Euphoria [M]

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The music blasted loudly in the club and the people danced all around. Women either pole danced or provocatively danced on the bar tables. Yet in other areas, men and women jumped about on the dance floor to the beat of the music. Away from the dance floor, there were sofas and tables where couples or groups gathered. Smoke surrounded them and blunts were passed around among the groups or couples. People laughed and joked around having the time of their life. The lights flashed around the club, as the DJ mixed up the beats to the songs. Even in the shithole of New York City, people still found ways to have fun; the nightclubs were just one of the prime examples.

Strangers in the crowd shared needles; body heat filled the entire club just from dancing or men and women fucking each other publicly. No one bothered stopping each other from going crazy; it was just one of the many ways to escape the harsh world.

As the DJ played the songs loudly, he pulled out a tiny black bag not caring if the crowd was actually sober enough to pay attention. He took out two black capsules and popped them into his mouth. Swallowing them, he inhaled the sweaty air and took a long relaxed sigh; he smiled at the club as the lights flashed everywhere. "How are we all doing tonight?!" He exclaimed loudly on the microphone. The crowd cheered.

Yet as he asked this, she couldn't help but observed the little drug that the DJ threw into his mouth. She wasn't sure if it was the drug she was looking for, but it never hurt to check. She stood in the middle of the dance floor, observing the people around her. White powder was on the floors and needles rolled about as people kicked them around without realizing it. She moved casually through the sea of people and noticed one couple sharing the shiny black capsules. The pills were almost never hard to miss since they were big and the black coating was somewhat metallic. The woman laughed gleefully as the man ripped off her shirt and proceeded to kiss her breasts. Her dark eyes were focused on the couple, who began heading towards the VIP rooms. She began to follow them, her hand on her knife.

How ironic, I'm bored and all erotic
Just sitting around all day, just plotting how to die
Wasting time, cracking fingers, my blood gets thinner by the minute
Sometimes I feel that I am dead

The couple made it in one of the rooms and closed the door, forgetting to unlock it. They continued making out, with her waiting patiently outside the door.

The man took off the woman's skirt and touched her in all the right places. She just continued laughing and moaning, taking off the rest of her shirt, "Mmm, I want more!" She begged.

He looked up at her, "You want more?" He asked in a raspy tone.

"Y-Yes!" She leaned forward to him, with her mouth wide open and her tongue out.

Distant memories haunt me
It truly seems like a dream
Like a dead man's song
A machine with no conscience

He took out a medicine bottle and opened the cap, "How many babe?"

"Mmm, two more!" She laughed, "I want this fuck to feel amazing than…before!" She smiled and opened her mouth again.

He took out two capsules and dropped them inside her mouth. She quickly swallowed them and then began kissing him. He placed the medicine bottle on the wooden table next to them.

As soon as they stopped talking, she opened the door disturbing the couple's private time. And before they even got a chance to scream for help, she successfully threw her knife at the man's neck and shot the woman in the chest with her beretta. Of course, with the music blasting and the people high off their minds, no one paid attention to it…

"It really seems like a dream"

She quickly grabbed the medicine bottle, closed the cap, and placed them inside her pocket. She cautiously walked out of the VIP room and closed the door. She wiped off the blood of her knife on someone's black shirt, who was too busy making out with a prostitute. She quickly sheathed it and kept alert on her surroundings, noticing two large men in suits keeping an eye on her. "Shit," she muttered.

Suddenly, the DJ changed the song to more of an upbeat song and the crowd jumped around, cheering and what not. She walked away from the dance floor, trying to avoid the two gang members that had her on lockdown. She avoided eye contact with them, however, her eye contact immediately went to another bag that looked like Euphoria. She got closer to the man with the bag, who was to busy dancing and looking like an idiot. Quickly, she snatched it out of his pocket and observed the capsules. She quirked a brow and noticed it was some other bullshit drug. The man turned around and laughed, "Dude! Did that just fall out of ma pocket?!"
She only threw the bag of his drugs at his face and continued making her way through the crowd. Once she was finally out of the jungle of people, she remained cautious knowing that she was being watched. However, she didn't see the two men that were following her, until she heard the clicking of the guns behind her.

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"Don't you move," said one of them. She turned around and gave them a death glare.

"We know what you've been doing! Now hand it over bitch!" The other one yelled over the music.

The lights turned black, which gave her the benefit to crouch a bit and kick the gun out of the man's hand, who called her a bitch. He screamed in pain and flinched as her steel toed boot caused him to sprain his wrist (or perhaps worse). The other man cursed aloud, and began talking through his bluetooth.

"Bad timing for these lights to go out like that," said the man with the broken wrist. As soon as the lights flashed back on and off, she was gone again. "Amaya is probably still here, but with a crowd like this, it's almost impossible to spot her."

"I just sent the message that she's here. All the entrances have been barricaded. We had some thieves before, and this bitch will learn her lesson. She wants Euphoria? She has to get it like the rest of the people and not be a fucking maniac." After they spoke, they proceeded to head into the crowd searching for her.

Her black boots made loud thudding sounds as she ran quickly, yet as she was close the entrance, she almost came to a halt. She noticed more gang members, similar to the other two, blocking the entrance doors. Checking ID for people who were coming in to the club, Amaya cursed under her breath.

"THERE SHE IS!" One of them exclaimed. Amaya realized four of them were pulling out their weapons. She turned back and noticed the two who stopped her earlier were doing the same thing, making a dash towards her.

"Shoot her NOW!" As soon as she heard this, she quickly dropped to the floor and the four men ended up shooting their partners. As she did this, she immediately crawled away from the shoot out, barely missing the bullets. Once she was away from them, Amaya quickly got up and jumped behind the bar table, causing people to get out of way as bullets were being flown, shattering alcohol bottles and glass. She continued running through, dodging the bullets as much as she can. Amaya left the bar and pulled out her uzi, shooting the gang members that were making haste towards her, not really caring if the hits were successful or not. At this point, the crowd was already screaming in horror as they heard the many gunshots, yet the DJ was too high to really care and continued playing the music.

With her adrenaline pumping and her heart racing, Amaya threw herself into the large crowd on the dance floor, she holstered her uzi and pulled out her grappling gun. She looked up at the ceiling, which was made of glass, so it was easy to break through thankfully. She shot up at it, and a long thick rope flew upward, shattering right through the glass. The people screamed as the glass cut some of them, as others were just panicking since they couldn't escape the club. The hook at the end wrapped itself right on the railing outside and as soon as she felt it was secure, she let herself go. She saw the rest of the gang members aiming and releasing fire; she looked up at the ceiling in panic realizing she had some way to go. As Amaya was getting closer to the top, she winced as she felt one bullet graze her below the knee and another on her upper right thigh. Finally, once she was at the railing, she grabbed onto it and lifted herself up, "Those assholes..." Amaya holstered her grappling gun and took a breather when she was on the rooftop of the club.
Oh, was he ever glad he went out tonight.

James sat at one of the couches in the club, watching the whole show. Through all the screaming, no one heard him laugh through the whole thing. This bitch was tough, and so fun to watch. Lovely body, violent, complete disregard for the safety of herself and others. Where had she been all his life?

The whore who'd been mauling his lap the entire time was now busy cleaning the area around her mouth, unaware that she wasn't the cause of his release and completely ignorant of what had just transpired. Lately he'd been getting off on violence more than anything sexual. His prostitute looked expectantly at him, waiting for her next command. He didn't have to spend money on her anymore. He'd figured out how to use Euphoria to make this bitch, and currently two others, his obedient slaves. She may still answer to her pimp, but he was the one who owned her.

"More, Johnny?" she asked, her lips pouting. He liked being called Johnny, even if it wasn't his real name. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but could feel her trying to jerk him back into full arousal. Okay, he thought. I think I've had my fun with you.

"Want a treat?" he asked her. He held up one fat, black pill. Her eyes instantly widened.

"Oh, Johnny! I've always wanted to try that!" she said excitedly, unaware that she was already hooked. Poor thing. It only made him smile wider.

"Open up."

She did so immediately, and not just her mouth. She spread apart her legs, too, the small skirt moving out of the way. No panties. Nice.

He placed it on her tongue and she eagerly swallowed. Then she began to cough and mildly convulse, until finally she collapsed on the floor, dead.

"Hmm...This can't be right," he smiled. He wiped up a piece of foam that had begun to come out of her mouth. "Oh my bad, baby. Seems I've given you cyanide by mistake. Here; take two of these and call me in the morning."

He placed two, genuine Euphoria pills next to her body and left the club, thinking about the gun-carrying party crasher.
Madius took a long hard drink from the brown bottle he'd been carrying with him for sometime now. Seeing as most everything else was being used, booze was the only thing to keep him refreshed. He didn't drink much really. What it was is just his dislike for just water. It wasn't any good to him and besides, alcohol was one of the only things kept nice and cool.

He took another sip from the refreshing drink as he leaned up against his rusty hunk of junk. His empty hand had been gripping the side of the vehicle for sometime but the dust from the rust didn't bother him much. Besides, it'd only be for so long that he'd scrap that armored plate for another before the engine starts catching bullets. His vehicle wasn't much in the looks department... then again neither was he. It simply kept him safe for most the time.

The last of the smooth alcohol made its way down his throat. As the bottle was finished completely, he then threw it at a large pile of trash and corpses. The bottle shattered of course, only adding to the 'glitter' that covered many parts not maintained by the sweepers.

It was business as usual and he'd been waiting for sometime now. Those black vans are what he is after. He gets paid to wipe them out by simply towing one out of the picture and having it torn apart. He was your average vancracker. There was usually various vancrackers about when they were released but your luck was only getting about one or maybe two.

The deal was not to get the shit shout out of you as you tried to take one. There were rules to follow in taking one.

Rule number one; make it quick. Taking too long in tagging a van would cost you your life. There was one guy who tried to set a trap for van by emptying rounds into the back of the last van. Only problem is that they are bulletproof in various areas so as he emptied his clips, they turned him into smokin' swiss cheese.

Rule number two; Never hit the lead van as the rest don't follow the way you'd like. Enjoy getting run over or your car destroyed by rockets? If yes then have fun trying to take a lead one, it's impossible unless you hit the others behind it first.

Rule number three; Do not kill the driver and expect it to just stop. Once the driver is hit, the passengers, lock up the van and take off. Bye bye drugs.

Rule number four; Don't use high powered explosives or even harm the engine. The entire vehicle is actually fitted to blow if the engine does. With that happening creates a smoldering fire of euphoria... but without the slightest possibility of getting high off the fumes.

There were more local rules but they weren't as important. They were simply little hints.

Admiring the daily thunderous roar of gun battles, it came to Madius' notice that it was close. The club scene always had issues, which is where it apparently came from thanks to the entrance(or for her, the exit) of some wild woman, getting herself on top of the roof. It was hard to see but Mad could make out the most of it thanks to the heavy light pollution that turned the sky a soft purple.

He was down the road a bit from the club. He wasn't much of a clubber per say. He stuck to the bars mostly. It'd be soon now for when the bells rang and the black vans come out from behind the heavy metal gates. There was a U-turn spot right there outside of the gate. The vans would parade around for a little but would turn back when half or more their supplies were up. He knew the procedure and waited at the midpoint for them...
Manon watched with distant interest the scene occurring before her eyes. The woman seemed to be hunting, and there was only one thing worth hunting anymore. Probably some addict busy trying to get a fix, in any way she could and that included suicide.

Manon closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath as she spun her mind away from the now and back to her own music. It was soothing, a gentle woman's voice that crooned to her, only her, private sound in this crowded place.

"What will we find inside of your room?
Notes in the margins,
records always spinning."

Manon opened her eyes again, focusing on scanning the people for her contact now, the man with the too-wide grin and generous hands. He was there, in a corner waiting. Manon hated it here, hated him, but he liked her ass and he paid top dollar to monopolize that silky skin.

Manon smiled at the man in her way, almost looking like a smirk, arrogance embodied. Fluttering her lashes, she drew closer to the man, exuding the air of false flowers that rung like a bell that she was a prostitute among the people who smelled like common sweat. No one took even a second glance.

"Clues you know you want all to know
your little soul grew old too soon
and surprises lost their thrill."

Manon let her sharp teeth show in her smile, feline threat lying beneath the domesticated softness. She might be a pampered hooker now, but you can't keep the girls of the streets with all the Euphoria in the world if they were born there. She might be flowing money between her legs, but she was still expected to get sweaty and filthy earning it. So was life.

When he had his fill, Manon slid the royal blue dress back over her thighs, tying the sash as she slipped out the door with money concealed in her dress. It seemed the club was still in a mix about the woman. Manon envied her a little, she was alone. It might seem a dark empty world where you needed friends, people, contacts but no one had any of those, really. The ones who thought they did were the ones fooling themselves. Having no one was at least honest. Manon smiled at the guards as she left.

the loud chops of a rotor blade slowly became audible above the music and noise from the consternated crowd below. An old news helicopter, rusty and desperately in need of a new paint-job, circled around the demolished and refurbished church next door and, surprisingly, turned towards the wounded girl on the roof.

Helicopter hanging still into the air, the door was shoved open and a wide but charming grin greeted Amaya, his bright blue eyes examining her body matter-of-factly, taking note of her wounds.

The man had a bit of a baby-face, but it wasn't unattractive. The black leather jacket he was wearing over his white T-shirt and jeans couldn't be enough to keep him warm that high up, but he seemed to be able to resist the cold. His lanky posture forced him to crouch as he offered his hand to her.

"It's not everyday you find a lone girl on the rooftop of a popular dance-club." He said and raised his eyebrows. "And by the looks of things, you could use a ride out of here."

His eyes shifted to the side to look at the men who had started climbing the emergency stairs to the roof. It would take them a couple of minutes to get there, but there wasn't really any other escape route. Reaching to the side, and grabbing a pistol that was unceremoniously aimed at the seemingly desperate woman, Eddy Paulson spoke again.

"Now get in the chopper without any funny business, this is MY helicopter and MY pilot. Remember that. As long as you do as I say, I'll get you out of her safely. For a price, of course."
Chuck Ventura slowly opened his eyes. He quickly scanned the room, taking notice to an old, stained mattress in the corner that he had no doubt opted not to sleep in the night before. He pushed himself off of the broken recliner and knocked over a half full bottle of Crown Royal that was laying across his chest as he did so. The fuzzy memories of the night before swam through his head, like a lone fish lost in a narrow stream. He vaguely remembered leaving " The blackwind", a local spot that his Gang, The Overloards, normally hung out at, with a hooker named Sheena. After that, however, everything was black.

"Damn." Chuck groaned as he put a hand to his forehead, slowing rubbing his temples in a circler motion. Blacking out was a common occurrence for the 26 year old Gang member, a common side effect of popping multiple prescription pills and drinking 80 proof liquor. The pills were a necessity for Chuck; they calmed his nerves and made his gangster lifestyle easier to handle. The liquor, on the other hand, was more of a vice, one he always hated in the morning.

Just as his vision began to clear the door behind him opened, he instinctively reached in his waist band for his colt .45. He pulled it out with blinding speed and cocked it.

" What the F*** are you doing." Staring down the barrel of the gun was a wide eyed, and half naked Sheena, the hooker from the night before. Chuck, still holding the gun about a foot from her face, let a small grin creep across his face as he saw the long scratch marks across her neck and chest. He was an animal when he was drunk on 80 proof. He raised the gun and slowly let the hammer back.

"What the hell are you doin' sneaking' up on me" The grin was quickly replaced with his usual angry grimace

"Shit, Chuck. I was just using the bathero….' She was quickly cut off " Look, just get the F*** out." He noticed her stomach muscles quiver in fear at his voice, the bar-code tattoo standing out against her well toned mid-section. Her pimp would no doubt be furious that he had marked her up, but what was he going to do? Chuck was an Overlord - and a ranking member at that- no one who wanted to live would touch him. Sheena gave him a dirty look before heading out the door.

After she left chuck fished a small bottle out of his front pocket. He flipped off the cap and swallowed two of the little white pills. Soon the Klonopin would be in his system and his day would begin. The only thing Chuck had to do was meet a drug dealer at a local club later that night. once there he would deliver some euphoria and be on his way. Chuck didn't care for night clubs, he got nervous around that many people, but it was part of the job.

~ Time passes as day fades into night ~

As Chuck approached the club he could hear the loud, pounding bass from the speakers. He was on foot this night, but had a car parked not far away. A long black trench coat, that was zipped up to his neck, concealed the large bag of Euphoria as well as a loaded sawn off shotgun. He approached the door and entered the building. Once inside he was instantly met with the combined smell of Marijuana, booze and sex. All around people were either getting high or mid thrust in various combined sex acts. As he made his way back to the Vip lounge he saw a man being swallowed whole by an obviously Euphoria addicted hooker.

As he pushed his way past the groups of people, heading towards one of the many Vip rooms, he noticed a very attractive girl coming out of one of the rooms. She didn't look like a hooker, so Chuck paid her no mind. When he finally reached the designated meeting place he saw his contact; a local Euphoria dealer that everyone called JJ. JJ was sitting at a table with a large drink in front of him, Chuck walked up to him without any introduction and slammed the bag of black, metallic pills on the table. JJ looked at him and said.

"So, I'm guessing your Chuck." He cast a slightly nervous glance over his shoulder as Chuck's menacing persona began to do its job.

Chuck kept an Iron stare with the man, sporting as always his dark glasses. "Yea, you got the money?" Just then Chuck heard the sound of movement behind him. He spun around and saw four large men step out of the shadows.They surrounded Chuck and all of the sudden he realized what was happening, it was a jack move. Before all hell broke loose, Chuck had a second wonder who the hell would be crazy enough to try and rob an Overlord?

At this moment, Chuck heard an odd sound. WHat was that, a Chopper? Landing on the roof? WHatever it was it was enough to draw his opponents attention away for a split second, just enough time for Chuck to make a mad dash and jump behind the near by bar counter and pull out his Shotgun. The men all drew guns as JJ grabbed the bag. Chuck raised up, cocking the gauge. Gun shots erupted into the vip lounge, three of the men had 9mm while the other had an Uzi. The rapid fire of the automatic weapon sprayed up the bar, but he was aiming to low and Chuck got a clean shot at him, blowing a large whole in his chest.

Chuck ducked back down behind the bar "Do you know who you're fucking with." Chuck yelled as wood splinters flew in every direction from the barrage of bullets. All he could think of was if any other Overlords were at the Club, and if so… would they come to his aid. As the situation was, he would need the support of his gang to get out of this alive.
Manon gazed, blankly for a moment, at the low flying helicopter. What the hell? With a small sigh, she decided it couldn't really be any of her business. Taking a respite from things, Manon leaned against the wall of the club, her eyes closed. Absently, she fingered the black hair around her face and considered, for the hundredth time, shearing off the locks of black silk that framed her striking face.

Gray had ordered it so, and though she owed him much, the smooth, straight darkness that fell down her back felt like shackles. 'Keep it just like that' he told her, looking triumphant with a cigar in hand, gesturing at her greasy hair the day he had found her. 'It makes you look exotic, untouchable. It's attractive, girlie.' There would be no arguing. Noticing a man round the corner and stare at the helicopter also, Manon realized she had lost only a few seconds thinking.

Straightening away from the wall, Manon smiled at him also, a pampered yet provocative turn of the lips. A common man from the slums, he was in late. Possibly purchasing one of the common street girls. The sound of gunfire interrupted her thoughts and Manon glanced at the guards by the door. They disappeared like smoke inside and Manon followed, slinking along the shadows to get a glimpse of the commotion.

A guest in panic tried to push past Manon, sending her sprawling to the floor. Angrily, she tried to stand. Bullets sounded overhead and she chose instead to crawl behind the bar counter, the bar tender long gone. It would be safe, from the fire, she hoped. The throbbing music could still be heard, people were screaming, shoving to the exits, some being peppered with accidental fire. Manon swore, a string of words that held little meaning except the occasional reference to stupid men.

Finally reaching the bar, Manon ducked behind it and was alarmed to realize several shots were being fired at the bar. With another realization, she noticed a man behind the bar shooting back.

"Stop it, what are you, suicidal?" Manon hissed at him, her brow furrowed. "Whatever those machismos came here for, stay out of it." The man appeared to be heavily muscled, one of the thugs from the streets trying to play big or something. "You could get killed, you know? No one will care about one of the lives from someone on the streets. You'll be nobody when they hit you with one of those. Stay back here with me, I'll vouch for you. Unless you've really pissed them off," she trailed off, gunfire still hitting the bar. She felt relatively safe, out of the chaos. She earned big money, she was a prized pet of one of the wealthiest men in the city. As long as the fire wasn't random, accidental, she wouldn't be shot.
Graverobber, had been out at the body mounds on the outskirts of the city again. He had run out of alcohol, and the low sloshing of his flask made it obvious. He spent all morning and afternoon turning over body after body, searching pockets and dresses, after all women had a few extra places to hide things at.

This was what he did for his living after the war. He searched bodies for anything valuable, anything he could trade, if it could be worn or used it was worth a bottle or two of alcohol. So far he had found 3 watches that worked well, two watches that needed new batteries but looked like they'd still function, a bracelet, and two necklaces. The bracelet and one of the necklaces if he worded things right, he could play off as valuable, whether they were or not he didn't know, so long as it got him more alcohol, or even a new syringe of euphoria.

He felt the belt that carried the empty euphoria syringes, his nightmares were growing more frequent, and this damned stuff was all that made it go away, the alcohol was a sad addiction.

He made his way back towards the city limits weaving between body mounds. His bag hanging off his shoulder and his shovel in his left hand. He kept an eye out for patrols, those damned Overlords pretty much ran everything, and the body mounds weren't an exception, technically he was stealing from them.

He looked around one of the mounds and saw about three Overlord guys. "Shit, just my luck to go out on a patrol day. They're switching up the times." He moved around various mounds to try to avoid them, but they seemed to think something was up, maybe he was making too much sound. "Shit..." he muttered to himself as he noticed two of them walking his way. He pushed up on one of the bodies and hid his trenchcoat and shovel under it. He placed his small bag on the pile and laid over the bag, it was only big enough to carry what he found, that and a mask he owned. He lay there inconspicuous, in a position that a dead body would naturally take if thrown on.

"Oiy, you hear something." one asked as they walked around the mound.
"Not sure, probably the wind, or a rolling body. Lets just keep moving, I want to get out of this place, it fucking stinks."

Once they were out of sight Graverobber got back up and pulled out his shovel and trenchcoat and got back inside the city lines as quickly as he could.

He was heading into the city, the pawn shop he went to was in an area with a lot of people. He hadn't been fond of being lumped with them so he pulled out his mask and pulled it on. It was what had been come to be called a "deadmask" a mask resembling a dead man, the holes for the eyes had a flip cover that resembled coins and the mask gave the look of peacefulness about it. People in the crowd often asked him "why with the mask?" but he never answers. So now he's considered the freak with the mask, or to some who know what he does he is Graverobber.

The pawn shop he went to was just a few blocks down from the club that all the commotion was occurring at. But as soon as the helicopter came he rushed inside, bad memories with those things, he'd rather avoid more nightmares tonight.
Amaya quickly dashed to the ladder that lead to the fire escapes, yet when she looked below her, a small group of gang members were scouting the area. Another curse under her breath, another deep sigh of stress, and a pounding sound of a helicopter above her. The sudden wind from the copter blew dust in her eyes, preventing her to see clearly who was controlling the old thing. She walked up to the chopper to see a man opening the door.

"It's not everyday you find a lone girl on the rooftop of a popular dance-club." He said and raised his eyebrows. "And by the looks of things, you could use a ride out of here."

"Well it's not everyday you see a chopper saving said lone girl," she responded nonchalantly, not sure if he heard her or not over the fierce wind of the chopper. She heard a kick from the rooftop door and jumped a bit. Amaya hesitated and quickly grabbed her gun, yet at the same time, the man pointed his pistol at her face.

"Now get in the chopper without any funny business, this is MY helicopter and MY pilot. Remember that. As long as you do as I say, I'll get you out of her safely. For a price, of course."

Amaya quirked a brow, "Are you kidnapping me? Or saving me?" Another kick of the door, and it flew open, followed by open gunshots. "Nevermind." The man pulled her inside the copter and quickly closed the door. Some of the Overlords began shooting the copter, but doing very minimal damage to it. Amaya peeked through the window as they were farther away from the gang members. "Those members must've been new...their aiming was horrible," she said in a calming tone as she began looking at the wounds on her knee and thigh.

She gave a small glare at the man, "So who the hell are you?"
David loved this club.

It was loud and dark. Strobe lights flared, laser lights shot off and from every surface, marijuana and cigarette smoke giving off an ethereal haze heightened by the shifted, varying mental states of all the club-goers. It was sensory overlord to the nth degree, and all but the most stalwart, willful, or purpose-filled individuals would be overwhelmed by the periphery.

It was absolutely perfect for what David was doing in one of the back rooms.

He had his kabar combat knife buried into the thigh of a pimp named Slickback. He was screaming, but to everyone else nearby it was something to be expected of one of these Fucky Fucky rooms, as a sign near the outside so eloquently called it. Aside from the two or three nearby similarly-themed rooms, no one else could even begin to hope to hear Slickbacks screams, especially from the lust-filled dance-floor proper.

"It just isn't your night, is it, Slickback?" David asked him as he withdrew the knife from his thigh before immediately applying a butane torch to the wound. He was sealing it crudely, cauterizing it so he wouldn't bleed to death. He was sure he didn't hit an artery, but just to be safe... Besides, it did the necessary job of adding pain to more pain, and nothing was more visually horrifying than watching a fire burn away at flesh. Especially if it was your own.


Slickback wailed in pain and David just casually cleaned his knife. He took a step back as the pimp slouched on the long sofa, weeping and finally shitting himself. He had pissed himself in the first few minutes of the beating, but now he had finally released everything. David ignored the smell.

"I need to know where you find your girls," he said again, his tone slightly annoyed. He had asked this question many times. "When you tell me, this ends. I'll even let you live."

Slickback looked up at him through tear stained eyed, weeping once more before finally saying, "Okay man, okay. I'll tell you everything."

"Even about the vans?" David asked flatly, but somewhat warmly, trying to give the doomed pimp a sense of hope.

"Y-yeah man, I'll tell you about the vans too."


His arms crossed, David surveyed the dance hall. It was disgusting, the way everyone had abandoned any vestige of humanity to give in to their bestial desires. Yeah, a war had happened. Yeah, the world had gone to hell in a hand basket. It didn't mean humanity had to give up on itself and start from square one. We're still thinking creatures, he thought mildly to himself, with a hint of sadness. We can rise above this.

That was when he took notice of the small, lithe girl with long black hair shimmering in the dusty neon light of the club. His eyes fixed on her, and he recognized her for what she was when she vanished into the back with a man, only to reappear not too long later, the look on her face settling back to that same bored, almost mindless gaze as it had been before. He could think only one thing, as he began to take steps for her.

She might know my Anny.

Then hell broke loose. Gunfire, a girl charging onto the dance floor and quickly grappling away. "What the hell?!" He couldn't help but say.

Some (those who weren't shot) ran, some were so out of their mind they kept dancing, and lots kept fucking. Then more hell exploded in a VIP lounge not too far to his right, right as he heard strange 'whump-whump-whump' noises coming from the roof. He recognized the noise from movies he watched as a kid-- a helicopter! What the fuck?!

He shook his head and flushed out the extras. He only cared about one thing now: the girl. And now, to his utter annoyance, she had just thrown herself into the fight by ducking behind the bar versus fleeing like the rest of the still-sane club-goers. Chasing down a fleeing Fucky-girl was easy. Getting into this fight wasn't.

"Fuck it," he said, just as quickly as he tactically appraised the situation for it's lack of ease. He pulled his custom .45 in his right hand and put his kabar knife in an icepick grip in the other and dived into the fray. He moved in a tactical line around three gunmen wielding 9mms; the one wielding an uzi just got a hole put into his chest.

Pop-pop. Pop.

Shoulder-shot head-shot on the farthest gunman away. Head-shot on the second-farthest.

David stepped in quickly and stabbed the closest man in the chest while kicking out his legs from under him-- a CQC technique his mother had showed him. The man hit the ground with the gentlest 'oof' coming from his throat, and David stabbed him a second time in the heart.

He stepped back quickly, retracing his steps and taking cover from the man behind the bar. Things got quiet for a moment.

"The gunmen are dead. Is the girl okay?" He called out.

In the Bombardini villa the noise from an early morning-broadcast disturbed the peace. The kids were eating their breakfeast at the kitchen-table while keep small conversations with their mother. Alessio of course, the youngest, wasn't able to say much. While his older sister Maria kept going on and on about her friends and events at school.

An open door led to the aisle-room next by. It was empty expect for a big old dresser and a mirror hanging on the wall.

Just as the kids and Angela were in the middle of their meal Benito finished up making sure his tie was right and his shirt was okay. Putting on his uniformed black suitjacket and the black hat as he walked into the kitchen to kiss his wife goodbye and give his children a last few words before he went outside.

The world outside looked as ugly as usual. The polluted air kept most of the light from the sun away.

Still Ben needed to have his sunglasses on. He enjoyed wearing the exact same outfit every day to work.

Jumping in his brand new Rolls Royce he checked his cellphone for any new messages.

The phone had kept him up all night long since his men had updated him on what was going on in his part of town. Apparently all hell had broke loose as some wild woman had went mad for drugs at a club. Killing civilians and gang members left and right.

While driving alone down the road to wards the bridges secluding Upper Manhattan from the Bronx he spent the ride cursing.

"In my club?! Who the fuck- Who the fu- Who the hell gets away with this shit? This is Overlords territory, for fucks sake!"

Benito was going through his speech before he parked up in the back-alley of the headquarters.

He needed to make a counter-reaction to the recent events to show that the Overlords were not a gang to mess with. This was common knowledge to every citizen. So these rascals that was threatening their business were either professionals working for a rival gang or just suicidal freaks looking for a last glimpse of fun.

Capo Benito entered the HQ through the back-doors with all his men waiting inside. They needed to put on their A-game today if he was gonna impress the hot shots at the dinner-party later that day.
In all the confusion the DJ had stopped mixing - or been shot! -, and a steady loop came on. The song was called Dysfunctional, how complementing to the crazy scene at hand.

[nomedia=""]YouTube- Tech N9ne - Dysfunctional[/nomedia]

As the bullets flew in seemingly every direction Chuck lay behind the bar. His glasses had long since flown off in the surprise attack and sweat was pouring from his neck and chest. He clutched his gauge with feverish intensity, every muscle in his body standing at attention. After another barrage of blazing bullets a Girl, what Chuck thought to be a higher class call girl, jumped behind the counter. No less than thirty seconds passed before she started talking at him.

It was almost comical the way she was talking to him in the midst of a gun battle, What the hell is this chick trying to say, thought Chuck?

He caught about every third word she said over the constant shooting and screaming, something about "Are you suicidal?" and "Machismos" he gave her a confused look and then he heard her say.

"Stay back here with me, I'll vouch for you, unless you've really pissed them off" Chuck was taken back. In his violent world it was hard to accept genuine kindness, but nonetheless he took it as sincere and took an instant liking to this mystery women.

Just as everything seemed to climax, the bullets, the screams, the constant CHOP CHOP CHOP of the helicopter over the roof, Chuck heard another caliber of bullet being fired, he wasn't sure but he sensed it was from a .45. Then he heard a voice and knew his opponents had been dispatched.

"The gunmen are dead. Is the girl okay?"

Chuck hopped out from behind the bar, looking again at the girl who had offered to vouch for him. He tried to give her the best "Thanks" look he could, but for a hardened thug it could be misinterpreted as "Fuck you", he hoped not.

Next he looked to the Lone gunman, who had saved his life.

"Yea, shes ok...I think," Chuck brushed off some of the debris and glass that had flown at him during the shootout, his shot gun still in hand. " Look man, I don't know who you are, but thank you" He offered his hand to the Gunman, making sure his Overlord tattoo was visible as he did so. "My names Chuck, I own you one." With that he shot another look at the girl and turned to leave, but then stopped short and turned back.

He had lost the Bag of Euphoria that started this whole mess during the battle, Chuck could only hope it was near by and intact or he would have hell to pay.
"David," he answered brusquely, gripping Chuck's hand just long enough. They both seemed to be in a hurry, and honestly, he could care less about the man's safety. Saving him had been a by-product of saving the girl; he was sure the young ganger had known that too. Could be a reason he was so quick to flash his brand.

"What outfit you with?" he asked as they both turned their backs to one another. The ganger seemed to be going back for something he left behind. David, for the girl.

Not waiting for an answer from the man (but dividing his attention just enough), he crowded into the young prostitute's face, making sure his gun was visible, and asked her quickly and quietly. "Are you alright? I need to ask you a few questions; you'll be safe, I promise you. Just don't try to do something stupid," he said as he dropped his gaze to his .45. It wasn't pointed at her, but she only needed to recall the three gunmen from moments before to know that he was skilled with it.

"I'm not here for you," he reiterated, speaking in a firm, but warm tone. It was a tone he had used with his girls when admonishing them, but trying to teach them a lesson. "I just need some answers."
Eddy laughed.

"You'd be aiming poorly as well if you just got back from getting your cock sucked by some Euphoria addicted whore. Either way, I'm Eddy. Eddy Paulson, though most people call me shifty Eddy these days. I'm an entrepreneur of sorts. I deal in information, amongst many other things, and can usually get one what they want, for a price."

He put the safety back on his gun and replaced it into the shoulder holster it came from, before looking over at the girl he had rescued and smiling.

"Just a precaution, I don't want anyone stealing my helicopter and leaving me stranded on the roof of a nightclub, you see?" He winked and tapped the pilot on the shoulder, pointing to direct him to where he wanted to go. "But tell me, miss...Who are you, and what did I just rescue you from? That was an overlord owned club, I could get in trouble for what I did, and I'd like to know what kind of trouble I can expect."

He was still smiling, but somehow seemed more serious now. More business-like. She could tell this wasn't a man to easily mess with.
[nomedia=""]YouTube- Tech N9ne~Little Pills (lyrics in description)[/nomedia]

As the smoke cleared from the club, everything seemed to stand still. It was weird the way a gun battle could do that; Freeze everyone and everything in it's aftermath. Some people, obviously too stoned to know where they were, simply stood up and left. Others cowered in corners, shaking in fear. One guy, who apparently had taken a stray bullet to the gut, lay on the ground surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Behind the bar Chuck had been using as cover, was a massive pile of broken glass and a strong smell of 80 proof liquor. Chuck, having found his bag of Euphoria, reached up and grabbed one of the bottles, Jack Daniels, and took a healthy swig. His teeth clenched as the straight booze hit his stomach with a satisfying burn.

He nodded towards the man, David, who had saved his life. "You want a hit ?"

Chuck wasn't really in the mood to be standing around drinking, but he needed something as the recent commotion had jarred his nerves quite a bit. On thing was sure, He had to check in with his Gang and let them know that the deal had gone bad. Revenge was a certainty, and Chuck wanted it bad.

Just as that thought had left his mind, he caught the glimpse of a man to his left. He spun to look, drawing his gun as he did so, when he heard the shot BANG. For a second he wasn't sure what had happened, then he saw it. The girl, Manon, had taken a shot to the head. Chuck, already with a shell chambered, unloaded on the lone gunman. As his body slumped against the wall, Chuck stared at the dead girl. Too bad, he thought, she was cute too.

Chuck took another shot of JD and planned his next move.
Max noticed a gathering as the event at the club had been going on. Thankfully now it seemed like it was over. This wasn't anything too special with the shitlords all over the place though. Almost anything drew a crowd as well, sometimes the crowd would lash out at whatever was going on. He saw some random folk with their weapons present, looking around as if hoping to catch some action.

Max continued to wait for the vans, scoping out the area for a better resolve in taking one. He didn't want to be caught... hasn't been yet anyway though. Maybe this would be his lucky day, maybe... maybe not.

Either way, it didn't matter, he had an idea. Near the gates in a construction yard, he saw a mobile crane of which was open to use. He could probably hotwire the thing no problem. Mad Max became hysterical at the thought of a crane ball swinging into a van, knocking it over and pouring the euphoria all over the place. He thought up on a plan and went to it...

<style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> "You'd be aiming poorly as well if you just got back from getting your cock sucked by some Euphoria addicted whore. Either way, I'm Eddy. Eddy Paulson, though most people call me shifty Eddy these days. I'm an entrepreneur of sorts. I deal in information, amongst many other things, and can usually get one what they want, for a price."

She grinned as he spoke the first sentence. So true, she thought to herself. As he placed his gun away, she relaxed a little and focused on the minor wounds on her legs. It was strange being on a helicopter before, she had to get out soon before the rest of the Overlords knew of her location.

Eddy kept talking, but she wasn't paying all that much attention. Her eyes gazed straight ahead, into the dirt filled air, minor sun rays peeking out, but just enough to say it's early morning. Her ears perked up when she felt he was about to ask her something.

"But tell me, miss...Who are you, and what did I just rescue you from? That was an overlord owned club, I could get in trouble for what I did, and I'd like to know what kind of trouble I can expect."

Her grin grew into a smile, "You're already in trouble, but I don't know what you can expect." She looked at him, "I guess you can stay on this thing, or be on the run so they don't have to blow this shit up." She stared back outside after a small silence, "My name is Amaya.... Must be the crack of dawn right now with the way the sun is trying to show itself," she continued, immediately changing the subject away from her. "The Overlords probably rescheduled the timing for the vans to drive by after all the shit they caused."
"Ah I see!" His reply came less defeated as she might have thought. "You forgot to mention a third option though. If I'm already in trouble (not that I fear them as much mind you) I might just as well deliver you to them, and earn some credit as well as cash at the same time." His gun was suddenly pointed at the girl again while the pilot minded his passengers as much as his flying. "You don't seem to be interesting in relating your story anyway, which makes you a useless asset in my hands, so to speak. Trust me girl, I'd like to save you but...Have to make a profit somehow."

He smiled and it wasn't a nice smile. It seemed devious and intelligent and mean. Suddenly the man was less charming and more dangerous, as an Alpha wolf suddenly discovering a threat. "Now before I decide that saving my own ass is more important than saving yours, I'm giving you one more chance to tell me EXACTLY what they were chasing you for. If not, we go straight to gangster headquarters and I negotiate a good price for you... Who knows, they might even let you live and put you out on the streets for them." His gaze briefly went down and up again in that same, predatory manner. "You definitely have the body for it."
There were many things that Chuck was unsure of in his life., the pills he was constantly taking, his life style as a gang member, even the way he often times treated people, but one thing was for sure, It was time to get the hell out of this shot up bar before he got caught here surrounded by dead bodies. Without any further hesitation, Chuck hit the back door just in time to see the helicopter that had inadvertently saved his life fly away. He thought on it for a minute then ran off into the night. Taking an extra second to make double sure that his bag of unsold Euphoria was well secured in his coat pocket. Damn, what a close call that had been.

Luckily Chuck had planned ahead and parked a car not far from the bar, just in case he had to make a quick get away. It was an old Chevy Impala, it was falling apart, but damn it still ran like a champ. He hopped in the driver side and pulled his gun out and set it in the passenger side seat. It was a pain in the ass driving with a gun sticking in your crotch. He fired the ignition and slammed it into first, leaving a black smokey cloud in his wake as he peeled off into the night.

What to do now? It would be morning soon, and he had to answer to the higher ups in the gang. He had to tell them that the situation was not only a botched set up, but also a blood bath that had left several dead. Chuck could really care less about the people he killed, what worried him was having to tell his fellow gang members that the drugs had gone unsold. He reached a stop light and fished out the almost empty bottle of Kolnopin. With a flick of his wrist, the bottle was open and two little white pills were in his hand. He popped them in his mouth then proceeded to a near by hang out, where he would no doubt meet up with his Gang.
Monet nodded as the Overlord spoke to her, giving her instructions. Her hand placed firmly on her thigh where her gun rested, the dark brown trench coat brushed back behind her hand so he could get a clear view of it.

"Listen here girly, this guy Chuck is makin' a deal and we don't trust the guy he's meetin' for shit. He's probably a bit fucked in the head if you know what I mean." The overlord nodded, his lip curling in disgust of the thought of the guy, Monet knew it wasn't directed at her because if it was she'd have to snap his neck where he stood. One of the perks of being an agent for hire made it so she could fuck anyone up that looked at her crossways. The man cleared his throat and began to speak again, "I want you to go to the club and make sure Chuck don't fuck this up, you hear?" He stopped for a moment to snort a line of crack, up his piggish nose that disgusted Monet so.

"So you want my ass to make sure this honky don' fuck up an' lose your shit? Fuck, that's easy as hell. And if he does fuck up fo' some reason I get to remove his face a'ight?" Monet nodded, a dark grin coming over her full lips that men seemed to be intimidated or enthralled by.

"No, don' fuckin' do that! We need his ass alive to teach him a lesson, he's high enough up that we don' need no bad publicity ya mean?" He rubbed his nose, sniffing to get the last remnants of his blow to his brain. He leaned across and placed a bag of marijuana down and nodded to her, "Jus' cause I like you girl, got a good feelin' 'bout 'chu."

"A'ight, a'ight. That it then? I got shit to do." Monet checked her watch, it would be getting to nightfall soon and she wanted to head Chuck off before he got to the club so she could ID him and watch to see if the deal went down right.

"Yeah, get your ass gone." The overlord nodded and Monet turned, walking out, keeping her ears open for the click of a gun which thankfully didn't come. She did notice a prostitute walking past and up into the overlord's place as she walked out to the street.

"Damn this shit is fucked up." Monet sighed as she walked down towards the motorcycle she had acquired from some poor fool earlier today. She liked the color, he had it, she didn't. One blast of her sawn-off shotgun and it was all hers, "Foo shouldn' have stopped his stupid ass at the stop light." She commented as she swung her leg over and turned it on, the engine roaring to life as she fitted the helmet down over her long curly hair.


Monet though it'd be fun to try one of those stunt moves she saw in movies when she was younger. She revved the motorcycle up and jumped off as it pulled away, running into a stack of bodies about 20 feet away from her. She chuckled as she tossed the helmet off to the side, ignoring everyone and walking up to the club, her heavy boots clomping on the sidewalk.

Posting up nearby the entrance she leaned against the wall, packing a bowl for her to smoke with her pipe. "This better be some damn good shit or I have a mother fucker to deal with." Monet raised and eyebrow before lighting it up and inhaling deeply, the sensation taking a moment to hit her. She exhaled a large plume of smoke out into the night air and gave a contented sigh, a smile coming over her lips. "A'ight, he cool..." she nodded to herself, her eyes closing for just a minute to let the feeling cover her.

She opened her eyes again when she heard a door slam near her. "Damn, there goes his honky ass righ' thur!" Monet laughed, her fist covering her mouth as she spoke so he wouldn't overhear her. She watched closely as he headed into the club, the pulse of the music could be felt even outside the club. Monet shook her head and took another hit off her pipe before walking over to the door of the club.

All she could hear inside was gunfire and screaming. "Damn, stupid ass fucked his own shit up!" Her look of disgust gave way to a look of excitement. She might actually get to do something interesting tonight. With a grin she walked over to Chuck's car that he ever so kindly left unlocked for her. She finished the rest of her bowl and emptied her pipe on the side of his car before climbing into the backseat, shutting the door behind her carefully. She laid there, perfectly still and quiet, making sure that Chuck would have no clue that she was there until it was too late.

She didn't have to wait too long before she felt the door open and slam again and the motor start up. A smile spread across her face as she snaked her hand over to the gun that he had so carelessly tossed into the passenger seat and retrieved it. As soon as she felt the car stop and heard the popping of a pill bottle she bolted up and placed the gun to Chuck's temple.

"Sup?" She smiled, popping the 'p' on the word and cocking the hammer of his gun, "A'ight so lissen fo' a minute. Yo ass fucked up, and now we gunna go see yo' boss-man ya mean? You drive nice an' coo' and we ain't gunna have a problem. Oh and by the way, you fuck up my hair and I'mma put a bullet between those cute lil' ears, so you can get goin' now." she nodded, pulling the gun away from his head but keeping it trained on him as she crawled into the passenger seat and smiled to him, her full lips parting to a wide smile barely affected by her previous meth habit. "So go Chuck, go..."