Risky Business[IC]

[First Valerian Empire]

Risky Business
OOC

Imagine a city full of people ruthlessly pursuing wealth, fame and self-improvement, at any cost? Where everyone you met was either a celebrity, trying to be a celebrity, or used to be a celebrity? Where nature's bounty meant you could enjoy perfect weather all year round? Where the air was so good you could literally see and taste it? Dare to dream, because that city exists...

Skyline; the city of dreams,addicts and homicidal maniacs with mommy issues and itchy trigger fingers.In 1960, there were less than a half a million permanent inhabitants, now there were two and half million and another million in undocumented migrants and illegal immigrants from south,north and everywhere else outside the country. Big cities brought big city problems; like organized crime, major narcotics distribution and lots of media exposure.

It was a lethal cocktail and when shaken it was guaranteed to provide Hollywood with it's next generation of crime classics.Only the most ruthless,cunning and ambitious class of citizens made it in the city and the rest were destined to be bottom feeders and servants for the remainder of their years. The De Santa were not of the former breed.

Originally of Italian stock, the De Santa's got their start in the city in the late 50s as local hoods who provided extra muscle to the more entrenched political bosses of the era who survived the shock of WWII and the arrival of cocaine to the doors of America.Year after year they climbed the latter and reached greater and greater heights both in the criminal world and in the economic one as well. The clan reached their zenith in the late 90s when Anthony ''Fat Tony'' De Santa took over the organization and oversaw the clan's rise to dominance as the city's premier crime faction and the so called ''Pax De Santa''. Anyone looking to make a quick buck on the side had to go through Fat Tony and any cop who tried to bust them was either bought off or cut down like last week's crab grass.

Now Fat Tony was dead of a heart attack at the prime age of 63 and the De Santas weren't on the top anymore.

''Fucking Mexicans. They charged Tony sixty over what they charged everyone else for the same blow and they want a spot at the fucking funeral. Fucking cockroaches need a hobby.''

Alphonse ''Al'' De Santa was Fat Tony's cousin on his father's side and every bit the criminal the world thought he was. From the moment he was born, Al knew he was going to be a big shot just not at what. By age 10, a chance encounter with a small-time pimp turned drug dealer turned him down the criminal path for life. By 13, he was sticking up the local corner store and running numbers for the local bookie, by 15, Al had graduated to selling coke and loan sharking and by 18, he was a full fledged mobster taking down major scores and doing hits for the big shots in the big apple.

Now he was planning his cousins' funeral on the side of picking up the slack left by his departure. Al loved his cousin but business was business and money took second place to no one and nothing.

Al had made his headquarters in his nightclub, '' Aces'', a real classy joint that the cops stayed away from and the young people did there best to get into. It maintained a revolving door of celebrities, politicians' kids and mobsters as it's clientele and it provided a legitimate front for his other businesses.

The basement was were most of the ''action'' happened, away from the patrons and any potential witnesses.

''Ok Ok. Put whoever those fucking Beaners are gonna send on the third row away from those wanna-be gangsters from East Skyline. I don't want anyone fucking up my cousins' going away party. His mother, my mother and sisters are going to be there. It has to be fucking beautiful . ''

''Alright Al. We'll take care of it. How soon do you want it done man.''

He hadn't had time to call up any of his lieutenants and he was forced to delegate the finer points of funeral planning to associates who knew only two things; bullets and coke.

''I want it done yesterday, you fucking moran. Now get it done!''

The guys got up and scurried out of the storeroom they were currently occupying, leaving Al to his thoughts.

Tony had been the glue that made the whole organization ''stick''. He made sure the black guys worked with the brown guys and the brown guys worked with the white guys and everyone kicked up their percentage to the family. He had kept the politicians calm and the gangsters on their toes with his help of course. In a world such as theirs, there were no smooth transitions even from within the same family. There were bound to be some breakaways and so he had to prepare.

Al dug his hands into his designer slacks and pulled out one of his disposable phones and typed up a text that he then sent out to all of the Lieutenants in De Santa organization. It only contained one word, ''Church'' but everyone would know who it was from and what it meant. Just because Tony was dead didn't mean that they were going to stop what they were doing. He was in charge now and it would be business as usual.

Not my best Initial Public Offering but it should get everyone started.

[Walabam]

1450 hours
West Skyline
Waters' Apartment

A mess. A total mess. Her room was filled with empty food containers, some left there for days. The alarm clock had stopped working 2 weeks ago, but it didn't seem to affect her as she would sleep her fill before heading out to find a source of income. For days Sandra was an artiste manager; her own, and for nights she would strum her guitar and perform in various nightclubs, whichever liked her voice. Finding a proper job was "just too mainstream" for her and illegal stuff was not her kind of thing - yet. Her filth-filled apartment was a sign that she wasn't free to clean it up; spending most of her time writing and practicing songs.

"Shit," uttered Sandra, "I'm running out of money. Time to go perform." As she stood up from her bed, she picked up a pizza slice from a pizza box on the floor that was left untouched for 2 nights, leaving it on the kitchen counter. Although she was quite filthy at home, she knew a good appearance and a good scent would give people a good impression of her. After a thorough shower, she began to eat her already rancid breakfast, brushing her teeth thereafter.

It was not long after she had brushed her teeth that she picked up a book that had a title of "Directory guide to Skyline". After crossing out yet another bar that had kicked her out the previous week, she began sourcing for new clubs to perform in. Slowly, she drew a tick next to some nightclubs in Downtown. "Rise Lounge; could work. Uh, what's this?", questioned Sandra while she examined the smudged name of the next club. "Right, apparently they have something called Indie Thursday. I'll check it out anyway." Off she went, with a marker and a pen, planning the route to 'Rise Lounge', hopeful that they would be preparing for the night's patronage.

Putting on her half-faced helmet, with her guitar strapped to her back, she hopped onto her gray-colored Vespa LX150 ie, turned on the engine, and zoomed away into the busy lunchtime traffic. After almost an hour of riding, she arrived at her destination, parking her scooter outside the lounge.

1713 hours
Downtown Skyline
The Rise Lounge

Sandra approached the wide and classy doors of the establishment. Taking a deep breath, she used a somewhat loud but gentle voice to ask if anybody was in there. While she waited for a response, she googled the route to the 'Indie Thursday Club' on her phone.

[Cylarn]

A man like Robert Calhoun had a crazy schedule, due to his role as a master of nightlife in Skyline. One day, he would spend hours working in his office, and then on the next, he would spend the night overseeing one or both of his clubs. Mixed in around each week would be a party; some rich celebrities decide to rent the place out for a massive party, and Robert would spend time with his guests, drinking expensive champagne and smoking pot on the roof. Other times, someone would fuck up and Robert would have to go bail that person out of trouble, whether the trouble be an overdose or a night in the slammer. People looked up to Robert Calhoun, and he was thankful that he had a place in the world, which was more than what most people in his family could ever hope to boast about.

Robert woke up in his Northern Skyline high-rise penthouse apartment at around 1610, lying on top of an unmade bed with silk black sheets and black pillows strewn around the large bedroom. The night had been a tough one for him, as he was working the floor at pLACE for the night manager, who had to give up his shift in order to be with an ailing relative. They had some rowdy college kids and hipsters causing trouble that night, in addition to the guy selling cocaine, molly, and x in the men's bathroom. Drunken patrons and drug dealers were no problem for the former Army Ranger, and he had the ever-looming presence of the city's criminal groups to deal with. The year prior, he had been dealing with some Latino hoods who thought that they could deal drugs in pLACE, which resulted in a small feud between Robert Calhoun and the gang. When you're a man like Robert Calhoun, you have access to certain powers, whether it be the ability to ask a cop friend for a favor, or easily find a contract killer to beat or even kill someone. Using a combination of contracts on the gang's OGs, an anti-gang operation conducted by the police Anti-Gang Unit, his own problem-solvers, and getting his own hands dirty, he was able to tear apart the gang and force them out of Skyline. While he had removed that threat, he was secretly concerned about the Mafia, which couldn't be taken down like a street gang.

Robert slowly lifted himself from his bed, groaning as he stood up on his own two feet. He slowly made his way into his bathroom, and proceeded to carry out his morning shower and hygiene procedure. Following that, he walked over to his large walk-in closet and began searching for his attire for the night. It was Indie Thursday; the night where rich corporate executives and socialites could enjoy the guilty pleasures of hipster music. Normally, The Rise had a live jazz band on staff, but on certain days - such as Indie Thursday - they would invite artists of various genres to perform, excluding rap artists and other hacks. Aside from the hipsters that would be there for the night, everyone else was a business executive in a nice suit, so Robert decided on a black suit with a light blue shirt and a black tie, along with a pair of black oxfords. He changed into the suit rather quickly, and before adding his jacket, he made sure to don his leather shoulder holster, that contained a stainless steel Beretta 96 in its holster.

Being a former soldier, Robert wanted his businesses to be safe from threats. That's why Robert personally put together the security for his clubs. At each club, at least half of the normal employees were armed with a 9mm pistol - usually a Glock - that they would train with at least 3 times a week. The security staff and bouncers were screened personally by Robert; he only chose those applicants who possessed military and/or police experience, or if they were trained fighters.
Computer experts were also valued, as they could work the cameras and the electronic security systems installed at the club, such as security alarms in private areas and the metal detector at the front door. Furthermore, each employee was instructed on how to respond during an emergency; unarmed employees were to hunker down and move for cover, while the armed employees were responsible for eliminating the intruder. So far, no criminal has been able to get past the door guns blazing, and no employees has had to lay down their life.

After donning his suit, Robert made his way into the kitchen, where he put his Keurig machine to work, producing some black coffee that fell into his gray mug. With his coffee in hand, Robert walked over into his office and attended to his computer. He had a good 2 hours to kill before 5, after which he would be awake all night at The Rise. 90 minutes would be spent on the internet, learning about the recent news around the world and browsing emails. The next 30 minutes would see Robert making his way to work from his 50-story luxury apartment building, calling ahead to the valet desk and arranging for his black Mercedes-Benz W222 to be waiting on him out front. Robert took the elevator down to the ground floor, and briskly walked out of the building. He approached the valet desk and greeted the valet just as his car arrived. After tipping the two valets, Robert climbed into his sedan and drove to Downtown.

Robert arrived at The Rise rather quickly, parking across the street from the establishment. He exited his car and made his way across the street and into the 70-story skyscraper that housed The Rise at the very top. From The Rise, one could look down upon the entire city at night and see only different world. Robert would often make his way to the outdoor lounge area and sit near the pool, enjoying a glass of scotch as he looked down upon Skyline. After taking the elevator to the top, he would proceed down a long hallway to the wide, classy doors of the high-rise establishment. So far, only a few patrons had arrived, and they were simply sitting at their tables or the counter, enjoying a wide range of appetizers and liquors as smooth jazz played over the intercom. On the indoor stage, the well-dressed employees were preparing the stage for Indie Night, setting up a drum set and some stage appliances for the show.

As he proceeded towards the doors however, he spotted a young woman standing at the door, a guitar strapped to her back. A hipster musician, again. She clearly worked on her outward appearance; she looked clean and had a good fragrance about her, but there was something else. She was glued to her phone, and he could hear the tone of her voice when she called out for someone to answer the door, which gave off a hint of desperation to play at the club. Robert knew many musicians, and knew full well about their trouble. Regardless, Robert kept this to himself and simply walked forward, putting on a smile as he walked to the woman's right and opened the door, motioning for her to go through.

"After you," he said.

[First Valerian Empire]

Aphonese De Santa
Aces

Aces wasn't a classy place, but it wasn't a shithole either. The club had been bought out by Al in 2008 during the height of the housing crisis because it's previous owner couldn't pay the mortgage and the neighborhood ''tax'' at the same time. Since then a new dance floor, upholstery,security system and appliances had been installed. It received a complete make over and as a result was extremely popular with the young crowd.

Now, the place was packed with everyone 21 to 35. But the real action was in the VIP were the De Santa Lieutenants were meeting.

''I don't give a fuck if they're friends with the President of the United States or butt buddies with the fucking pope. If they earn in my town then I get a cut. Now, as much as it pains me to do this; we gotta divide up Tony's turf.'

The room nodded in agreement. In truth, most of them had been waiting for this day. It meant they all got promotions and more importantly a huge pay raise to help front the bill for their wives, mistresses and girlfriends.

''Now, I want Jimmy to run the book making on the North Side. Those rich fucks need a real ass kicking before they start thinking they don't have to cough up anything. Any of those cunts give you trouble then you give my brother a call.''

''Jimmy'' nodded as he received the first of the new appointments. He had been with the organization for more than 20 years and he was finally getting his cut of the pie.

''Thanks Al, those fat cats will get with the program. I really appreciate the opportunity to...''

''Fuck all that Jim. You got the job and that's that.This isn't Wall Street, we don't kiss ass here pal.''

''Roger that skipper.''

De Santa stood up and raised his glass of scotch to the air, signalling that it was time for a toast. He looked like a stock broker in Miami with his blood red silk shirt with the top button left open and black slacks and loafers. It was a professional look that prevented him from profiled as a criminal but still retained traces of his ancestry, poor Italian-Spanish immigrants from the sticks.

''To Jimmy and his new endeavors and to Fat Tony De Santa, my cousin and the Don that made them all. Rest in Peace.''


The room filled with ''Ayes''and ''Here heres'' as everyone toasted to the passing of Tony and Jimmy's promotion and then they drank.

''Next we have the movies. Now I'm not Tony and I could give two shits about who makes what and with who but there's alot of money to be made there so I'll let Sonny and his boys have that when he bails out of county next week. I want the Loan sharking to go to my brother Johnny and the I'll pick up the slack on the protection racket on the strip.Little Tony is gonna run collections for me and Jimmy and I want Mickey to take over everything on the East. Tony let those fucking wetbacks and greasy foreigners get carried away and I'm not making the same mistake. Rico get's the gun running operation for now until we get the big toys from out East. The rest of yous are to keep at it like we have. The vig is still 10% and I want my money every fucking week like clockwork. Capish?''

Everyone again nodded and patted each other on the back as Al began restoring order to the organization. Fat Tony had been dead for less than a week and already Al was setting things straight. Little Tony, Fat Tony's only son was getting a bigger piece of the pie as a tribute to his dead father. He wasn't that much of a competent criminal yet but he was family and that made him untouchable. Jimmy was a old school mate of Fat Tony's that had been a little late getting into the game but he was book smart and mingled well with the elite types. Mickey and Rico were as stereotypical as gangsters came, getting into all kinds of trouble and loving every second of it. They knew how to keep their mouths shut and their morals nonexistent and that made them valuable and that alone earned them their promotions.

Business was concluded for the night and it was time to celebrate.

''Alright boys, you know the motto. All work and no play makes for a fucked up day so let's get something started eh? To the Family!''

And just like that. The VIP section turned from criminal boardroom into Sin city in seconds. Drinks and drugs flowed freely and anything with tits and a pretty face was let through the door with the only condition being they were going to lose their underwear at some point during the night.

Alphonse was happily married and being the old fashioned guy that he was, didn't disrespect his wife in public like the rest of the guys. He laughed, he drank and he joked but he left the party favors and women to the rest of crowd. He participated for a couple hours before quietly slipping out to go home.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Underbelly, Downtown Skyline

Franklin Cornerstone watched people get high and drunk from his office overlooking the his bar. Underbelly, was filled with all types of people there to get high amd get frunk. Tonight though was a meeting between Franklin and his liutenants. With the death of "Fat" Tony, Franklin's long time friend, the Mexican's pushed their way into Franklin's territory in West Skyline and started sellimg drugs. Without "Fat" Tony's threatening them, the Mexican OGs decided that Franklin was nothing without Tony and started sellimg crack in Franklin's streets.
Franklin turmed around to the table of waiting men.
" So boys, there our money is being stolen by pendejos on our streets. What are we to do? The mexicans think that we are jokes, that without old Tony's help, we are just little fucktard hipsters. They forget that back when we just started out as a crew, we fought a bloody war with them, a war for our strip of land. We go to war but preparations have to be made, Rookie! You are to get some heat for our party. Talk with the smugglers. You know what to do."
Anthony "Rookie" Green sighed at his nickname and nodded to his boss and old time friend, " Aye boss, I'm on the job."
Franklin nodded, "Sam, contact Alphonse De Santa, tell him that I'd like to see him regarding about his late cousin's business. Jack, gather information about the mexican's main pushers in the area, take their goods and whatever money they got on them when you get the chance but make sure you stay only in the West. You know what will happen if you fuck this up."
Everyone shivered remembering the one rat who decided screw Franklin over. Though in the inside, they were cheering. The West Syndicate was back on track and Franklin was on a warpath.

[Romberg]

15.30

Nikolai finally woke up, after another long night of "action". Starting fresh in a new city was difficult. It took many years for him to be respected among his peers in the "old country" - to be one of them - part of the Brotherhood - the Bratva. Back home, in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union, a series of investments brought riches to him. And then, his more shady dealings gave him well-needed contacts. On the surface, he was a successful businessman and investor, an oligarch. Underneath, he controlled one of the most powerful Mafiya gangs in Moscow. These few months, using his businessman guise, he moved part of his operations to Skyline, knowing that his trusted lieutenants, in the ages-old code, would keep up his ways there.

It was a different game. There, the police could be paid off with a few thousand rubles. Here, it wasn't that easy. There, the unwritten rules of the Mafiya framed interactions between him and his dealings in the Business. Here, the rules were no more. It was nominally still controlled by the Italians, but the death of the leader had led to a loosening of power. It was the break which led to Nikolai deciding to move to the city in the first place.

Back home, there were a variety of jobs, including in particular racketeering and white-collar crime, which he had profitted immensely from. Here though, he had to think smart and change. He knew that even though these activities would quickly allow him to build up a reputation, the police weren't that easily paid off here, and one false step could end him in federal custody, where any connections would be useless. He had already made his decision. Knowing the situation at home, he had just two things on his mind. One, Guns. Guns from the Old Country were easy to get, and he knew all the dealers. Here, with gang warfare soon to erupt over turf, as he had heard from his contact, they would be in heavy demand. Two, vehicles. With his connections in Eastern Europe and beyond, stolen cars could easily be shipped to a third country, where they would fetch a high premium. He could profit both ways, and though these activities seemed rather low-level compared to what he was used to, he knew that the risk was lower. Plus, with an abundant source of immigrant labour, in particular people from his own country and the nations surrounding it, he could easily build up a new Brotherhood here with loyal soldiers. And many of them may even be combat trained, whether Chechnya, former Yugoslavia or elsewhere. It was like an untapped gold-mine.

"It's time to head out, sir." came the voice from below - for Nikolai had chosen a house in the West side of the city. He didn't want to attract too much attention like the North, nor was he willing to put himself down to the level in the East. Thus the West, despite his apathy for the general hipster situation, would have to be where he called home.

The voice came from a certain Mikhail. Mikhail Sokolov, in fact. Aged 32, Mikhail was Nikolai's trusted lieutenant, and had served with him in Russia, his ways earning him the title "Bear of Moscow". On paper, Mikhail was now listed as Nikolai's business associate. In truth though, he took care of the day-to-day operations for Nikolai. And having fought in both Chechen wars, he was an experienced soldier too, usually keeping a Makarov pistol by his side. So did Nikolai. They did not like Tokarevs, and Grachs were too difficult to find.

Down the stairs they went, and into the waiting car - a late model BMW 7-series, black and tinted. Mikhail was the driver. This was the style of the Russian mob.

---

16.00

The sedan now finally arrived at the port, where Nikolai set up the headquarters of his cover company, Red Star Shipping, oestensibly conducting trade between this nation and Eastern Europe, particularly Russia. In reality, it did do some of that to maintain legality, but also was the main route where weapons were brought in and cars out.

Nikolai ran things with three simple rules.

1. Anonymity, and that the demands are fulfilled when possible.
2. Neutrality in the conflict between other gangs.
3. No drugs or human trafficking.

So far, it has worked. And he had to process a few legitimate trade details first, before his main job would arrive at night.

[Mnar Secundus]

In the empty apartment where he did business between his hours at the Mended Drum, Vincent Casey, or whatever his real name was, was drinking. Not alcohol, obviously; as a bartender, he knew everything there was to know about alcohol, and didn't like the idea of having it in his system - besides, he disliked the taste. He was drinking a fruit juice cocktail. It was a somber one, made from red fruit and grapefruit and blackberries. Vincent lifted his glass to the little girl on the other side of the table, who was holding her own similar glass and returned the gesture.

"To Anthony De Santa," said the hitman. The deceased mobster boss had been a loyal client of his, and loyal clients were to be mourned.
"To Anthony De Santa," repeated Ann in her high and pure voice. "May he rest in peace, if so he desires."
Vincent smiled thinly at this: he didn't believe in any form of afterlife, but if there were one, and if it were just, De Santa would be rotting in the deepest pit of the relevant Hell right about now. And in that case, I will, too, eventually, he thought. The thought briefly worried him: if he went to Hell for what he did, then Ann would probably follow him at some point ... Well, it's pointless to think about it. If it came down to that, he would destroy Hell, and that would be the end of it.

He emptied his glass in one go while Ann sipped it patiently. Then the pair set about maintaining the Gray Man's equipment. They started off with edged weaponry: knives, daggers, machetes, tomahawks, push daggers, belt daggers, necklace daggers, boot daggers ... They cleaned everything carefully, oiled it and stored it in hidden compartments in the walls, roof and floor.
Then they got started on the firearms, disassembling everything, checking every nook and cranny of every piece and cleaning them thoroughly before assembling them again. Sniper rifle: check. FN P90: check. Submachine gun: check. Remington 870 shotgun: check. Uzis: check. Micro Tavor: check. Beretta M9s, Sig Sauers, Glocks, Beretta Pico, his favorite Mk 23 Mod 0 ... Check.
Everything seemed to be fine.

Well then, Vincent thought, peeling a clementine and biting into one of its slices with gusto. He had nothing to do right now, which was unusual. He glanced over to Ann: the little girl had dark circles under her eyes. I've been working her too hard. He made up his mind, stood up and spoke: "Come on, Ann. We're going."
"Where to?", asked the girl, surprised.
Vincent replied absent-mindedly: "To the aquarium. You've wanted to go there for a long time, right?" He looked back towards Ann from the corner of his eye: she was radiant. This made him feel good somehow.
He put on his clothes for the day: an entirely crimson suit, including a blue-striped waistcoat, with a black shirt and a black pocket square. He took a matching hat and long coat, and hid various weapons on his person; then he walked out of the apartment, Ann in tow, and headed over to his car, a noncommittal gray affair. I wasn't expecting to get family time today.

[Walabam]

A man like Robert Calhoun had a crazy schedule, due to his role as a master of nightlife in Skyline. One day, he would spend hours working in his office, and then on the next, he would spend the night overseeing one or both of his clubs. Mixed in around each week would be a party; some rich celebrities decide to rent the place out for a massive party, and Robert would spend time with his guests, drinking expensive champagne and smoking pot on the roof. Other times, someone would fuck up and Robert would have to go bail that person out of trouble, whether the trouble be an overdose or a night in the slammer. People looked up to Robert Calhoun, and he was thankful that he had a place in the world, which was more than what most people in his family could ever hope to boast about.

Robert woke up in his Northern Skyline high-rise penthouse apartment at around 1610, lying on top of an unmade bed with silk black sheets and black pillows strewn around the large bedroom. The night had been a tough one for him, as he was working the floor at pLACE for the night manager, who had to give up his shift in order to be with an ailing relative. They had some rowdy college kids and hipsters causing trouble that night, in addition to the guy selling cocaine, molly, and x in the men's bathroom. Drunken patrons and drug dealers were no problem for the former Army Ranger, and he had the ever-looming presence of the city's criminal groups to deal with. The year prior, he had been dealing with some Latino hoods who thought that they could deal drugs in pLACE, which resulted in a small feud between Robert Calhoun and the gang. When you're a man like Robert Calhoun, you have access to certain powers, whether it be the ability to ask a cop friend for a favor, or easily find a contract killer to beat or even kill someone. Using a combination of contracts on the gang's OGs, an anti-gang operation conducted by the police Anti-Gang Unit, his own problem-solvers, and getting his own hands dirty, he was able to tear apart the gang and force them out of Skyline. While he had removed that threat, he was secretly concerned about the Mafia, which couldn't be taken down like a street gang.

Robert slowly lifted himself from his bed, groaning as he stood up on his own two feet. He slowly made his way into his bathroom, and proceeded to carry out his morning shower and hygiene procedure. Following that, he walked over to his large walk-in closet and began searching for his attire for the night. It was Indie Thursday; the night where rich corporate executives and socialites could enjoy the guilty pleasures of hipster music. Normally, The Rise had a live jazz band on staff, but on certain days - such as Indie Thursday - they would invite artists of various genres to perform, excluding rap artists and other hacks. Aside from the hipsters that would be there for the night, everyone else was a business executive in a nice suit, so Robert decided on a black suit with a light blue shirt and a black tie, along with a pair of black oxfords. He changed into the suit rather quickly, and before adding his jacket, he made sure to don his leather shoulder holster, that contained a stainless steel Beretta 96 in its holster.

Being a former soldier, Robert wanted his businesses to be safe from threats. That's why Robert personally put together the security for his clubs. At each club, at least half of the normal employees were armed with a 9mm pistol - usually a Glock - that they would train with at least 3 times a week. The security staff and bouncers were screened personally by Robert; he only chose those applicants who possessed military and/or police experience, or if they were trained fighters.
Computer experts were also valued, as they could work the cameras and the electronic security systems installed at the club, such as security alarms in private areas and the metal detector at the front door. Furthermore, each employee was instructed on how to respond during an emergency; unarmed employees were to hunker down and move for cover, while the armed employees were responsible for eliminating the intruder. So far, no criminal has been able to get past the door guns blazing, and no employees has had to lay down their life.

After donning his suit, Robert made his way into the kitchen, where he put his Keurig machine to work, producing some black coffee that fell into his gray mug. With his coffee in hand, Robert walked over into his office and attended to his computer. He had a good 2 hours to kill before 5, after which he would be awake all night at The Rise. 90 minutes would be spent on the internet, learning about the recent news around the world and browsing emails. The next 30 minutes would see Robert making his way to work from his 50-story luxury apartment building, calling ahead to the valet desk and arranging for his black Mercedes-Benz W222 to be waiting on him out front. Robert took the elevator down to the ground floor, and briskly walked out of the building. He approached the valet desk and greeted the valet just as his car arrived. After tipping the two valets, Robert climbed into his sedan and drove to Downtown.

Robert arrived at The Rise rather quickly, parking across the street from the establishment. He exited his car and made his way across the street and into the 70-story skyscraper that housed The Rise at the very top. From The Rise, one could look down upon the entire city at night and see only different world. Robert would often make his way to the outdoor lounge area and sit near the pool, enjoying a glass of scotch as he looked down upon Skyline. After taking the elevator to the top, he would proceed down a long hallway to the wide, classy doors of the high-rise establishment. So far, only a few patrons had arrived, and they were simply sitting at their tables or the counter, enjoying a wide range of appetizers and liquors as smooth jazz played over the intercom. On the indoor stage, the well-dressed employees were preparing the stage for Indie Night, setting up a drum set and some stage appliances for the show.

As he proceeded towards the doors however, he spotted a young woman standing at the door, a guitar strapped to her back. A hipster musician, again. She clearly worked on her outward appearance; she looked clean and had a good fragrance about her, but there was something else. She was glued to her phone, and he could hear the tone of her voice when she called out for someone to answer the door, which gave off a hint of desperation to play at the club. Robert knew many musicians, and knew full well about their trouble. Regardless, Robert kept this to himself and simply walked forward, putting on a smile as he walked to the woman's right and opened the door, motioning for her to go through.

"After you," he said.

1758 hours
The Rise Lounge

After a long wait for more than 30 minutes, Sandra sighed as she realised her chances of performing in this establishment were gone. Still, she decided to give it another minute for a miracle to happen. "Perhaps they aren't opened today," uttered Sandra with a tone of disappointment. However, she doubted her own thoughts, remembering clearly reading on the directory that this lounge would be opened today. "Beep beep," went her sports watch. It was 6 PM, almost an hour into waiting.

"Gah, fuck it. No one's opening the door," thought Sandra to herself. "But what if someone comes in another minute?" Her dilemma was a real struggle. Fortunately for her, she decided to wait for another minute, an sure enough, someone responded to her callings.

"After you," the man said as he opened the door for Sandra. It was Robert Calhoun, the establishment's owner, unbeknownst to Sandra. "Thank you, sir," uttered Sandra as she walked in briskly. Sandra looked at her surroundings, much attracted by the posh decoration of the lounge. It was her first time in such a lounge; her previous workplaces were decent watering holes, but not as posh as this one. She took a quick glance at the stage, fascinated at how rich people lived. "One day I'll be like them when I get my record deal," muttered Sandra as she giggled to herself. Clearing her throat, he turned to the man and began throwing him questions. "Hi, do you work here?" Sandra did not wait for a response. "Is your boss around? Can I speak to him or her, please?"

Sandra was glued to her phone at the wrong time. She did not see the man arrive in his luxury car. Even if she wasn't glued to her phone, her myopia and her lost contact lens wouldn't have helped her see him come from across the street either. Her spectacles, on the other hand, was buried under the trash in her apartment.

[Romberg]

21.00

Now, the legitimate work was done. It was still profitting, but nowhere near what he really put much effort into. From his office on the second floor of the warehouse, he gave the signal, and the doors were closed.

Inside, he was ready to start another night. The warehouse itself was divided into three parts. To one end, was the actual storage area. This was where his legitimate dealings would be stored, and sometimes, cars and weapons. But these had a risk to it, and Nikolai made sure that nothing would remain there more than a week. Again, so far everything was fine.

The other section was his most important business of all - gun running. There, new guns from the Old Country or the black market would be inspected, stripped, serial numbers removed, and perhaps further milled or modified. Usually, legitimate welding work would be able to mask these machining sounds. Among all these weapons though, two series in particular stood out. One was Kalashnikovs or its variants, smuggled aboard various ships. The other was the AR-15 series, in a variety of calibers, and which sometimes he would modify to full auto just to increase the market price. Both sold well, and with experienced crew from the Old Country, his reputation for quality black market arms was fast rising.

The final section though was by far the largest. There, stolen cars would be repainted, licence plates removed or replaced, serial and VIN numbers altered, odometers dialled back or the entire car stripped and sold as spare parts as necessary. With reasonable wages, and a side job of legitimate car repairs, Nikolai did not have too much difficulty running it either.

Altogether, his business in the city was by far on a modest scale, but respectable among the criminal society nonetheless. And his clientele was broad, possibly due to his three rules. Third world despot, terrorist or simply common street criminals did not matter to him. As long as the money was paid and the three rules obeyed, a business dealing was just that.

[Palonitr and Howland]

21.00

Now, the legitimate work was done. It was still profitting, but nowhere near what he really put much effort into. From his office on the second floor of the warehouse, he gave the signal, and the doors were closed.

Inside, he was ready to start another night. The warehouse itself was divided into three parts. To one end, was the actual storage area. This was where his legitimate dealings would be stored, and sometimes, cars and weapons. But these had a risk to it, and Nikolai made sure that nothing would remain there more than a week. Again, so far everything was fine.

The other section was his most important business of all - gun running. There, new guns from the Old Country or the black market would be inspected, stripped, serial numbers removed, and perhaps further milled or modified. Usually, legitimate welding work would be able to mask these machining sounds. Among all these weapons though, two series in particular stood out. One was Kalashnikovs or its variants, smuggled aboard various ships. The other was the AR-15 series, in a variety of calibers, and which sometimes he would modify to full auto just to increase the market price. Both sold well, and with experienced crew from the Old Country, his reputation for quality black market arms was fast rising.

The final section though was by far the largest. There, stolen cars would be repainted, licence plates removed or replaced, serial and VIN numbers altered, odometers dialled back or the entire car stripped and sold as spare parts as necessary. With reasonable wages, and a side job of legitimate car repairs, Nikolai did not have too much difficulty running it either.

Altogether, his business in the city was by far on a modest scale, but respectable among the criminal society nonetheless. And his clientele was broad, possibly due to his three rules. Third world despot, terrorist or simply common street criminals did not matter to him. As long as the money was paid and the three rules obeyed, a business dealing was just that.

Franklin had heard of a new gun runner in town and decided that dealing with the local gun runners would attract too much heat on him and from what he heard, this Nikolai person and his crew were pretty good at what they did. Franklin had somehow have winded up with the Nikolai's number and had called him.
After the phone ringed for a while then shifted into voice mail. "Nikolai Lomonosov, I am interested in making a purchase with you for arms. Don't worry, this line is secure and the cops won't hear a thing. Come over to Underbelly Bar at downtown Skyline. Ask for Cornerstone and my boys will expect you. As a show of honor, I shall allow you to bring your own men armed. Good day to you."
Franklin put down the phone and drank his whisky, he needed guns fast since the Mexican's had were setting up in West Skyline fast.

[Keznov]

Levinsky Estate
North Skyline
0930 hours

Meyer Levinsky yawned loudly as he climbed off his bed, scratching his neatly trimmed curly brown hair. Turning to the telephone beside his bed he picked it up and dialed 1, waiting silently as it rang. After a few seconds a woman answered on the other end.

"Good morning sir."

"Good morning. I am awake now, I will be getting ready within the next ten to twenty minutes, usual procedure with the tidying please."

"Of course sir, shall I also have the kitchen prepare breakfast?"

"Yes, I will have Assiette de Fruits et Fondue de Brie."

"Very good sir."

He placed the phone down and went for a shower, returning to the room ten minutes later. He proceeded to dress himself in a black suit with a light grey shirt, a gold and black striped tie and a handkerchief of the same color folded and placed in the pocket of the blazer. Walking out of his room he proceeded down one of the long white spiral staircases, slowly gliding his hand over its polished marble rail. Finally he reached the bottom and made his way outside to a large patio where a long outside dining table had been setup, with only a single chair at its head, which he slowly seated himself in. Moments later an elderly butler stepped forward.

"Sir, what shall I acquire for you as a refreshment?"

"The Château Margaux."

"Very well sir."

The butler disappeared for a few moments before re-appearing flanked by two other younger men, one carrying a glass, the other the bottle of wine. Stopping at the side of the table the man with the glass placed it down gently before backing away. The other man stepped forward and poured the red wine in. The elder butler then pointed to a spot on the table and the man placed the bottle down. Signalling to them once again with his hand they nodded and walked off. The butler also stepped away, walking back into the shade. Meyer took a sip of the wine, savoring its rich taste before turning his attention to the plate of food in front of him. Taking his knife and fork he cut off a piece of the brie and scraped some of the fruit onto it. Lifting the fork to his mouth he was just about to take a bite when a man in a suit came rushing out.

"Meye-"

"Mr. Levinsky"

"Sorry, Mr. Levinsk-"

"I was joking Jack. We've been friends for fifteen years, we need no formalities."

"Right right. Anyway, the Board of Directors wants to meet at two o'clock today."

Meyer sighed and put the fork into his mouth, chewing and nodding at the same time. He looked at Jack Garder, who currently served as Chief Operating Officer of the Pacific Property Group, and smiled. Standing he wiped his mouth with a napkin and then tossed it onto the table. Looking to the butler he shook his head.

"I never do get any real rest. Dispose of the leftovers please. Place a new cork in the wine bottle and store it."

"As you wish sir."

Turning back to Jack he sighed again and walked past him, making his way inside and down a long hallway to the double doors of the mansion. As he neared them two men standing on either side pulled the doors open for him. Stepping through he exhaled deeply and smiled, admiring his large and neat lawn. Walking down the steps he stood waiting as Jack came up to his right.

"So Meyer, we heading to the office?"

"Yes. I have other work to do as well."

"I would say so. Are we also going to meet with the other board tonight?"

"No. I want to go to the Rise tonight, relax a little."

"You are the boss."

"That I am."

Moments later a black Rolls-Royce Phantom IV, a 1955 model, pulled up and the driver stepped out to open the door. Stepping into the car he smiled as his nose inhaled the smell of new leather. Jack attempted to enter but the driver shut the door. Looking puzzled he tapped lightly on the window. Lowering it Meyer smiled.

"Take your own car Jack. I may own a taxi service company, but I am not one."

"My bad..."

The car drove off and Meyer raised the window again. Smiling and chuckling to himself he pulled out a cigar and lit it. 'This is the good life.' he thought to himself as they continued down the highway.

[Cylarn]

-snip-

Unlike the entrance to pLACE, The Rise didn't have a security presence at the front door. Instead, the Boothe Building's security handled new arrivals to the building, but The Rise still had its armed bouncers and such, but with a reception desk in place of bouncers at the door. These men were distinguished by their mid-length black leather jackets, black suits, and communications earpieces identical to those worn by Secret Service agents, and they were big, intimidating guys to boot. One of the hulks approached Robert, and after the two men greeted one another, the bouncer handed Robert an earpiece, which he put into his right ear in order to communicate better with his security team. Before he could make his way over to the bar, the young girl that he had encountered at the entrance approached him once more, asking questions. Robert turned to face her, putting his smile back on as he politely listened.

Apparently, she had no idea that she was in fact talking to the owner, when she should have sought out the shift manager instead. Regardless, Robert wasn't perturbed, and he had an idea of what her question was. She seemed nervous, but Robert expected a hipster to be nervous when they showed up to the classiest club in Skyline. Robert held out his right hand, waiting for the girl to shake his hand. She looked attractive, but now wasn't the time for Robert to coax the woman into having sex with him.

"Robert Calhoun at your service, ma'am," he said. "You're here for Indie Thursday, but we're gonna get the ball rollin' in 0100 hours. You seem to be the first musician here, and normally I'd send you over to the shift manager to get your name on the list if you didn't RSVP via e'mail. However, you should go relax and have yourself a drink while I get you onto the list, Miss...?

[Walabam]

Unlike the entrance to pLACE, The Rise didn't have a security presence at the front door. Instead, the Boothe Building's security handled new arrivals to the building, but The Rise still had its armed bouncers and such, but with a reception desk in place of bouncers at the door. These men were distinguished by their mid-length black leather jackets, black suits, and communications earpieces identical to those worn by Secret Service agents, and they were big, intimidating guys to boot. One of the hulks approached Robert, and after the two men greeted one another, the bouncer handed Robert an earpiece, which he put into his right ear in order to communicate better with his security team. Before he could make his way over to the bar, the young girl that he had encountered at the entrance approached him once more, asking questions. Robert turned to face her, putting his smile back on as he politely listened.

Apparently, she had no idea that she was in fact talking to the owner, when she should have sought out the shift manager instead. Regardless, Robert wasn't perturbed, and he had an idea of what her question was. She seemed nervous, but Robert expected a hipster to be nervous when they showed up to the classiest club in Skyline. Robert held out his right hand, waiting for the girl to shake his hand. She looked attractive, but now wasn't the time for Robert to coax the woman into having sex with him.

"Robert Calhoun at your service, ma'am," he said. "You're here for Indie Thursday, but we're gonna get the ball rollin' in 0100 hours. You seem to be the first musician here, and normally I'd send you over to the shift manager to get your name on the list if you didn't RSVP via e'mail. However, you should go relax and have yourself a drink while I get you onto the list, Miss...?"

"This guy's really weird," Sandra thought to herself. "I asked for the owner of this club and he just holds his hand out." Sandra wasn't exactly the type to know about social norms, but at least she knew he wanted to shake hands. Securing her guitar further, she held her hand out and shook the man's hand, confused as to what he wanted. Her level of nervousness was at an all-time high, despite the calm environment she was in. Still, this man had to add on to her nervousness by doing something considered 'weird' to her.

"Robert Calhoun at your service, ma'am. You're here for Indie Thursday, but we're gonna get the ball rollin' in 0100 hours. You seem to be the first musician here, and normally I'd send you over to the shift manager to get your name on the list if you didn't RSVP via e'mail. However, you should go relax and have yourself a drink while I get you onto the list, Miss...?" Damn it. Robert Calhoun, the man that she had been shaking hands with, was the owner afterall, much to her astonishment and embarrassment. "Oh My God, I'm so sorry. I thought you worked here or something, Mr. Calhoun. I didn't mean to be rude, I swear!" Sandra took a deep breath to calm her nervous self down before she continued; "Erm...My name is Sandra Waters. You may or may not have met me before. I've been playing my own songs at many different clubs." While Robert had been really pleasant with Sandra, she did not want to take it for granted. Although she had been told to "have herself a drink", she decided not to, maintaining her demure behavior.

"It's alright, Mr. Calhoun. I'll just take a look around if you don't mind," finished Sandra. Moving on with a smile, she set her guitar down gently in a corner of the lounge. It was a quiet corner, but she made sure her guitar was visible to others by placing it at the correct angle. She didn't want her money-making tool to go missing at a critical moment. While she set down her guitar, she walked around the stage, dreaming about herself wowing the audience and eventually landing with a record deal. "Dreams, baby. Dreams," she thought to herself as she smirked.

[Romberg]

Franklin had heard of a new gun runner in town and decided that dealing with the local gun runners would attract too much heat on him and from what he heard, this Nikolai person and his crew were pretty good at what they did. Franklin had somehow have winded up with the Nikolai's number and had called him.
After the phone ringed for a while then shifted into voice mail. "Nikolai Lomonosov, I am interested in making a purchase with you for arms. Don't worry, this line is secure and the cops won't hear a thing. Come over to Underbelly Bar at downtown Skyline. Ask for Cornerstone and my boys will expect you. As a show of honor, I shall allow you to bring your own men armed. Good day to you."
Franklin put down the phone and drank his whisky, he needed guns fast since the Mexican's had were setting up in West Skyline fast.

22.00

As the phone rang, Nikolai and Mikhail were in for some more important business- the arrival of a shipment. At around this time, the ship docked in, as expected. Bulgarian flagged, this bulk carrier was registered to carry grain, but in it was some more important cargo. After a quick look to ensure that the guards were looking the other way, Nikolai spoke to the owner of the ship.

"What's in there."

"Your order. Twenty rifles from Ukraine, plus ammo."

"Full auto?"

"Yes."

"Any freebies?"

"Two pistols without ammo."

Nikolai smiled, and turned to Mikhail.

"Inspect the guns."

With his military training, it took just a few looks on each of the guns to determine that at least at first glance, all appeared exactly as advertised.

"Done." he replied while taking out a wad of cash.

"There you go." Nikolai handed the money to the ship's captain. "Hope your grain goes for a good price."

The captain smiled, and then told Nikolai something "In prison, there's this guy I know. Might be of help. I know you can pay for it. Trust me."

Nikolai was pleased. He was expanding, and he needed manpower. He handed over a few extra hundred dollar bills for the Captain's tip, and the trade was done. Mikhail and his men moved the guns into the warehouse for processing, while Nikolai went back into his office.

He then saw the message left behind, and thus instructed Mikhail.

"You look after this place. Give me five of our best in stock plus ammo. Maybe throw in a drum mag or two. We're making a sale tonight."

The deed was done, before Mikhail got his men to continue processing the new guns.

Now, the other guns, meant for purchase, rested safely in the trunk of the benz sedan, with another of Nikolai's associates driving.

"To the Underbelly, downtown." Nikolai instructed.

---

23.00

The black sedan pulled into the entrance of the bar, where Nikolai got out. "Protect the car and its goods. Stay close but safe. I'll call you when you're ready." Nikolai said. The driver complied.

With that, Nikolai strolled into the bar confidently.

"I would like to speak to your boss Mr. Franklin Cornerstone, please? I've got a business deal to settle." he asked courteously.

[Frostorn]

East Skyline
2330 hours

Howard was late.
He had just missed the delivery deadline by two minutes and he wasn't there yet. He vaulted over the two crates blocking the narrow alleyway and stopped outside the old wooden door with fading paint and and couple of bullet holes.
Howard knocked on the door gently and door opened a crack. He could just see a man with a hood hidden behind the door in the shadows.
"You're late, kid. Where's my package?"

"Right here, mister. I'll just hand this to you. Payment must be done within two weeks or Mam's comin' for ya."

"She'll get it. Tell her not to worry."

The door closed and the delivery was complete. 50g of cocaine to another druggie with the cash. Howard strolled slowly out of the alley and walked along the road that bordered East Skyline and Downtown Skyline. He had always been an observant boy and usually looked around for anything out of place. In this case, there was black car that was parked outside the restaurant, Underbelly. He had never seen it around these parts before the driver looked dangerous. He made a note to include this in his daily report to Mam.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Franklin had heard of a new gun runner in town and decided that dealing with the local gun runners would attract too much heat on him and from what he heard, this Nikolai person and his crew were pretty good at what they did. Franklin had somehow have winded up with the Nikolai's number and had called him.
After the phone ringed for a while then shifted into voice mail. "Nikolai Lomonosov, I am interested in making a purchase with you for arms. Don't worry, this line is secure and the cops won't hear a thing. Come over to Underbelly Bar at downtown Skyline. Ask for Cornerstone and my boys will expect you. As a show of honor, I shall allow you to bring your own men armed. Good day to you."
Franklin put down the phone and drank his whisky, he needed guns fast since the Mexican's had were setting up in West Skyline fast.

22.00

As the phone rang, Nikolai and Mikhail were in for some more important business- the arrival of a shipment. At around this time, the ship docked in, as expected. Bulgarian flagged, this bulk carrier was registered to carry grain, but in it was some more important cargo. After a quick look to ensure that the guards were looking the other way, Nikolai spoke to the owner of the ship.

"What's in there."

"Your order. Twenty rifles from Ukraine, plus ammo."

"Full auto?"

"Yes."

"Any freebies?"

"Two pistols without ammo."

Nikolai smiled, and turned to Mikhail.

"Inspect the guns."

With his military training, it took just a few looks on each of the guns to determine that at least at first glance, all appeared exactly as advertised.

"Done." he replied while taking out a wad of cash.

"There you go." Nikolai handed the money to the ship's captain. "Hope your grain goes for a good price."

The captain smiled, and then told Nikolai something "In prison, there's this guy I know. Might be of help. I know you can pay for it. Trust me."

Nikolai was pleased. He was expanding, and he needed manpower. He handed over a few extra hundred dollar bills for the Captain's tip, and the trade was done. Mikhail and his men moved the guns into the warehouse for processing, while Nikolai went back into his office.

He then saw the message left behind, and thus instructed Mikhail.

"You look after this place. Give me five of our best in stock plus ammo. Maybe throw in a drum mag or two. We're making a sale tonight."

The deed was done, before Mikhail got his men to continue processing the new guns.

Now, the other guns, meant for purchase, rested safely in the trunk of the benz sedan, with another of Nikolai's associates driving.

"To the Underbelly, downtown." Nikolai instructed.

---

23.00

The black sedan pulled into the entrance of the bar, where Nikolai got out. "Protect the car and its goods. Stay close but safe. I'll call you when you're ready." Nikolai said. The driver complied.

With that, Nikolai strolled into the bar confidently.

"I would like to speak to your boss Mr. Franklin Cornerstone, please? I've got a business deal to settle." he asked courteously.

"Right this way sir." The bouncer led Nikolai to a set of private rooms overlooking the rest of the bar, meant only for Cornerstone crew members. Franklin was sitting down doing paperwork when security informed him of his guest's arrival. When Nikolai finally made it into the room, Franklin showed him to his seat and started talking.
" I'm sorry for the cliche but would you like some vodka? Or maybe whisky? Well you know who I am and what do I do if you did your homework. I need guns, my eastern european friend and need it fast. With the death of Fat Tony of the Italian Mafia, many of the lower scale criminal organizations within the city are taking opportunity of the chaos and are destroying the balance that we had before Fat Tony died. My problems are the mexican gangbangers down in East Skyline. They are pushing their way into West Sky and are invading my territory. You and your guns will be needed. I am willing to pay for the guns and even divulge several mexican compaounds with cars that you'd be able to take for yourselves. We are fighting a war, a war which you can profit from. If we can destroy those Mexicans, I can part to you some of their territory in East Skyline. What do you say?" Franklin looked at Nikolia with a wild look in his eyes.

[First Valerian Empire]

Mayor Benjamin Shepard
City Hall

City Hall was a monument to Skyline's ambition to be the next big city in America. Originally built in 1917 on a poor man's budget even for the times, it had been completely remodeled three years ago on the promise and hope that Skyline would become a major economic,industrial and entertainment powerhouse within the next decade. Everything from the faucets in the public restrooms to the carpet in the offices was brand spanking new and if you sniffed long enough you could still smell the $300 a bucket paint drying on the walls.

In the tradition of Skyline, De Santa Construction Company had won the bulk of the work for the remodeling and despite allegations of corruption, finished the project on time. The reconstruction project signaled the beginning of the end for widespread criminality in the local government.

After the project had been completed the previous mayor, a career politician that had been bought off by the mob right out of college had be ousted in favor of Army Ranger turned Mayor, Benjamin ''Straight as a hour'' Shepard.

Shepard built his campaign around cleaning the city up as it prepared to enter the world stage as the premier social capital of Western America and it got him elected in a landslide victory in early 2014. Now it was time to fulfill his promises to the city of Skyline with the announcement of Skyline's own ''War on Crime''.

The press room in City Hall had been one of the first areas to be renovated and equipped with state of the art holographic projectors, acoustics and a new podium. Now it would be the stage that would showcase to the world his and the city's resolve to put a stop to the organized corruption that plagued the town.

''Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press. I'd like to thank everyone for getting out of their comfy beds to come listen to me and ask me questions this fine morning. I know it's not what you imagined you'd being doing with your day but I assure you what I have to say will be short and sweet so without further ado, let's begin.

First off, I want to say that this city has for too long been plagued by organized crime and racketeering. Ever since I moved here after my retirement from the Army, I've only ever seen criminals get away with whatever they wanted and police officers either facilitating it or powerless to stop it. City Hall has historically been an enabler to that situation and I stand before you today to say that is no longer the case. I am declaring Skyline City's own War on Crime and I have my own generals and soldiers. The brave men of the Skyline Police Department and Special Prosecutor General, Aldrich Richards who could not be here today. I have dismissed all officers from our offices with any connection to organized crime and have drafted new men and women into our expanded force to combat the plague that has gripped out community for too long. So to men like the De Santa's and various ethnic organized crime groups operating here; I say this, your days are numbered so either fly straight or prepare to face justice and all it's glory. Thank you and good day.''

There was a collective gasp from the gathered reporters as the reality of what had just been said and revealed sunk into each and everyone one of their heads. The silent that gripped the room only lasted for but a brief moment before questions poured out from everyone's mouths like a river breaking through a damn.

''What does this mean''

''Do you plan on replacing Chief Wunsler?''

''Why Aldrich Richards''

''Will you be calling in Federal Support.''

Shepard ignored their questions and simpled exited the press room and left them to babble and giggle among themselves, he had a campaign to wage.

Alphonse De Santa
Skyline

[blocktext][b]The De Santa Organization under Fat Tony was one built upon the threat of violence as much as actual violence. Most criminals simply bent the knee and kicked up their weekly taxes and lived in relative peace, safe from the very real threat of mob violence. It made Fat Tony and his closest associates very rich but those who weren't in the inner circle didn't profit as much.

Alphonse De Santa wasn't his cousin. Big Al subscribed to the philosophy that if they don't fear you then they don't respect you. If it didn't make money then it didn't make sense as the urban youth often said in their ''rap'' songs and videos.

Now he was sitting in the passenger side of his matte black 7 series BMW with a couple De Santa soldiers, men who had and were more than willing to kill for him.

''First on the list is the Docks. Word is that they have a nice little set up going and we've yet to get our share of pie. We'll go in, collect and leave. I want everyone on their fucking toes; the Russian cunts are tricky lil' bastards.''

The two soldiers nodded in affirmation and the driver turned the key and started the vehicle, pausing for a moment to adjust the radio and his mirrors before pulling out of the parking lot and getting onto the expressway towards the docks.

Radio Skyline was playing softly in the background while Al texted or rather sexted his girlfriend. She was a 20 something black chick from North Skyline with a fetish for bad boys and loved fucking a mobster.

Code: Select all

Heyy Baby, what you doing??

Nuthing, thinking about you.
You coming over later?

Maybe, I got some business to handle first

I'm wearing those panties you like...

I don't believe you..

IMAGE

I think I might be able to swing by in a hour or two.
Keep it warm

His naughty conversation was cut short as the BMW pulled into the loading area of the Skyline docks. Everyone put their game faces on and doubled checked their weapons just in case. Al pulled out his favorite chrome 1911 and slide the hammer back before stuffing it back into his belt and pulling his jacket over it.He, like his associates was dressed in a business casual suit with black slacks, matching jacket and a red dress shirt. A gold Rolex and crucifix served as accessories to his ensemble.

They exited the vehicle and entered the office area of Nikolai's establishment.

''Where's the boss?''

[Romneyerica]

Pete wandered into Frank's bar, taking a seat in a booth at the back, nervous after hearing the mayors statements. He was shocked he wasn't fired due to his past affiliations, he could lose his job if caught conversing with this figure. But what were the choices? His pay isn't enough to sustain his sizable family and himself long-term. On top of this, keeping an hatch on his past drug and alcohol use is going to be increasingly difficult as the hard times aren't looking like they're nearing over.

"Hiya," a blonde waitress says, interrupting his deep thought, "are you alone? what can I do for yeah?"

"Just a glass of ice water, also, can you tell mister Cornerstone that his acquaintance Peter S. is here to see him? Much obliged." Pete said, speaking with a smile.



((OOC: Sorry for the iffy post, accidentally exited out of my original one as my foolish self tends to do from time to time ))

[Brechalht]

ignore

[Palonitr and Howland]

Pete wandered into Frank's bar, taking a seat in a booth at the back, nervous after hearing the mayors statements. He was shocked he wasn't fired due to his past affiliations, he could lose his job if caught conversing with this figure. But what were the choices? His pay isn't enough to sustain his sizable family and himself long-term. On top of this, keeping an hatch on his past drug and alcohol use is going to be increasingly difficult as the hard times aren't looking like they're nearing over.

"Hiya," a blonde waitress says, interrupting his deep thought, "are you alone? what can I do for yeah?"

"Just a glass of ice water, also, can you tell mister Cornerstone that his acquaintance Peter S. is here to see him? Much obliged." Pete said, speaking with a smile.



((OOC: Sorry for the iffy post, accidentally exited out of my original one as my foolish self tends to do from time to time ))

The young waitress came back with his drinks and one of Franklin's liutenants. He sat down across Pete and started talking to him.
"Pete, you remember me right? I'm Grennly and I'm one of Mr Franklin's associates. Mr Franklin is currently indisposed of and will not be able to speak to you tonight but yoir timing is l
perfect."
Grennly then slide to Pete a file. "Please read the file as I talk. This man is Boris Stoyanov. He is currently in Skyline State Penitentiary for something, I believe it was attempted murder? Well its not important. Mr Franklin needs more men and our dear Boris here is currently available for hiring. We need you to bail him out," Grennly slid a thick envelope to Pedro, " Now you know our usual deal. Half of your pay will be transferred tonight while the other half comes after the job is done. Get us Boris and you get a nice wad of cash. Don't screw with Mr Franklin, you know what will happen if you do...." With that Grennly walked into the crowd and left Pedro to his own devices.

[Romneyerica]

Pete got up and left, hopped into his nineteen-ninety something Cadillac and drove off. This Boris guy must be a big deal to have a lot of money spent on him to be bailed out. But who was he to question someone who's paying him. It was a fifteen mile drive from Skyline to the prison, far enough for Peter to get his story straight. Arriving at the correctional institution, he got out of his car and lit up a Marlboro- to calm his nerves. Also putting on a pair on glasses and pushing his short black hair the right side. Entering the building after finishing his smoke the Latino-American walked up to the desk real calm, where a forty-to-fifty looking woman sat in uniform. "Hello ma'am I've come to bail out an inmate today, the name's Joseph Ruiz, I've come to pick up a mister Boris Stoyanov- I probably said the last name wrong but there can't be to many with the same sounding name huh?" He said chuckling, "I'm his bail bondsman."

"Okay you'll have to fill out some paperwork, on yourself, him, and some other stuff you already know how that is." the woman said pulling out some papers from a stack on her desk. "You'll have to pay as well and it could take a while to get him processed."

"Sounds good, I'm in no hurry," he said smiling.

A few hours later a muscular, eastern European looking man walked out a door toward Pete. Pretty much what he expected, "Hello Joey Ruiz, bail bondsman, great to meet you." He said shaking the man's hand "Ba-bye now thanks again ma'am," Peter said waving as they both walked out the door toward his car. "Alright you should know I ain't no fuckin' bail bondsman, looks like you've gotta friend in Cornerstone- the guy who got me to bail yeah out." Peter said as they got in his car and drove off. "The names Peter, I wasn't briefed on what to do with you after bailing you out so I'll swing by Cornerstone's watering hole and let you out there."

Pulling up to the bar Pedro looked over at the Bulgarian, "maybe we'll work together in the future, until then, good luck out there in this hell-of-a city."

[Brechalht]

ignore

[Keznov]

The Rise
Downtown Skyline
1910 hours

Meyer Levinsky gave a light yawn as he stepped out of his Rolls-Royce Phantom IV. Turning to the driver he gave a thoughtful look for a moment before smiling.

"Be back at around nine. I will have someone phone you if it is later. Also, bring a different car."

The driver nodded and got back into the car, driving away slowly. Turning back to the entrance to the building Meyer looked at the reflection of himself in the glass, admiring the look of himself in his newly bought brown suit and the gold satin tie that was given to him as a gift by his predecessor in the National Crime Syndicate. Snapping out of it he walked through the doors and to the elevator, traveling up the 70th floor. Once he reached the top he slowly made his way down the hall and through the large double doors into the actual club. Immediately making his way to the bar he nodded to a few individuals he knew along the way. Upon approaching it he noticed an attractive young woman sitting by herself. Moving alongside her he looked to the bartender.

"A cognac, the best you have."

He then turned to her and smiled.

"Hello. What's a beautiful young woman such as yourself doing here alone? You must be new to Skyline? I haven't seen you before."

[Brechalht]

ignore

[Keznov]

Angelina looked up in mild surprise, then blushed at the compliment.

"Actually, I have lived here for 5 years, and gone to this club quite often. You must not have noticed me dancing with others. I assure you I don't normally sit at the bar alone." She manages a smile at her joke.
"Excuse me, I have been rude and have not introduced myself, my name is Angelina. And yours?"

"Oh my bad then for missing you..." He smiled again as the barman handed him his cognac. Taking a small sip he savored it for a moment before turning back to her. "My name is Meyer, Meyer Levinsky. It is a pleasure to meet you Angelina. Can I buy you a drink?"