread carefully around Borodin or any high ranking mob member. Some guards truly were not corrupt they just feared for their families and resorted to deal making then risk their families life. Borodin himself was not in the business of murdering woman and children, however they did not know that and in the end he was never going to say anything to them to ease their fear. It seemed like it took some time, but the guards finally finished muttering to each other and finally seemed to acknowledge that Borodin was sitting cuffed to the table. Looking at them he could see that knowing fear in their eye's, that was the fear of a man who was treading carefully, biting his tongue afraid to say the wrong thing. That was why Borodin spoke first, he would take an advantage of the fear.

"You both know that I did not start that scuffle in the yard, the shanks used against me was more then enough to prove that I was targeted. You both seem like knowledgeable young man, and if I were in your shoes I wouldn't want to condemn a Mob Lord a punishment that he does not deserve. The bigger picture states that its not worth the risk, not worth whats more... how do you say important in life..."

Both of the guards looked at each other swallowing a bit harder then they probably intended, they were both young perhaps twenty five to thirty range, the young ones were the easiest ones to scare. Borodin merely narrowed his icy cold gaze on the youngest looking guard and leaned backed in the chair as far back as the cuffs would allow, he spoke a little more towards the younger guard.

"All you really have to do is falsify the report a little bit, make it look like I was never there and that another inmate was involved, one of the wannabe street thugs who have no power. The Warden would never know any better, and honestly I don't think he would really care either way. You let me go, and I can guarantee you that there is no harm and no foul on your parts. Then again you can throw me in solitary where in I have all the time in the world to think about the reason I am relinquishing in a two by two cell and the men that were involved in it. Either way it goes the choice is up to you both."

***Moments later***

Borodin was silent as he entered through his open cell door, he looked around the small cell with a certain disgust, he hated being confined to such a place, it was like an insult to him that he should be here. But he knew the stakes better then anyone else, the real reason for his being here was more important then his own personal comfort, and he know the fresh air against soon enough so he would just play ball for a short time more. Walking over to the bolted down cot Borodin sat down, he had no inmate anymore thankfully, Borodin preferred a more solitary cell, that was part of the reason he nearly beat the young tattooed punk he had been sharing the cell with to death. He had earned a rather long stay in solitary confinement for that incident. But all in all the ends justified the means, it did not take Borodin long however to realize that someone was watching him from outside his cell, looking up he saw a rather mean biker type looking at him. Borodin narrowed his eye's at the man and gave him a rather cold gaze, however it did not seem to deter or scare the man off. Borodin let out a small audible sigh, there truly was no peace even for a few moments in this place.

"I imagine you have a reason for staring at me, so how about this, you tell me why your here and I won't tear your throat out and watch your blood paint the walls of this prison..."

"No need to get violent Russkie, I be only here to convey a message to you, that be it."

"Then convey it and leave..."

"The Korean man, Jeong I believe his name is, he wants to have a meeting with you to propose a truce of sorts. He say he wants to sit down like responsible business men and talk things out."

Borodin glared harder now at the Biker with a disgust that was clearly evident. The very mention of that brown noser set Borodins blood on fire, especially after that pathetic attempt at taking his life in the yard. An the Korean shit didn't even have the nerve to come to Borodin himself and propose the meeting between them, that was a great insult in itself. Borodin got up from his bunk and slowly walked to the biker and walked outside his cell ducking the low overhang and took a look around the cell block, there was no guards lurking near by. Before the man could even react Borodin launched his fist hard and struck him off guard right in the stomach, the man not expecting the blow collapsed back and hit the ground, he coughed up some blood as it splattered the floor beside him.

"You seem to be a good little lap dog, delivering messages for the Korean mob fold, so here is my answer. You crawl back to Jeong and tell him that if he wants to have a meeting with me then he will not send a grunt to propose to me. If he truly wants to talk with me then he will come himself, because I do not consort with a go between. An also be sure to tell him if those Korean thugs or any of his men try to attack me again ill preform Zamochit on him personally, and these guards won't save him."

Borodin turned his back on the man and walked back into his cell he felt no further need to speak with the man. Sitting back on his bunk Borodin merely set his eye's back on the man he had punched, if he was stupid enough to try and counter attack him then Borodin would be happy to put him in the infirmary.

The afternoon sun beat down on the prison yard of Alderney State Correctional Facility, but offered little in the way of warmth as the temperature was beginning to go down under the weight of the oncoming winter. Walter pulled the burnt orange jacket that had his prisoner number emblazoned upon it’s left breast closer to his body in a failed attempt to ward off a breeze as it cut through him. He took a seat on a bench across the way from the basketball court and started scanning the faces of the other inmates.

When Walter had first been incarcerated coming close to four years ago, the prison yard left Walter’s stomach all knotted up and for good reason: it had been his investigative work as a journalist for the Liberty Tree that had put a lot of the men that ran the prison’s criminal element there in the first place. They didn’t know that, though. To them he was just another murderer, another lunatic, another person to avoid and that was just the way Walter liked it.

His eyes first fell on the towering frame of Gerald McCreary, who until a matter of months ago had been the head of the Irish mob in Liberty City. The giant brushed a hand over his head of red hair and then turned his grey eyes on him and a smirk broke out on his goateed face. McCreary nodded his head to the left and Walt looked to see the Brit was staring at him from the bleachers by the basket ball courts. McCreary had a long running joke that the Brit wanted to make Walt his bitch, but Walter could tell from the Brit’s gaze that that wasn’t it.

“Aye Walt.” At the sound of Chapman’s raspy voice he broke the Brit’s gaze and turned to the old man who squinted through his thick lenses as he took a seat on the bench next to him. “I’m sorry I got you knocked around back there, but thanks for having my back.”

“You know it’s not your fault, Karl. Belko’s always looking for a reason to pull his baton on me and I just thought it’d be nice to give him a reason.”

Walter looked back to the bleachers, but the Brit wasn’t there anymore. He turned back to Chapman who had started to grown on him over the past couple of years. The old man had been one of the most notorious bank robbers in Liberty City before technology caught up with him. He was used to corporate banks who had greeters that gave you coffee and donuts at the front door, security footage that was so grainy he rarely ever wore a mask, and handing the clerks a note then just having the money handed to him, but in the late 90’s that had all changed. When the greeters were changed out for armed guards he was able to manage by toting around a 9mm, when the security footage was able to make out his nose hairs he just started wearing his mask to every heist, when the vaults got more sophisticated he managed by learning how they work, but after a major hit he found himself in the Triangle with a bag of money that started making noises and shooting out a bright neon cloud of smoke. He chunked the money and managed to flag down a cab, but was tracked down and was ID’d for a few of his previous heists. And thus, he found himself rotting away in the Alderney State Correctional Facility for the past ten years with another twenty five to go. He had reformed his ways and was trying to get out early on good behavior, but his chances were looking grim.

“I know, I know, but sti-Aye, Aye, fuck, it’s that fucking weird-as-fuck-pond-hopping-son-of’a-bitch.” Chapman started shifting his eyes and looking down as Walter looked over his shoulder to see the Brit was sauntering towards them.

"'Alright lads, how you doin'?" John asked with a confidence to his voice and a crooked smile that only seemed to affect the right-hand side of his face as he approached, quickly vaulting the backrest of the bench and taking the seat between Chapman and Walter. He had always been particularly fond of the two men next to him, though for entirely different reasons. Chapman, because he kind of got off on how brilliantly intimidated the robber was of him, but Walter...He was one of the few on the inside that John Smith deemed to be both a trustworthy and potentially useful asset. "Cigarette? Either of ya? Cos I've got a proposition, and you may want one of these by the time I'm done."

"I'm fine." Chapman's voice didn't shutter with fear or intimidation at the Brit's presence, but the way the old man's brown eyes shifted around behind his coke bottle frames Walter guessed that it was a feeling of awkwardness that grasped Chapman. And for good reason, John Smith had such a nonchalant air about him that it was bound to make any normal person feel uncomfortable and out of place.

John was holding out his pack of Redwoods toward Chapman with two already sticking out from the tinfoil at the top and he moved the box toward Walter who simply looked from the pack and into Smith's cocky face. "I don't smoke and I don't listen to propositions from criminals either."

Jeong had received the summons from an understandably upset Grey, smoothed his ruffled feathers with a pack of Redwoods. The man had done his job, he had earned them. Ignoring his complaints, Jeong set out for Borodin's cell for the sit-down. Despite his. . . bellicose manner, Borodin had agreed to talk. If it was a trap and Jeong was shanked to death, then so be it. But the fighting would end there. His men would come out alright. That was the important part.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," he said without preamble or greeting as he stepped into Borodin's cell. He had come alone and unarmed. He was a businessman, and that meant certain conventions had to be observed. "I apologize for sending an intermediary first, but you understand that was for everyone's safety. I wanted you to know I was not coming to attack and I wanted your assurances. Consider Mr. Grey a white flag."

"Now, to business. That unpleasantness in the yard- that was in contradiction to my very explicit orders. You and your men were to be unmolested. Instead, these idiots let youthful high spirits get in the way." Jeong sighed. "They did not see the big picture. They have been punished for their insubordination. It's strange how injudicious some orderlies in the infirmary can be, especially when it comes to administering painkillers. Those three men are due to be buried in the potter's ground shortly. I'm sure the service will be very moving."

"With that, I hope we may put this fruitless bloodshed behind us and reach some sort of compromise. A deal, as it were, to keep our organizations on the outside profitable. So, Mr. Borodin, let me put this to you. I have numerous connections in Laos and Vietnam. They provide me and me alone with genuine, top-shelf Golden Triangle opium. Here in the United States, specifically Alderney, my people cut it into high-quality heroin. And now, the train stops there, sadly." Jeong sighed. "We have been plagued with bad luck, Mr. Borodin. We have heroin, warehoused and ready to go. And we have no one to sell it. Fighting the Italians and the Dominicans has left us critically understaffed, our street dealers have been unceremoniously gunned down."

Jeong smiled once more. "Do you see the merits of this proposition, Mr. Borodin? We wholesale product to you, at a price both of us can agree upon, and your people bring the street profits directly back to you. Think of me as a rancher who sells beef to Bleeders," the Korean chuckled.

"Thank you for hearing me out, Mr. Borodin. Please, give my proposal some thought. You know where to find me- after all, neither of us are going anywhere."