>>2215758
>[ ]Watch what happens.

>>2215758
>[ ]Help Sammy.

>>2215758
>[ ]Watch what happens.

>>2215758

[ ]Help Sammy.

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>>2215758
Maisy is already making to jump out the car, one hand reaching for her new favorite submachine gun. You catch her by the shoulder and haul her back into her seat with a single word, "wait."
You want to see how this plays out. Vague memories surface of the three of you sharing girly moments together, of her talking about her first crush and how he would hang out with the rough kids despite having the potential to go so far. Of her dropping out of school years early once he graduated since she saw no reason to go back.

You're certainly not disappointed by the show. One of the kicks lands on target, with enough force to wind, to incapacitate most normal people then and there. The other is caught in both hands, a sharp tug off-balancing the thug even as Sammy is creasing from the impact. One hand comes up to deflect the second punch from the ring leader while Sammy's offside foot snakes around the unbalanced thug's leg and trips him. He sidesteps an uncontrolled charge from number three with a twirl, a sharp elbow connecting to the back of the neck on the way past. A casual stamp to the throat puts the first thug out of action, you suspect possibly for good. But that's where his luck runs. The ringleader closes in, pulling Sammy into an overpowering grapple. The pretty boy starts to worm his way free, until the hoodie smashes his forehead into Sammy's nose.

He drops to the drop with a soft "urk", whereby both remaining darkies start kicking the downed boy.
You're already out the car before Maisy is. "Enough!" you bellow, causing several passers by who were blithly ignoring the gang violence to turn their heads. The leader goon looks like he's got the blood flowing enough that he's going to challenge you as well, until Maisy pointedly drops her automatic onto the roof of the car with a gratifying thud.

With a start, the thugs immediately change tac, shouting something about getting their dues while retrieving their comrade and scuttling towards the nearest ally.

Maisy is already sprinting over to the downed pretty boy, who greets her with a rather cheeky if blood-smeared grin. "Heyy, is that Maisy?" he slurs, "You little minx, good to see you. Though seein' more of you'd be even better if ya get me." You suspect he's trying to wink, but with his other eye swollen shut it looks more like a blink.

Maisy gives you a pleading look. "I think it's a concussion. We should help him."
Whatever you do, you should probably do it fast. You're keenly aware of how the street is being rapidly vacated, a few mobile phones that have appeared from pockets, and calls being made. Apparently these people are absolutely fine with watching someone get beaten to death in the streets, but show off one firearm to de-escalate a situation and everyone loses their minds.

[ ]He's a big boy, he can deal with himself.
[ ]Get him in the car, you'll get your boys to look him over.
[ ]Get him to the hospital, it might be serious.

>>2215932
>[ ]Get him in the car, you'll get your boys to look him over.

>>2215932
>[ ]Get him in the car, you'll get your boys to look him over.

>>2215932
You help her manhandle the swaying youth into the back of the car. You've got to admit, he is rather attractive, even with a face resembling a cunt on a heavy period right now. He would definitely be a babe magnet if you cleaned him up a bit. With the back seats filling up, you leave Maisy to take care of her childhood crush and jump in the front. You already feel a little more comfortable.

As Rose pulls away with a screeching of tyres, you turn in your seat to address Sammy. You ask him if he wants to explain what exactly you just pulled his ass out of. "Ehe, well. I was tryin' to make a few quick sales see, an' apparently that was their turf. So they got a lil' upset w'me." Their turf? What the Hell. That was definitely on the Hamstead side of the border. Besides, you don't recall any blacks in red working for the Jackals, and you're pretty familiar with all the little street gangs that give them a cut by this point.
It'd take some serious balls for a couple of nobodies to claim your turf, even if you are a little weakened right now.
Your thought process continues to rattle while Maisy focuses on the situation at hand. "Quick sales of what?" She's gently trying to clean off the worst of the blood from the cuts on his face with the antiseptic wipes from one of the many first aid kits littering the storage spaces in the car. "Drugs? You're into that stuff?"

He nods blearily. "yeahh, 'course. Everyone is at college. How else d'you expect us to get through all that shit?"

Rose takes her eyes off the road for a moment to join in the conversation, "where'd you get them from?"

"There was a guy, friend o' mine I guess, from outside campus. Not a dealer or anythin', just he'd always get more than he needed then he'd share the love."

"So you thought you'd share the love here?"

"Somethin' like that." He grins that stupid grin again. "Things ain't goin' well for me since I got back. Thought this could be a nice little break, get me on my feet y'know?"
"Anyway Maisy, why you carrying? Wait. Don't tell me you're… you're a ganger now?" He looks almost distraught that his old school friend could possibly sink as low as joining an organised crime ring.
You idly wonder if he realizes that it could very well have been your guys kicking seven shades of shit out of him, and you'd have had to let them do it. On principle. Who the hell pushes drugs in the open without knowing the top dog?

[1/2]

>>2216101
It's at this time that Rose swings the car into the space in front of the diner. You haul his stupid ass inside while half listening to Maisy try to play down the fact that she's now a personal bodyguard, close friend and sometimes advisory to the head of one of the top ten gangland powers of the city. Is this what they call a humble brag? And since when were you in the top ten powers? You kind of like the idea though. Maybe a future goal-

You cut your silly daydreaming short by calling out to whoever is around to help you out. It's Lee Shen, Fletcher's little pet asian, who answers first, clearing a desk space and ordering some lackeys to grab some kit for him.
Fletch picked him up off the streets a while back as a joke, saying something about how the slanteyes are cute and it'd be funny to have him around. You're glad this guy is here now though. He's almost stereotypical in his love of academia, being well versed in not only math and accounting, but political and government workings, history, science and, as shown now, doctor stuff.

With first aid well under way, Maisy resumes with telling Sammy how stupid he was to just go out on the streets with no prior knowledge and how he's lucky she was there to bail him out. "Promise me you won't do something that stupid again," she pleads him.

"Aha. No promises babe. I gotta make my own way too, don't I? But I'll do my best."

You see Fletch leaning against the door frame from the main office. He gives you a nod, a signal that he's ready to talk if you are.

[ ]Offer Sammy protection.
[ ]Offer Sammy a job.
[ ]Don't get involved with Sammy.

And

[ ]Ask Fletcher about the situation with the Jackals and your other neighbors.
[ ]Mention the red hoodies.
[ ]Discuss ways to further strengthen your home front.

>>2216170
>[ ]Offer Sammy protection.
>[ ]Mention the red hoodies.

>>2216170
>[ ]Don't get involved with Sammy.
>[ ]Mention the red hoodies.

If you add yourself to twitter QM list, maybe you'll get a little more attention.

>>2216170
You're caught in a moment of indecision, but then decide that it'd be best to keep as clear as possible of Sammy for now. You tell him that you'll let your people know that he's good to be on your turf, but that's as far as you're going. Maisy gives you an appreciative look as you leave her to talk to Fletch.

"So. Wanna fill me in on this guy?" Your hard-working quartermaster nods in the direction of your newest acquaintance. You fill him in as best you can on the events recently transpiring, and take the time to mention the red hooded gangers.
"Hmm. That's an interesting one. I don't recognise any crews by that description, and most of the upcoming crews aren't exactly subtle when they're trying to make a name for themselves. I'll have some people ask around, see what I can dig up and let you know." You give him your thanks. "In the meantime I might have some news. Some of the boys on the street have mentioned seeing more cops hanging around than usual. They probably know that we were involved in that... incident last week, and they're putting out feelers to see what they can dig up. Between us and the Jackals we cleared everything pretty well so they shouldn't have anything on us."

You thank him for the heads up, then head back in to see the others. Rose meets you first. "Lee says Sammy's fine, he just needs some rest. I thought I'd drive him home, make sure he gets in okay. And I'm guessing Maisy wants to go with him too." You accept this chain of events, telling her that once he's safely home you can resume your inspection of the streets.

A half hour later, you're taking the last few turns to the block of flats Sammy has taken up residence in, just inside your territory. He's recovered himself quicker than you'd imagined and right now he and Maisy are flirting quite brazenly on the back seats. You're starting to wonder if you're going to be dropping the both of them off at his place when the sirens on an unmarked car flare up behind you.
Rose swears violently under her breath, with Maisy jumping up into a ready position, all signs of red-cheeked excitement dispersing rapidly.

Sammy's distraught expression preceeds his panicked request. "We can't stop! I've still got the gear on me! If they search us-!" Rose cuts him off with a biting injection.

"And what d'you think they'll do about our guns? Or the fact I don't have a driving licence?"

The color drains from Sammy's face. "You don't..." The audible gulp summarises your thoughts perfectly.

[ ]No sense fighting it. Hide the guns as best you can, try to blag it out.
[ ]Fang it. Rose can out drive any street cop.
[ ]Wait for him to get close and take him out. No witnesses.

>>2216430
>[ ]No sense fighting it. Hide the guns as best you can, try to blag it out.

>>2216430
[ ]Fang it. Rose can out drive any street cop.

DEJA VU

also when do we ditch Sammy. boys are icky

>>2216430
You immediately tell Sammy to just shut up. Hide the guns and don't look suspicious, you'll do the talking. Maisy drops down out of sight of the unmarked and starts hastily stuffing the car's various armaments into the hidden compartments under and in the seats while Rose pulls the car over. You risk a quick glance up to make sure the latch to the roof compartment is hidden behind the sunvisor before your eyes are back on the uniform in full body armor now carefully extricating himself from his car, whose one hand is resting on the butt of his pistol. His buddy is making a radio call while moving himself into a position where he could potentially give cover fire if you decided you took a disliking to them both. As Maisy returns to her sitting position, the advancing cop freezes in place, his hand wrapping more securely on the pistol grip.

Their behaviour setting off alarm bells, you realize with a jolt that this isn't a random traffic stop. You've been targeted. Thinking quickly, you tell Rose to lower all the windows and for everyone to slowly put their hands out and rest them on the outside of the car doors.
Once you have, the cop advances far quicker than before, coming level with the driver side window.
"Rose Foster. You're under arrest for driving without a license." He turns his attention to the back seat. "Maisy Hopkins. You're under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm."
Something feels very, very wrong here. These charges seem way to specific. You look in bewilderment around the car, meeting eyes with Sammy for what feels like a very long half a second before the cop continues, "Samuel Woods, you're under arrest for possession of Class A narcotics."

Finally, he centers his gaze on you. "Stacey McGarden. You're under arrest for the murder of Jack Westree." The Boss??
What. The. Fuck.
[1/?]

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>>2217101
The interrogator only lets go of his grip on your hair after the third time he smashes your face into the metal table in front of you. You'd feel like making some sarky comment about police brutality if your conscience wasn't still reeling from the multiple impacts. That, and the fact you're pretty sure he'd just hit you again.
He hasn't even asked any questions yet. You've been a room with this bastard for what must be over an hour and all he's done is brood silently and occasionally abuse you.

This must be one hell of a good cop bad cop routine, you muse aloud. You're right in your previous assumption as he lines a full-power kick at your shin. A good, sharp contrast to the aching agony of your face.
"Why don't you just shut up until you're spoken to?" This is the first spoken word you've received since being bundled into the back of a police van alongside your crew. They separated you at the station but something tells you you're the only one getting this rough treatment.
If he wants you to shut up, he'll just have to make you.

"How about I shove my cock so far down your throat you choke on it. You street sluts like that, right?"
Please, Officer. You're not his little sister.

The impact of his fist into your cheek is enough to throw you to the concrete floor of the interrogation room. Which is made all the more painful for the fact you're cuffed to the chair and can't break your fall. The crushing pressure through your shoulder tells you at least that nothing's broken yet.
Worth it. Strike a nerve much?

There's a knock from the other side of the one-way mirror and the interrogator leaves you with a growl, slamming the door behind him. You lie for a moment, catching your breath before trying to wriggle your chair back to an upright position. You don't have much luck.

After a few more minutes, the door swings inwards and in walks an officer in a uniform you've not seen before. From your vantage point, the first thing you see are the combat boots, freshly polished with a toecap bulled to a mirror shine. Like an actual mirror that you can see your own reflection in. Black pants lead up to the hem of a thick double-breasted greatcoat with silver buttons emblazoned with the crescent and star to match the same silver insignia in the center of his black peaked cap.
The hard face under the peak is outlined by a strong jaw, a thick set of grey hair flowing down to the back of his collar.

"Good afternoon, Miss McGarden." He primly draws back the chair opposite you and sits himself down. "You may call me Inquisitor Harlem, and I am here to ask you a few questions regarding an incident last week." Apparently he intends to leave you on the floor during this little chat.

[ ]Introduce yourself formally in turn.
[ ]Throw insults at him.
[ ]Tell him to send the other guy back in.
[ ]Other

>>2217251
>Call him a homosexual and claim you had sexual relations with his father.

>>2217251
>>[ ]Introduce yourself formally in turn.

>>2217251
>Call him a homosexual and claim HE had sexual relations with his father.

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>>2217587
>haha. Choice locked in. Showering/eating etc then I'll get to writing.

>>2217251
Harlem? You muse on the name for a moment. You think you've heard of him. Isn't he the big ol' queer who takes cock first and asks questions later?

"Hmm, funny." His expression of wry amusement doesn't betray whether it's directed at your quip or your attempt to derail him. "Unfortunately for you, such baiting will not work here. Do not presume that I am some green rookie fresh from the academy. I have dealt with every kind of your scum there is. I have fought dissidents, rebels and criminals in every corner of the Caliphate, from Shanghai to Johannesburg, Saint Petersburg to Madrid. Nothing you say will be new to me."

It's okay, you tell him, you know he's just still upset over that time his daddy engaged in non-consensual sexual activity with him as a child. But you're here for him if he wants a shoulder to cry on.

The smile on his face now is either genuine, or he's a very good actor. "You'll have to try harder than that. After all something as outlandish as that is hardly going to be true now, is it?"

Which, the non-consensual bit? He should probably be careful about admitting in public that he enjoyed being a daddy-fucker. You're pretty sure even the Pigs frown on incest.
The tiniest flicker of his left eyelid lets you know you've got to him. And you tell him as such. He can do what he wants, you've already won.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"Let us talk business now. We know that the previous head of the Westree Family has disappeared, presumed dead, and we know you've been promoted in his absence despite the presence of a son high in the organisation. It takes little imagination to work out that your murdered your way up the chain."

You laugh. A genuine, uncontrolled burst of laughter. If that's the conclusion he reached then he has no idea how the gangland operates. You make a suggestion to him in response. How about he just strip down naked, right here and now. That way, he'd have as much on himself as he has on you. That'd make it fair, you tell him with a wink. Plus that uniform doesn't suit him anyway. Maybe he should retire and find a job in another industry. You hear the farms need help shovelling shit this time of year.

[1/2]

>>2217913
He taps his fingers rhythmically on the table until you're done. "Nothing, hmm? We know it was your gang members who were party to the conflict that spread into Three Elms last week; the one in which two members of the True Faith were injured, and countless more had their peaceful lives disturbed by the damage to property. So you're going to tell me how the gangs are still smuggling through the cordon, or the State is going to come down on you and your little band of renegades like nothing you could ever imagine."

You tell him you'll think about the offer. And, having thought about it long and hard, you have decided that he can go insert a rake up his rectum until he can lick the rust clean. You're not a fink and you never will be. You already know full well he's fishing for any sort of lead he can. He's in over his head.

"You seem to have misunderstood me," he calmly corrects you. "I do not require a gang informant, I already have that. What I want is a representative. A minister on the other side of No Man's Land that I can negotiate with on simple terms. And the first order of business is the drug trade. The flow of narcotics is affecting production, which in turn affects the operational capability of the war machine when it is necessitated. As such, I wish to stamp it out. You can help me," he offers his right palm upwards, "or you can destroyed in what is to come," his left hand emphasises the point.

How do you respond?

>>2217914
>"I'm gonna need more details first."

>>2217914
>"Why would you think I'm powerful enough to stop a drug trade in town?"

>>2217914
> How does he plan to compensate for the lost income from the drug trade? Violence comes from poverty after all, and if he leaves the people with nothing to lose the violence could result in more difficulty then the drug trade.

Smuggling is going to happen, is there something the Government could "allow" instead of drugs? They could even take a cut of the profit to help fund the war.

>>2217913
We can also use his ignorance aainst him.

After all, if he cracks down on us another group will just take our place. We aren't the ones buying the drugs after all. Besides, does he think we're the ones making big money off this?

Also we need to make a note that he already has a gang informant, which means we have a rat. They knew who was in the car, what we were carrying, and who didn't have a driver's license.

Speaking of which, if he wants us to be useful he should maybe look at letting us get things like licenses and permits under the table. The same deal the legitimate businessmen get but with connections from their school chums instead.

If it's control he wants, we can work with that. But he needs to give us something to keep it, otherwise what's currently gang fights might become riots or even outright insurrection. Not from us, there's no profit in it, and at that point we'd be dead already anyways either from his people or our own if we couldn't take care of them.

>>2217914
>>2218752
>>2218791
I like this anon. Supporting.

>>2218791
Likely informant is former bosses son

>>2220633
It's an easy guess, but we can't simply pin it on him without evidence.

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>I intend to continue Monday 1900 UTC. Hope to see you there.

>>2217914
A smirk splits your features. There are so many holes in this plan you're not even sure where to start. Actually, you do. Where does he even get off on the idea that you can single-handedly stop the drugs trade in a city?

"Your people were the first to find holes in the cordon, if I am correct. Which I am." Damn, he's got that one. It wasn't even your people, it was you that found the holes in their search patterns that let you slip enough supply through to not only stop the Family being overthrown by disgruntled small-timers but also have enough left over to keep the neighbouring gangs afloat during the drought. Not that you'd ever tell him that.
"If we shut the cordon, the drug trade stops."
No, you tell him firmly, this is a case of supply and demand. People like you are the supply, not the demand. If he takes you away, something else will rise to it; probably something worse funded by someone more violent. Maybe he should try dealing with the poverty and desperation in the workforce if he wants to maintain his "operational capacity".

His look of consternation at least shows that he's listening to you. "It seems you have a suggestion of some kind, then, something which would serve both our interests?"
Not so much. If he wants your help closing the holes in his cordon that creates a whole heap of trouble for everyone. Besides your sudden lack of a large segment of your income, and of the other gangs, there'd be no way to get firearms into the streets. Which, with the dwindling equalizers and rise of knife-fighting, would more than likely lead to the gangs most capable and willing to commit violence to take over the entire city.
So what's in it for you, besides his gratitude, that is worth you threatening your own Family with poverty and death?
He smiles, finally grasping on something he can barter on. "Well if the assistance of myself alone is not enough, I have the authority on a much grander scale. So long as I get a guarantee that nothing like Three Elms happens again, I'm sure the police could 'forget' to post guards on a few arms resupplies every so often. And money shall not be an issue: if you supply me with reliable intelligence, I will ensure that your little organisation does not want for funding."
What about something to sweeten the deal? Like licences? Or at the very least, an agreement for the screws to be looking the other way more often than not.

"Of course. If you are going to be my ally, I will see to it that you have what you need to succeed."

Hmm, you're not exactly convinced that this guy entirely gets it, but. It's a good offer...

"Please, feel free to take some time and consider your options. Although do not expect me to wait too long. There are, others, I could ask."

[ ]Agree to his proposals. {Become a rat, Stop Drug Trade, Gain backing}
[ ]Tell him to go fuck himself. {Retain honor, Retain Smuggling Routes, Piss off an Inquisitor}
[ ]Take some time to think about it.

>>2233587
>[ ]Take some time to think about it.

>>2233587
>Agree to his proposals

If dealing drugs is necessary to retain our "honor", we're better off without it.

>>2233587
[ ]Tell him to go fuck himself. {Retain honor, Retain Smuggling Routes, Piss off an Inquisitor}
You do not want your first act as boss to be selling out. The inspector will just have to fight the war on drugs some other way. Perhaps an educational directive in schools?

>>2233587
You tell him you'd take a little time to think about it, promising he'll hear your answer soon enough. It's at this point he finally deigns to pick your chair back up to the vertical; giving you a rather severe rush as your head readjusts to the normal blood flow.

With an agreement in place between the two of you, you're quietly escorted back to your friends with a pre-paid phone in your possesion. It contains a single contact, likely another pre-paid number, that will be your means of contacting Harlem if you decide to accept.
Your first sight of them is Rose bowling into you as you round the corner into the waiting room, hands around your neck, face into your shoulder. You're not sure if she's crying about what they've done to her or you more, but she doesn't look as if anything major has been done her, or to the others. Maisy greets you with a fist-bump and a sarky comment about you looking ready for a party.
Sammy is quiet and avoiding meeting your eyes. Well, you tell them, no point hanging around here.

You all pile back into the car and Rose pulls you steadily out into the road, heading off finally back towards Sammy's place.

"It's wierd though," Rose has been talking animatedly about the events transpiring for several minutes now, "they just kept on this pressure like, if you don't tell us anything we've got you on this and that and we'll find ways to put you away for good, you'll wish you'd never been born and whatever else. Then they just let us go. I wonder if they were bluffing?"

"Or they got what they were after," Maisy growls.

"Don't be paranoid, Maisy. No one here would ever work with a screw." You follow Maisy's gaze sideways to Sammy, who is staring out the window at something well beyond the street in front of him.

Isn't that right, Sammy? You probe him into a response to alleviate Maisy's sudden suspicion. You know they're right, after all, since it was you who gave it to them. You briefly consider letting Maisy's crush take the fall for you, but only briefly. You're not that cold. Are you?

"Yeah, no of course. I'd never- no." He stumbles a few words and shuts up again.

You drop the boy off safely and the three of you return to the diner, meeting up with your quartermaster in the office. "Welcome back. What happened? I've been trying to call you but couldn't get anything."

[ ]Tell Fletch about the Inquisitor's deal
[ ]Tell Fletch about the rat
[ ]Keep the details to yourself for now

And then-
[ ]Head home, it's been a long day
[ ]Time to blow of some steam, you deserve a night out
[ ]Stay at the diner, there's always some work can be done

>>2233785
>[ ]Tell Fletch about the rat
>[ ]Stay at the diner, there's always some work can be done

>>2233785
>[ ]Tell Fletch about the Inquisitor's deal
>[ ]Tell Fletch about the rat
>And then-
>[ ]Stay at the diner, there's always some work can be done

>>2233785
>Tell Fletch about the rat
>Stay at the diner

>>2233775
Make Emergence required reading.

>>2233883
But we're a criminal.

>>2233785
You fill Fletch in on all the details of what transpired, at least what you know of it. Someone ratted, that much is certain. They knew everyone who was in the car, they had something on all of you to be able to bring you in. And the Inquisitor even confirmed that he didn't need an informant. Then you go on to describe what the Inquisitor wanted from you, about how he was intent on bringing down the drug trade.

The only description you could give for Fletcher's expression would be 'concerned' as he takes in your information dump. "Are you considering agreeing to this deal?" You tell him you're not sure yet; part of you wants to accept, surely the city being clean can't be a bad thing, but at the same time you want him to go fuck himself. He chuckles lightly, "so concern over what the gangs would do to you if they find out doesn't factor in? I like that, I think. I agree, drugs being gone could be good. But I suspect this would only be step one. If this guy is who I think he is." Fletch leans back in his chair with a sigh, "there's rumors, a bogeyman story, of a madman in black, been on jihad for over a decade. He's been crushing out all opposition in every city he's been sent to. All of it, a hundred percent annihilation of anyone who doesn't fit the mould. That would, I suspect, include us even if we side with him. Unless we give up the Family and go be good little factory slaves."

The support could be good in the short term though, right? And it'd be easier to fight him with his own toys than with nothing at all.
"Sure," Fletch agrees, "assuming he'll give us anything we can actually use against him, and that we don't hamstring ourselves trying to earn his trust."

You tell him you'll think about it, but for now, see what he can dig up on the rat. "Yeah sure thing. I think I've got some idea who it might be." You nod, Stains. Fletch blinks. Then blinks again. "Wha- uh, I- no that doesn't make sense, he wouldn't- would he?" You frown, who did he think it was then? "Oh, uh, no don't worry about it. I'll check this out."

You shrug it off and let him go. Leaving the office, you tell Maisy and Rose that they can clear out. Maisy claps you on the shoulder, "sounds good. We're going for a few drinks. Want to join us? You deserve a break." You turn down her offer, telling her you plan to stay here and wrap up a few more things tonight. Maybe when things calm down a little, you tell her when she insists you come with them.

You shake off the feeling of jealousy watching them head out: it's so natural for the three of you to be so joined that you wouldn't even think of turning Maisy's offer down.

[1/2]

>>2234022
With most of the crew gone home for the night, you settle in to go over a lot of the paperwork you've been putting off since your sudden rise to power. Even a gang has its beauraucracy it seems. Your headquarters needs a legal fronting after all, it needs to be bulletproof from official investigation. Proper insurance, tax, licensing etc, all which needs to be in the name of the owner who is currently listed as officially missing. The incomes and outgoings need to match up, which is more difficult than it sounds when you need to launder the real incomes making their way through your networks. And there's always the-

You're broken from your busiwork from the brick being thrown through the office window with a spray of shattered glass. You stand up in a burst of anger, fully ready to dive out that window and punch the living shit out of whoever had the balls to come into YOUR territory, to YOUR diner, and throw a grenade through YOUR wind-
wait
grenade?

[ ]Flip the desk, take cover
[ ]Run for the door
[ ]Window

>>2234027
>>[ ]Flip the desk, take cover

>>2234027
>Kick it back out

>>2234097
>Haha. Unless someone is avidly opposed to this, I'll start writing.

>>2234027
You absolutely did not give this grenade permission to be in your office, you tell it loudly, lining up. So GET. THE FUCK. OUT.
You boot it, aiming for a point roughly around where it came from. If whoever is out there takes offence to this, maybe next time they'll include a Do Not Return To Sender label.

The door behind you bursts open, Lee brandishing a pistol with two of your lads at his back, just in time to hear the grenade detonate outside. "Boss what's happening?" Well, you're apparently under attack and you'd appreciate if he could get himself and whoever else is here armed and ready. You request he get some eyes outside and find out what you're up against. Of course, you're not the eloquent and insert far more cursing.

Amid the panicked sounding screams and shouting from outside you make out the sound of a couple of car doors slamming and an engine firing up.

Your mind racing, you realize that from where the office sits around the back of the building, you could probably make it to the far side of the building and jump down the fire escape stairwell to the porch that your bikes are stored in at roughly the same time this car would be making it to the street.

[ ]Don't take unnecessary risks, there might be more of them. Hunker down and call in for backup.
[ ]Fuck these guys. Hunt them down.
[ ]Other

>>2234192
>[ ]Don't take unnecessary risks, there might be more of them. Hunker down and call in for backup.

>>2234192
>Fuck these guys. THE HUNT IS ON

>>2234192
>[ ]Fuck these guys. Hunt them down.

In more calm circumstances, consider administering a loyalty test to Stains. Don't state that it's to test whether he's an informant, but give him some misleading information and see if it makes its way back to the cops. Perhaps set up a drug deal at two different locations, and see which one the cops are waiting for.

>>2234192
Fuck these guys. You could be out having a few drinks. You could be kicking it back, relaxing. You could be chillin' like a baller, and instead here you are, almost getting all your hard work ruined by some selfish cunt with a grenade. No. You're not going to let them get away with this.

You tell Lee to watch the place while you sprint for the far end of the building, leaping over the desks in the way and shoving past the gormless idiots who don't clear your path fast enough. You t ake the first flight of the back stairwell in a single bound, smashing bodily into the wall at the bottom and using it as a springboard to hurl yourself to the ground floor.
No time for helmets here, you grab the key from the pegboard and jam it into the ignition, simultaenously booting the quick release bar on the fire escape door.
With a slight twist of the throttle, the bike eases through the freely swinging door and into the car park - just in time for you to spot the neon green hatchback with some tell-tale scoring and scratching across the rear right panel screeching onto the road and barreling away from the scene.

You gun the throttle, eager to avoid letting them escape your vengeance.
Easily maneuving around the traffic that the larger vehicle is struggling with, you catch up to them in no time at all, vividly aware that the route they're taking is bringing you towards the border to the West Side Angels territory. Which is going to mean a whole world of hurt for you if you take this fight to them.

It's at this moment, you realize that you didn't grab your gun from the desk when this all kicked off. You might need to change your plan- not that you really had one.

[ ]Action hijack! Make these guys pull over on your turf, your terms.
[ ]Pull back and pursue covertly, see where they're going.
[ ]Other.

>>2234345
Ok I don't know if we're enough of a badass to take a car full of armed guys without a weapon.

But at the same time, they probably saw us following them, so we won't be able to just tail them.

Turning around and heading back is probably the most prudent choice, but fuck it we're mad.

>Action hijack!

>>2234345
>[ ]Action hijack! Make these guys pull over on your turf, your terms.
Having your hands free means you can grab their guns! Oh, uh, and steer.

>>2234345
Well you've already come out after them, you really don't want to go home empty handed. What kind of Boss would you look like? Nah, better to be dead than look stupid. Or, something. Whatever. You're stopping them here. You gun the throttle to come level with the driver's window, waving to him to pull over.

The spikey-haired rogue's response is completely as expected: he levels his gun at your face.

You duck, swerving hard right and pulling forward in front of the car, narrowly dodging a very untimely end before hopping both feet up onto the seat and springing backward onto the bonnet. Your abandoned bike tips over from the sudden movement and instantly gets creamed by the hatchback, hurling metal and plastic across the street in a deadly hail, the car swerving badly and almost tossing you along with the wreckage. As you watch the remnants of what moments ago was your favorite bike, you consinder that at least you didn't get shot as their aim is thrown off by the impact.

Feeling it's only fair to return the favor, you secure your grip on the creases of the metalwork and swing yourself around to the passenger side door. As you're pulling the door open, the mook reveals a shotgun and you waste no time in kicking away from the car. The fact you're still holding onto the door saves you from a grizzly death on the tarmac and instead avoids the shotgun blast which you have no doubt knowing your luck probably just blew apart some mother and small child on the high street instead. The momentum of the moving vehicle swings the door shut even harder than you kicked it open, regardless of the extended arm/shotgun combo now blockign its route home. There's a somewhat satisfying crunch as the door fails to slam shut again, and you use the boy's moments of shock and pain to grab his arm and yank him out of the car, jumping into his place instead.

A gun muzzle instantly appears next to your face and you twitch sideways, the bullet from the back seat flying harmlessly through the windscreen, and you grab the barrel, pushing it around to face the driver while simultaneously grabbing his free hand as he tries to bring his own pistol to bear again.
You're still thinking of a way to break this stalemate when the driver lets go of the wheel to try to win this little wrestling match.

You don't even have time to cry out before the car wraps itself around a lamp post.

[1/?]

>>2234483
The world is hazy, you're struggling to swim through the blossoming white of the airbag. People are screaming. Crying. You're crying. Momma isn't helping you, even though it hurts. Gunshots nearby seem a world away. You don't care about them. Why isn't Momma helping you? You don't understand. You can't get out. You can't get out.

You grab the passenger hand grip and pull your head back, punching forward hard to simultaneously remove both the memories and the airbag from your head.

Taking stock of your surroundings, the driver seems to have perished, judging by the large portion of steering wheel occupying his rib cage. The guy in the back seat seems unconcious too, and has some serious bleeds going on from what look to be shrapnel wounds from earlier. There aren't too many people on the streets outside but they're very inconveniently converging on the crash and you can see more than one mobile phone with some desperate sounding voices. You think you've probably got thirty seconds or so before some good samaritan starts trying to help you out of the car and treating you for shock or whatever.
Then you'll be stuck here.
But if you just left now, you'd get nothing out of these guys.

[ ]Try to interrogate the guy in the back before the medics start arriving
[ ]Drag his ass out the car and make for somewhere safe(r)
[ ]This feels like vengeance enough for now, time to bug out

>>2234528
>[ ]Drag his ass out the car and make for somewhere safe(r)

>>2234528
>Drag him somewhere interrogatable

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>>2234528
You stumble your way out of the car, steadying yourself against the bodywork and wrenching the back door open. The pistol that almost smeared your brain matter on the windshield is now in the footwell and you snatch it up, shoving it into the back of your pants. It takes a lot of effort to pull the limp boy out of the backseat and onto the pavement.

By the time you've got him out, an older man is approaching you and telling you to sit down, asking if you're alright. You pretend to start laying the heavy meatsack down, as if you were trying to help your friend, and ask the stranger his name.
As soon as he gives it you thank him, and press the pistol to his crotch. Now, it'd be great if he could make sure the story the police get is that there was only one person in the car that he could see. If the police heard something else, well, you'd make sure his wife and kids don't survive the week.

The nearest alley is only a few meters back along the street and you unsubtly drag the body out of the view of any more prying eyes. The man is even more energetic as he moves over to start organizing the onlookers in helping to shut down the road before the emergency services arrive.

Reaching a nice corner in the filthy darkness away from the street lights, you sit him up behind a dumpster, sweat from the exertion pouring down your face now, breath coming hard. The mop of green hair on his head falls to either side of his face as you slap him about, trying to bring him around.

So, you ask him as he blearly comes to, whose smart idea was this whole thing?
"You think I'm just gonna talk like that?" he mumbles.
You bring yourself down to his level, straddling him and meeting his gaze from mere inches away. That bright green car is about the least subtle they could be. It'd take an idiot to not recognize Big Mike's custom racer and only someone who'd never even heard of the race scene in the city wouldn't know that Big Mike sucked up to the West Side Angels wherever he could. And that stupid hair of his means he's part of Big Mike's crew, meaning he knows who would've put him up to this.
"Go fuck yourself," he tels you, tearing up a little and desperately avoiding your eye contact. You sigh, smothering him with one hand and jamming the pistol into his thigh, pulling the trigger. Once his attempts at screaming have died off, you let go and continue.

They were stupid enough to use Big Mike's car for a declaration of war, and now Big Mike is dead. This kid is going to be dead soon enough, too. It could be quick, or it could be slow, depending on how hard you make him work; you tell him this pressing the barrel of his own gun under his chin.
He starts crying. Like, actual tears crying. You're a little flummoxed at this. You're used to hard guys trying to pretend to be hard to the end. You don't really know what to do with this. "I don't want to die. Please. Please. I just don't want to die."

What do you ask him? Do you kill him?

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>And that's it for this session. Thanks for reading, I hope everyone is still enjoying this. The plan is to continue again later this week, stay tuned on the twitter for further news.

>>2234789
You don't kill him. You tell him talk and he doesn't die.