Prologue, Two years from the present.
Sylvester Silenziatore
The smell of smoke was nothing new to Sylvester, particularly the gunsmoke. Fireworks were going off, but the smoke he smelt was something new.. It was a long time coming, twenty-one and of legal drinking age. If drinking was ever legal, the government had claimed alcohol the most vile toxin to communities alike. How funny, he thought. The most toxic portion here in all of Fiumerio were these so called "Holy Men" of the Church, and the recoil was all that Sylvester felt aside to slight elation. Opening fire in a church was seen dominantly as a sort of vile deed universally, but Sylvester didn't care. He dressed up in priest robes to make a mockery of it all and then some, but took care for any civilians aside to the targets assigned. He didn't really question it, he was told to do it and he was getting paid.
So why were these men getting killed? Simple. They're business rivals, and they definitely didn't know what hit them. The repeated sound of .45 ACP shells hitting the floor.. The sounds of a cavity exploding through those shots and controlled recoil. The running of churchgoers and staff alike, and the staff being carefully gunned down if they were in the crowd. Collateral never ran well with Sylvester himself, but occasionally it does happen through a few misguided citizens tackling someone down and shielding them. Nothing personal, he thought. If they were going to get in his way, they'd surely perish. He just wanted to wrap this up quick. After the chaos had quickly subsided with a good amount of corpses, he unlatched the drum from the Thompson. The drop to the floor was the only thing heard, he pulled out the second drum and attached it with a satisfying click. He took the first and stowed the empty portion in the right side of the robe, wouldn't want his fingerprints to be seen after all. He took a few steps.
"Stop there, please.." was the words to actually get him to dead stop. Although after hearing it and discerning where it was, he vaulted foot first over a shot up pew. He landed on the speaker down in the steps to the basement, and drove him to the wall. He recklessly tossed up his Thompson and drew his seven-shot .44 revolver. He landed on his feet shortly after and caught the Thompson. Sylvester shook his head, noting: "Now why'dya have t'go and say that? I was here completely unawares, ya could've got d'drop on me an' finished me off.." He brought the clergyman up and kicked him against the wall, twisting his elbow and landing a shot to the man's leg. Crippling was the best part to temporarily stop an instant retaliation, and Sylvester stowed away the .44 and opened fire with the Thompson as the man recovered. The ratatatat has echoed in the silent church, breaking holes into the door and tearing it down with the man. "Knock knock, exterminator's calling t'take out some dirty rats. Also after your personal livestock and laundered money, if you'd please."
Now there's where the fun began.. He fired, taking out the man who was previously whipping a poor lass to intimidate the others to keep quiet, because the police would be here at any moment. The man dropped his pistol and it discharged as a result, thankfully hitting no one. The firing sounds had only served to put more fear into the "livestock" the "good" people of the church had, although Sylvester pointed the Thompson at them. "Don' move an inch, and you'll be fine. I'm here to save you in some regards, although more or less it'd be remiss of me to call it th'truth. Despite my clothes; I am no good member of th'Church here like these gentlemen have offered to be. I'm here to allow for a business proposition. You can go free, but not rat me out once you know who I am. You can forget what happened, and wait here for the cops.. Or: you can join me and my own little group and continue your little work with some quarters, and some established pay." A transition was what he was truly offering them, but he wouldn't mind letting them go free in claiming that they were held hostage and killed.
"But sir." One of the "livestock" had asked. "Where would we be able to go?" Sylvester's only response was a grin. "So, dere's dis place down yonder past downtown a li'l. It's called The Pride or whadever, and there's a man with flamin' red hair. He'll put ya t'more legal work. Othawise, if y'wanna continue doin' what ya did, fine by me. Just not for dese folk. For dose that do, come with me. The rest of ya? Yer free t'go. 'less you have more info to give.." He lowered his Thompson as the "livestock" had covered their ears, he pointed them away, and then fired a hole in the concrete. "H'ohkay, we're ready! All of ya, gedaway from dat wall if ya wanna keep ya parts!" Outside, the police that had responded and set up a perimeter would hear an explosion. Sylvester barked out orders to his new "friends". "Over d'rubble! Through and out, cover y'noses if they're sensitive!" He ditched the priest get up and wrapped a bandanna over his mouth, and was the first to make his way out. "An' if dose cops come after us, I know exactly who t'kill! Thank you, and good night!"
Those that made their escapade with him, did. Those that didn't, remained behind. Although they did take note of the professional's words.