-Narritive: It's been a couple days since the shootin', but it looks like the fireworks have yet ta' come. I ratha' that I start them off, instead of them headin' my way.-

-Setting: Jersey is walking off the street into a small building, with the sign 'SID'S' on front. The place looks closed and empty, despite the sun shining on the somewhat wet Detroit landscape. Jersey walks through the door, seeing that it has been kicked in. Jersey walks in quietly, looking through the darkened building with wariness. He walks up a small flight of stairs, to a door that has 'Administrator' spraypainted on it. Jersey looks at the door jam before opening it. Broken as well. Jersey lifts up his right foot, and slams it, and himself, into the door, into Sid's disgusting office.-

JERSEY: Sid?

-Jersey looks at the office. Whatever the look of it was now, it had gotten worse, with blood all over Sid's body, and a few mangled body parts on him. The desk, once strewed with trash, cleared, but caked with blood, hammer blows, and saw marks.-

SID: J... ers... ey?

JERSEY: Yeah, Sid, it's me.

SID: They... were... lookin... for you.

JERSEY: Who, the Syndicate?

-Sid can only nod at this, as his face tells a tale of pain and agony from the torture he had to endure.-

SID: They, knew noth...ing, 'bout the... meet, with all of, you.

JERSEY: Yeah, their guys jipped us, never gave us any money, damn near shot all of us, 'sept Matt saved us. They took the guns, but we killed three of them in the process. Mack's dead, Richard ran off, an' last I saw, Phil was chasin' them down. I think they were plannin' a coup with the Syndicate.

SID: Yeah... they said, we took... lot of money... more than the guy, called us, for buying. Didn't... believe me.

JERSEY: That I can see. There were 10 of them, they came outta no where. We got lucky.

SID: They said... we killed... 5... of their guys. They got... Phil.

JERSEY: Do ya' know where Richard might be? Or where they're holdin' Phil?

SID: Richard? Big Cheese... probably. He's got... connections, up there. He might, be safe. Told them, Chicago. Hope, they fucking, croak. Phil, that's easy. They, told me, in their... HQ, in Detroit. They, practically own... that part of town... anyhow.

-Sid's face contorted with pain, and he fell silent, his laborous breath becoming shallower.-

SID: Jersey? Never... liked you, but... do me a favor.

JERSEY: Anythin'.

SID: I... got, a... lil .38... in the drawer. Put me down. And... get the bastards, every last one... of those fuckers.

-Jersey nods at this. He goes and opens a drawer, and sees a .38 in there. With a napkin, he picks it up, and points it under Sid's multiple chins. Sid looks at Jersey, and gives a slight nod.-

-BAMB!-

-We come to Jersey leaving the office building, flames starting to spread in it, a wild fire to destroy any trace of Sid's iron empire, and more important to Jersey, information that the Syndicate might not already know. With a folder of loose information that Jersey gleened from the office, the .38, without his fingerprints, and a score to settle, Jersey walked onto the late afternoon day, heading towards the Syndicate Headquarters.-

-Detroit City Hall-

03/26/2002

Posted on 03/26/2002
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