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Tipsy Shapeshifter

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`XXXDRUMMING NOISEINSIDE MY HEADAN ALMIGHTY SOUND.
XXXXXXXX ℓσυ∂єя тнαη ѕιяєηѕ ▫ ℓσυ∂єя тнαη вєℓℓѕ ▫ ѕωєєтєя тнαη нєανєη -αη∂ нσттєя тнαη нєℓℓ

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EMRICK TYCHON ANTEOLLI
████████████ syndicate m e m b e r ▒▒▒▒▒



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                                                    New kid on the block makes his first attempt at making peace.

                                                    Shut down in one.

                                                    Emrick was one of two things. The first, most predominant trait was that he rarely took offense. Bitterness and harsh words rolled off him like chunks of ice over a hot surface. His temper existed as a slow burning kiln, which, given something to start him up, could reach extreme temperatures in very little time. Excited explosions of emotion didn't suit him. That led to the second of two things: Emrick could try the same tactics over and over, from different angles, undeterred, until he found the correct means to accomplishing his goal.

                                                    In this case, a little of both kept him steady under the less than stellar responses from Logan. Then again, he'd set himself up for failure, in a way. Apologizing? He had nothing to do with producing that snide little comment from the Boss. Okay, that wasn't entirely true. It was his job to get on the good side of the individuals that ran the Syndicate. It was his duty to gain their trust, figure out their plans, their motives, their identities, and later hand over the bulk of it to his superiors. He would put up with just about anything to give the city, and those innocents that were its citizens, peace.

                                                    But maybe he was trying too hard in this case. So, as Logan answered his phone, Emrick wordlessly collected the second bag of refuse and followed along as he'd done since the beginning. The night was in its darkest hours and the cold had sunk in to the bones of Chicago. Bright white clouds slipped like steam from Emrick's lips as he trudged in the direction of the trash bins. His thoughts were not on the starry sky or the scant clouds keeping in whatever warmth the environment hadn't already given up. Nor did he listen to the howling and grunts of the dogs kept on the property, although even they were quieter than normal. Cold and hunger would do that to an animal, he guessed. No, his thoughts revolved around Logan. Whoever had called him, the man hadn't answered in any form of pleasure. Like before, his memory procured the single sentence Jo had whispered into his ear at the bar.

                                                    A cop was gunned down at home and no one saw anything.

                                                    Professional hit. In and out, clean as a whistle.

                                                    Logan specialized in that department.

                                                    With a low grunt, Emrick tossed his bag into the correct trash bag. He didn't ask when he took the other bag from Logan and did the same, eyes averted to the snow and the surroundings. Replacing the lid, he dusted his hands (one at a time, given he still had the cupcake) on the back of his dark-wash jeans and wondered, just briefly, how many cops would die while he took out the trash for the gang responsible? Bristling a hand through his two-toned hair, Ric tried not to answer that question. He only wanted one number, and that was probably, almost definitely, impossible.

                                                    Since Logan was occupied, he began a slow removal of the cupcake's little wrapper. He was close enough that when the person on the other end spoke, he could tell it was male. Aside from that, and how long the answer was, he had no idea who'd call Logan at this time of night. Shark-like eyes stared at the gunman, unwavering, steady with a calm composure that held only polite, distant curiosity.




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¤ Logan xxx¤ sad thoughts are sad xxx¤ outside HQ xxx¤ melancholy/ disturbedxxxxxxxxx
squidip's avatar

Nerd

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              ◦◦◦ . »»»»»» .ℓσgαи.м.кσмαяσνѕкιι.
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              My Location :: HQ
              Who I am with :: Emrick
              What's on my mind :: ...
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              xxxxx⊱I'm not the one wasting my time⊰


                  . S O . D O S E. ME . U P . . . . .. .
                  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxO N C E . I S . N O T . E N O U G H. . . . . .  .

                    __
                    x. i . c a n . s t i l l --. s e e .t h e ..g r o u n d ..-- f r o m . t h i s . h i g h . r i s e .. v e i w. , . l o o k i n ' . , . d o w n.. o n .. y o u . . . .

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                                  Logan’s lids drooped carelessly as he dragged the rubbish behind him. He kept an eye on his current companion, though he was preoccupied listening to Kalas jump down his throat on the other end of the phone line.

                                  He wasn’t a particularly excitable man, unless provoked he pretty much kept to himself. He would have had a considerably boring life if not for his particular line of work. He didn’t catch on quick to other people’s actions or gestures; it took Logan a surprising amount of concentration to pick up on certain emotions other than his own. Regardless, Emrick seemed to have his head around it, and Logan didn’t have even a slight suspicion about the lacky, for the time being.

                                  As Kalas continued to chew him out, his self-control slipped and an entertained little grin grew across his frost bitten face. He let out a small sniffle, giving up the trash bag to Emrick. He wasn’t even given the chance to play coi. Obviously in the detective’s mind he already had enough probable cause to arrest and book Logan straight into jail, but really, Kalas didn’t have a dime on him. Logan was clean and careful, taught by the best to do the best and he seriously considered himself just that.

                                  “Isn’t a little late for coffee, Detective?”
                                  He replied smoothly, tucking his free hand into his dress pants front pocket. This was a game, and from the rise he was receiving from the officer on the other end Logan could consider it a fun game. He knew Kalas didn’t like speaking to him, and that was what really fed Logan to continue to taunt the man. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon…” Logan then managed a dull yawn, letting his phone snap shut. Snow began to fall thicker now, what had melted in Logan’s hair was now refreezing slowly, bringing his body to a slight shiver. He considered for a moment, going back in the building to retrieve his coat and scarf, but he was still sore about the whole ‘replacement’ joke made earlier.

                                  He continued to space out for a few more moments before looking back at his Syndicate brother, “Up for a late night drive?” He asked, figuring the idea of going alone could be dangerous; besides, someone had to break the Lacky into the actual business. Emrick wouldn’t be stuck with cleaning duty and making coffee runs forever.







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______Not the debt doctor with the hungry scalpel.

____Here's my prognosis: will they live?

__________DOUBTFUL.


________You're the street physician, carving flesh sculptures.

___Paint your a** like Rembrandt!

_______Ha, you like-a that?


_____________Better start praying when you see him coming.

__'Cause tonight it's curtains!



You're the Night Surgeon!



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxT r i s t a n M c D o w e l l


Tristan's blood was pumping hot and heavy through his veins as he approached the address in his hand. Devon had told him to show up at "HQ" at quarter past midnight on New Year's night. And there he was, approaching it like a dumb blind fool without any question. This was probably a bad idea... a really bad idea. What if he was walking into a trap? What if this was an enemy from back home luring him to his death? That seemed improbably considering the distance between Houston and Chicago, but still... the thought was enough to unnerve the broad-shouldered man as he walked closer and closer to the building. He could see it through the flurry of snow just ahead, and his own anxiety kept him distracted from the biting cold. There he was, a country boy from the Piney Woods of Texas, neck-deep in this frozen wasteland known as Chicago and about to plunge his willy into a hornet's nest.

Figures.

He paused at the side door he'd been instructed to wait at, swallowing hard as he looked at the frozen side of the brick building. There were people in there that would possibly change his life, and he was about to dive head first into it all without a passing thought. He shouldn't have come. He should have kept his bumpkin a** in Houston and stuck to what he was good at. No. Can't think like that. These bastards could smell fear. He needed to play it cool, and hopefully he would walk out with an awesome job that would finally get him out of the slums. Worse came to worst, he could go back to Sharpstown. No. No, he wouldn't do that. He'd come too far to just tuck his tail and run. He was gonna go through with it, and he was gonna be a man. With a hard swallow and a deep breath to steady himself he rapped his frozen knuckles on the metal door, pounding four hard knocks into the hard metal and wincing with every slam. God, how did the people of this city deal with being this cold!?



        I remember every dying whisper, every desperate murmur.
        I remember when I gaze upon her... she looks just like you.
        I remember, I remember...
        I remember marking every v i c t i m with acute precision.
        I remember every time I hold you, my blunt companion.
        When I remember... I D I S M E M B E R !
        ‘Cause the claims medic uses no anesthetic;
        90 days delinquent gets you repo treatment.
        I'm the masked HORROR on your street corner.
        Make your mama mourn ya...
        I ' m t h e N i g h t S u r g e o n !
Lady_Red_Death's avatar

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Ƚ ocation: Outside Merchants HQ
Ӎ ood: Slightly on edge
Ͼ ompany: Tristan
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♔ ♕ ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ ♚ ♛ ♜ ♝ ♞ ♟
Raphael was down the street when four loud knocks brought him out of his tumbling thoughts. He slowly turned, finishing his cigarette and crushing it as he looked down the mostly barren street. One hand on his gun, his narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the figure rapping on the door in the snow so late at night. They were looking for new muscle and Raphael had a sneaking suspicion this may have been him.

His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way back to HQ. He was half tempted to light up another cigarette, but he wanted to keep his spare hand free, just in case this turned ugly. He was a few feet away when he stopped, a calculated, but still kind smile crossed his face. "It is awfully cold tonight, is it not?" He said, his voice charismatic and level. He tugged off his black and grey scarf, holding it forward in his gloved hand. "If you are really cold, wear this. I have a feeling we might be out here for a few more minutes." His other hand tightened around his gun, ready to shoot if the need called for it. His body did not betray this fact. He seemed every inch a kind but well off man, walking the streets on new year's eve.


♔ ♕ ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ ♚ ♛ ♜ ♝ ♞ ♟

We are all but pawns in a unbeatable game of chess. The kings are bribed, the queens get laid, and the knight is left under paid.

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Ѻ Ѻ Ͽ: ZOMG, REPO!!!
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______Not the debt doctor with the hungry scalpel.

____Here's my prognosis: will they live?

__________DOUBTFUL.


________You're the street physician, carving flesh sculptures.

___Paint your a** like Rembrandt!

_______Ha, you like-a that?


_____________Better start praying when you see him coming.

__'Cause tonight it's curtains!



You're the Night Surgeon!



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxT r i s t a n M c D o w e l l


[ :D! ] // The large man shrank into his jacket as much as physically possible, folding his hands under his upper arms in an effort to keep them from going numb. If he didn't manage to find someone soon he was half tempted to go find a motel and come back the next day. But the guy from the Syndicate had been very clear: "If you don't show up at this exact time at this exact location they'll think you're a flake and the entire operation will be shot before it starts". Those Syndicate guys seemed like real pieces of work. Definitely the type Tristan didn't want to piss off his first week in a new state. So he'd wait for as long as he physically could, even if it means losing feeling in his far extremities.

He ran through his story in his head as he waited, making sure he had every exact detail down. "Shark sent you on a protection errand for a shipment of stolen electronics coming in from Harlem. You managed to shake down the delivery men for a few busted boxes and got the entire product for free just because you broke a few of their noses." It wasn't an entirely untrue story. That same scenario had been one of the nights he and Sweetcheeks became close associates back in Sharpstown. In all truth, it had been Tristan that thought up his cover story. And since it really did happen, he ran less of a risk of flubbing details or showing any signs he was telling a false story. The more believable a lie is, the easier it is to believe it yourself, and the easier it is to sell to other people. Con Man 101.

The sound of an approaching voice jerked Tristan from his thoughts rather violently, index finger jumping to the panic button on the switchblade attached to his wrist. It wasn't much, and he did have a .38 tucked into the folds of his coat, but he was much faster with a blade than he was at drawing a gun. He was big enough to take a bullet, open a throat, and get out of the area. But this guy didn't have a weapon... at least, not one readily available. Not wanting to give the stranger any reason to think he was anxious or armed, he nodded in response to the question with a quiet chuckle. "Yessir it is. I don't see how city folk live in this kind of weather." He made no point to hide his Southern drawl, hoping if this was the guy he was supposed to meet any subtle hint as to who he was would expedite the process of getting out of the snow. He took the scarf with a grateful nod, throwing it around his neck until everything from his lower lip down was covered. It was immensely difficult to read body language through winter wear, and any attempt Tristan made to get a feel for the male before him was fruitless. He kept his hazel eyes sharp but friendly, waiting for the approaching male to make the first move.



        I remember every dying whisper, every desperate murmur.
        I remember when I gaze upon her... she looks just like you.
        I remember, I remember...
        I remember marking every v i c t i m with acute precision.
        I remember every time I hold you, my blunt companion.
        When I remember... I D I S M E M B E R !
        ‘Cause the claims medic uses no anesthetic;
        90 days delinquent gets you repo treatment.
        I'm the masked HORROR on your street corner.
        Make your mama mourn ya...
        I ' m t h e N i g h t S u r g e o n !
Kanekicase's avatar

Bookish Challenger

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I hate my work, but I'm in control
I'm fearless now, but it cost my soul
Save yourselves, the moon is full
Under its power, gravitational pull
Blood red lips, they shake like leaves

.....................................................................................Abel J. Caeg Caeg
.....................................................................................Abel J. Caeg

        The TV was flickering in the living room, the volume a low hum of noise. Abel wasn’t paying full attention to it from where he was perched on a stool, at the dining room table. Every so often, he would glance up from the papers laid out on the table, pick up his cup of tea and turn his attention to it. With the countdown to New Years now over, the channel had gone back to road conditions, weather and petty crime. He finished going through the final sheets of paper when it caught his attention again, a shooting, one that seemed rather important.

        He shuffled all of the papers into a pile and turned on his stool to face the television, feeling dread fill him when the anchor woman said a cop had been shot. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind where it led back to, not here, not in Chicago. There were few professionals in town that would pull a job like that, especially in that territory. He felt his stomach drop as he turned off the television.

        He threw all of his papers into his bag and dropped his moleskin in beside them all. All his lists business transactions and business contacts; fencers, appraisers, sellers and buyers; were in the book. He kept careful track of everything, written in so many books, but the one with all of his contacts was the only one he ever took with him. He grabbed his parka hanging on the back of his chair and pulled it on, as well as a scarf. If he was going to go to headquarters, he was going to be warm as he made his way there. He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and then started out of his apartment and outside to his car.

        He lit up a cigarette as he waited for his car to heat up enough that he could drive. He had no worries with driving in the snow, which was now falling even harder than it had been before. Abel wasn’t sure what his next job for the Syndicate was going to be, when he got in or what he was going to be doing. His phone was a heavy weight in his pocket, one that could go off and call him somewhere else in an instant, end everything, make him realize that it was all going to s**t. He started the car up and drove.

        When Abel made it to the warehouse, he jumped out of the car with his things and locked up his vehicle. He dropped the end of his cigarette into the snow, his fingertips chilled from the cold. He slid his hands into the pockets of his parka as he walked from his car to headquarters. He made his way into the building on quick feet, ready to get out of the cold. He moved down the hall into the main room, not sure what he was going to be expecting.


The Broker............................................................................


Where? // HQ
Doing? // Work
TL/DR: // Saw the news and heading into HQ
OOC: // Here, have a ridiculously simple layout and what are first posts? orz


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Holy Fail Cakes's avatar

Fashionable Lunatic

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I n e e a R I N K or two make that a F E W I ain't W A I T I N G
Gonna forget my trouble
Gonna forget my trouble Gonna forget my trouble
Gonna forget my trouble Gonna forget my trouble Gonna forget my trouble
Gonna forget my trouble Gonna forget my trouble Gonna forget my trouble
N O T gonna s t r e s s for N O T H I N G I'm feeing quite a l r i g h t
xxxxx )) Don't C A R E who's A R O U N D me I can r u l e the WORLD
So hands up, catch the feeling, there's no stop in this So hands up, catch the feeling, there's no stop in this
Right
N O W in this moment I can R U L E the W O R L D

                                  Mizuko watched as the two left outside. A rather non happy look upon his face. He didn't like secrets from other people and he was sure that Logan was talking to that good for nothing cop. He had already imagined how he was going to kill Logan if he were to screw anything up with him. The new kid as well, he didn't need two Logans for he could barely handle the one he had.
                                  "I know it was Logan you dip s**t." He said looking over to Felix. He was all alone with him. He may die tonight...

                                  "Anything that goes on in this damn city that cop is always going to show his face. Even for some randomized crime that had nothing to do with us. We will always have the finger pointed at us for everything. Which is fine with me." He said getting a cup of coffee and plopping a seat next to Felix. "I'm ready to chop his damn fin-" He blinked for a moment and turned his head to see who had come back into the base.

                                  It was his good little broker. He was always such a fresh face to see. "Ah, good evening Abel! So nice of you to come in." He greeted him before turning back to Felix. "Do me a favor and send the Merchants a happy new year? It's been so long since we last talked to our friends."



OOC:ERMERGERD
Company:Retards
Location:Base
GoCloud!'s avatar

Tipsy Cleric

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      User Image
                                                                          x x x x x x x ץσυиɢ נαє αни
                                                                          x x x x x x x x x x x x the New Partner
                                                                          ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇
                                                                          x x x x x x x x x x Can you tell me . . .
                                                                          x x How can one miss . . .
                                                                          x x x x x x What you never had . . ?

                                                                          x x x x x x ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
                                                                          x How could I reminisce,
                                                                          x x x x x x x x x When there is no past?


                                                                          x x x x How could I have memories,
                                                                          x x x x x x x Of being happy . . .
                                                                          x x x x x x x x x x With you boy?

                                                                          x x x x x x ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
                                                                          x x x || Where should I go..? x || Somewhere out on the streets.
                                                                          x x x x x x || I feel fine. x || No One


                                                                          Can someone tell me x x Can someone tell me x x Can someone tell me
                                                                          x x How can this be? x How can this be? x How can this be? x How can this be?

                                                                          ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇

                                                                            x x How could my mind pull up incidents . . .
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                                                                                "B-Bring the boys out..." He quietly mumbled the lyrics to himself, listening to the music that played from his ipod and out of his headphones. Not that long ago, the people in this city were celebrating a new year. Another year gone, only to be replaced by a new one. It also seemed to give off a new sense of hope, determination, and even strength to some people. It was..enjoyable for the first few minutes. Fireworks were going off everywhere, people were cheering, laughing, talking, and just...having a good time. For him, he had happily enjoyed the fireworks but now he was just sitting there, bundled up in his jacket and listening to his headphones. He was sitting on the rooftop, staring up at the sky with blank eyes as he continued to mouth the words of the song that he was currently listening to. He was daydreaming at the moment. Daydreaming of still being in Korea with his family. Daydreaming of what would have happened if he had never left. Snapping out of it, he sighed. It was better this way. They were getting money at least, so it was helping them along. Even if he was technically doing something illegal, it was worth it, right? Plus...it wasn't all that bad. It was quite an interesting thing he was involved in.

                                                                                Standing up, he noticed that the song had changed. Looking at the ipod that was still within his hand, he smiled a bit. "As the snow begins to fly..above the smokey smokey sky..." He began humming the rest as he walked over to the edge of the building. Placing his ipod into the pocket of his coat, he placed his hands onto the railing and leaned forward, looking down at the ground. He watched the many lights of the city still shining brightly despite the time. Many people were still out and about. Many different sounds were still flying around. He sighed and pushed himself away from the edge. Placing his hands into his pocket, he looked around a bit before heading back into the building. It took him about five or ten minutes before he finally made his way to the ground level and was outside. The building he had been at was where his father's friend lived. Young Jae had come to visit the man before deciding to go up to the roof and sitting around for a bit. Walking down the sidewalk, he bumped into quite a couple of people whom were drunk and yelling at him to watch where he was going. It didn't phase him all that much, but he still apologized to them to make sure that no trouble stirred.

                                                                                He was a police officer, or well..actually he was a newly assigned detective. It was maybe two or three days ago that he had just become a detective? Or was it longer than that. He couldn't remember. It didn't really matter all that much. At least he could find out useful information this way. It may all be just an act, but it was still important for him to make sure that he didn't fail his assigned task. That meant avoiding trouble and keeping eyes off of him. Well...that's what he thought anyway. Taking out his cellphone, he thought for a moment. Should he call his partner and tell him happy new years? Probably not. He would prefer to tell him in person. It would be the same thing with his boss. Putting his cell phone away, he looked around a bit. There were still a lot of people out, obviously still celebrating the new year. Young Jae stopped, looking down at the sidewalk. "Do do do do do do... Kissing you baby..." Some of the people around him looked at him weirdly as they passed by. He didn't care. He just....wanted to figure out where to go at the moment.
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                                                                          x x Recall dates and times . . .
                                                                          x x x x x x x x That never happened.
                                                                          x x x x x How could we . . .
                                                                          x x Celebrate a love that's too late . . .

Lady_Red_Death's avatar

Eloquent Lunatic

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Ƚ ocation:
Ӎ ood:
Ͼ ompany:
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♔ ♕ ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ ♚ ♛ ♜ ♝ ♞ ♟
Raphael took a moment to size up the man in front of him. He, himself wasn't too short, standing a proud 5'11", and was every bit the charismatic leader a group like the Merchants needed. He will be the first to admit his own personal acts were more white color crime than the rest of his company, and he's never really had the need to be the one on the street corner pushing the drugs. He signed deals, made sure they went through, and rewarded those whom deserved to be rewarded. He rarely saw the drugs and arms that his gang trafficked through the city, like rats with disease.

"Not from around here then?" He asked, cupping his own chin with his free hand, tapping slightly with his index finger. "You are aware what part of town you're in, correct?" He let the question hang between them, the deciding factor if this man was the one referred to by his colleges earlier. He felt no need to keep his hand on the gun, for if this man wanted him dead at the moment, he probably would have been already. Plus, killing the boss of a crime ring in front of their HQ, was probably the most stupid move a person could make. So he was not worried. Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he lit it, inhaling deeply. He looked at Tristan, motioning with his lighter as if to ask the male if he wanted one.


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We are all but pawns in a unbeatable game of chess. The kings are bribed, the queens get laid, and the knight is left under paid.

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______Not the debt doctor with the hungry scalpel.

____Here's my prognosis: will they live?

__________DOUBTFUL.


________You're the street physician, carving flesh sculptures.

___Paint your a** like Rembrandt!

_______Ha, you like-a that?


_____________Better start praying when you see him coming.

__'Cause tonight it's curtains!



You're the Night Surgeon!



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxT r i s t a n M c D o w e l l


The tone of the other man's voice settled Tristan's nerves considerably. He wasn't an open threat. Besides, if he was in the right place he was standing in front of a mob headquarters. If this man was one on the inside, he wouldn't be dumb enough to pull something stupid right in front of his group's center of operations. The further away the cops stayed, the better. They didn't need any reason to give the pigs a reason to come sticking their giant snouts into stuff that wasn't their business. He shook his head at the man's question, reaching into his pocket for a small leather and metal case that contained his own cancer sticks. "I know it smells like sewer rot and hookers," he joked, hoping a little humor would lighten the mood and not result in him getting plugged just for the hell of it.

"No, I'm not. I'm from just about as far as you can get from this place." He let his eyes drift around the street for a moment before they returned to the man before him, still unwilling to leave him out of direct sight for more than a split second just in case things weren't as kosher as he would have liked to hope. He found his case after a moment of digging in his coat pockets, careful not to shift his pistol too much as he extracted it and pulled out a cigarette. "My name's Tristan," he added, extending the gloved hand that wasn't lighting his cigarette with a Zippo that had been magnetically stuck to the back of his smoke case. This was it. The moment of truth. They had said his name was already in with their higher-ups, so if dropping it didn't get him in nothing would.



        I remember every dying whisper, every desperate murmur.
        I remember when I gaze upon her... she looks just like you.
        I remember, I remember...
        I remember marking every v i c t i m with acute precision.
        I remember every time I hold you, my blunt companion.
        When I remember... I D I S M E M B E R !
        ‘Cause the claims medic uses no anesthetic;
        90 days delinquent gets you repo treatment.
        I'm the masked HORROR on your street corner.
        Make your mama mourn ya...
        I ' m t h e N i g h t S u r g e o n !
Lady_Red_Death's avatar

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Ƚ ocation: Outside HQ> Inside HQ
Ӎ ood: Fiendishly delighted
Ͼ ompany: Tristan
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Raphael chuckled, taking another long haul off his cigarette. "First time I have heard this area described like that." He said with a nod. He looked up towards the windows of the dimly lit building, then back towards the man in front of him. 'A fellow smoker.' He thought, letting the smoke trickle from his lips. He was judging the man before him, weighing the pros and cons. A new member was always a risky thing, but he would let his second in command test him later. He could tell they both knew that if anything funny went down, Tristan would probably end up worse off.

"Fair enough, Tristan McDowell." He said, a grin crossing his face as he mentioned his last name. "Well, it is only fair to introduce myself." He said while removing a key and inserting it into the lock, never taking his eyes off him. "I am Raphael. Raphael Moretti." He said unlocking the door and walking in right after he said it. He knew that name would strike a chord with the male, and he would be surprised if he didn't know it.


♔ ♕ ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ ♚ ♛ ♜ ♝ ♞ ♟

We are all but pawns in a unbeatable game of chess. The kings are bribed, the queens get laid, and the knight is left under paid.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

Ѻ Ѻ Ͽ:
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
User Image


______Not the debt doctor with the hungry scalpel.

____Here's my prognosis: will they live?

__________DOUBTFUL.


________You're the street physician, carving flesh sculptures.

___Paint your a** like Rembrandt!

_______Ha, you like-a that?


_____________Better start praying when you see him coming.

__'Cause tonight it's curtains!



You're the Night Surgeon!



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxT r i s t a n M c D o w e l l


"But wha-... how do you..."

Tristan was speechless. Not only had he managed to find the damn place, he'd come across the head of the whole freakin' operation! The thought that he'd come so far in the three days since he'd met the Syndicate runner in Houston made his head spin a little. Or maybe that was the heat from inside the building that hit him in the face as soon as Mr. Moretti opened the door. Either way, Tristan was a happy little puddle of shock as he followed his new "boss" inside the bank, making sure to yank the heavy metal door shut behind himself once he'd entered. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, the scent of menthol mixing with the heady smell of money and heavy cleaning products that lingered in the massive building. "So this is it?" he asked once he'd managed to find his voice again, looking around with a look of bewilderment. This was a bank, and a very large one at that. How the hell did Chicago's biggest underground cartel operate out of a massive sore thumb of a building like this? There had to be more. He took another pull from the cancer stick clutched between his fingers, reveling in the tingle of warmth returning to his frozen face and fingers. He'd never underestimate the power of a heater again.



        I remember every dying whisper, every desperate murmur.
        I remember when I gaze upon her... she looks just like you.
        I remember, I remember...
        I remember marking every v i c t i m with acute precision.
        I remember every time I hold you, my blunt companion.
        When I remember... I D I S M E M B E R !
        ‘Cause the claims medic uses no anesthetic;
        90 days delinquent gets you repo treatment.
        I'm the masked HORROR on your street corner.
        Make your mama mourn ya...
        I ' m t h e N i g h t S u r g e o n !

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