"Max, follow me! We'll lose 'em in the King Centre!"
Maxwell Shepard was running, and running hard. Having just pulled off a mid-day robbery at a jewelry shop on 29th Avenue, he and his accomplice Jack Mason were being pursued hard by Alliance police forces.
Hearing Mason's voice, Shepard rounded the bend that they were on, ducking into a nearby side street. After doing so, they ducked into a row of dilapidated houses, hopeful that the Alliance would give up.
They didn't.
"Stop in the name of the Alliance, you punks!" yelled the pursuing officers as they darted into the houses after the duo. The officers were well-trained and well-armed soldiers; Shepard and Jack were just two 17-year olds who thought they were John Wayne incarnate.
As the duo darted through the broken down and condemned row-houses, dodging and weaving their way through ratty old furniture, Mason, who was just a few paces in front, tripped and crashed into a desk.
Groaning in pain, Mason collapsed, grabbing his leg. Mason's shoulder-length blonde hair twisted as he cried out "Shepard! Grab the shit and go!"
As he came upon him, Shepard skidded to a halt and roughly grabbed ahold of Mason's shoulders, picking him up and running. The weight of Mason's body meant Shepard would run slower, but he wasn't about to leave a friend – a fellow Red – behind.
"What the fuck are you doin'? They'll get us now!" protested Mason as he struggled to get to his feet.
"I'm not leaving you behind!" Shepard barked at him, silencing him as they ran. "And they won't catch us – not getting caught by some blues, that's for sure."
"Blues" was an informal term used among criminals to describe Alliance police forces; due to the blue armour they always wore, the police were easily identified by gangsters and thugs alike.
Ducking into a small utility closet that had obviously not been used for a long time, Shepard and Mason ducked into a hole in the wall that had been covered by a tarp. Moving it aside, the two of them climbed back as far as they could, sticking right up against the wall, panting.
The police officers stopped – Shepard could see that there were four of them, all with their weapons drawn – and looked around. They searched the other row-houses and the closet, but didn't look very long. It wasn't long before they moved off, back toward the street.
"What did I tell ya, Mason? They ain't going to catch us." Shepard smirked as he climbed out of the hole, his friend behind him.
"Shit, Shep – I'm not doubting you again." Grinning, he stuck his hand into his pocket and fished out several large diamond rings. "Give these up to Chow, he'll probably be able to get at least 10g's for each. Reds'll be fuckin' thrilled."
Smirking, Maxwell brushed a hand through his jet black hair. His life wasn't easy; he never knew his parents and he grew up on the streets of New California City; it was one of over 50 mega-cities that now covered Earth. He had joined the Tenth Street Reds at the age of 11, starting out as a runner – the Reds often used younger boys and girls to relay messages between cities.
As he grew up, he moved from running to smuggling to assault; he had done it all.
"Hey, Mason – let's get back to Overcamp and turn in the shit. I'm hungry."
"Overcamp" was the nickname that the Reds gave to their main base of operations; it was located, not surprisingly, on 10th street, which had long-ago been written off by the government; it was a haven for crime and red-sand dealing.
The Reds dominated over half of the NCC, with smaller cliques located in London and New Berlin as well – they they were on their way to becoming a major player. Their major enemies, the Crips – which were a gang that dated back well over 100 years – had been increasingly targeted by Alliance police due to their brazen raids into the wealthy New York and Paris cities – since the Reds stayed mostly confined to the NCC, they were able to avoid major police action.
Overcamp was the main slice of Red heaven, in Maxwell's mind – it was an abandoned factory block that was repurposed and fortified into a command base; it had red sand refineries, gun-running facilities, cyberhacking terminals, forged credit ID chips, and even a small contract-killing group. Shepard had nothing to do with contract killing, however; he was more then willing to beat someone up, but to kill?
Not yet.
As the two walked into the main dorm, the two were approached by a rather large, muscular African-American man.
Mason grinned at him. "Hey, Jadan, how's it hangin -"
He wasn't able to finish his sentence, however, as the man delivered a left hook that sent him flying backwards into a table.
Shepard stopped and turned toward Jadan in surprise and anger. Before he could even react, he sent a knee into the older man's crotch as hard as he could.
That got his attention. Jadan let out a cry of pain and dropped to his knees. Shepard wouldn't give him time to recover, however; he proceeded to punch the man's oversized face – two, three, four, five, six; he lost count after seven – until he was on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
The other Reds had run over to see what was going on, and they all looked at Shepard in amazement. Jadan was a cell leader – he was going on twenty-five and was one of the meanest motherfuckers in the Reds; he was famed for his brutality and violence; it was said it was a dark day when he wasn't beating someone up – and he had just been taken down by a seventeen-year old junior member.
"Hey! What the fuck is going on here?" bellowed a deep voice from the hallway. A tall, lanky woman strode in with a menacing glare on her face. Looking at Mason, then the unconscious Jadan, and then Shepard, she allowed a one-sided grin to appear on her face.
"Shit. I knew you were tough, Shep – but not this tough. Jadan was askin' for it, I bet – the asshole was trying to get in my pants since you boys left this morning. Glad to see the fucker got a taste of his own meds."
Shepard forced back a grin. The woman, who had a rather lithe form and short, blonde hair, was a lieutenant of the Red's leader, Fierro. Amanda Perkins – or as she liked to be called, "Amp", was feared and admired by most of the men in the Reds; she was as good with a gun as she was with words, and she wasn't afraid to use either of them on you.
Shepard had learned that the hard way when he back-talked to her after a red-sand deal; he had ended up on the floor of the dorm with a broken nose.
Walking over to Mason, who was grunting in pain as he held his nose, which was bleeding slightly, Shepard shrugged. "The fucker wanted to go after Jamo – and I said no, fuck that shit."
"Heh, you're a tough one, I'll give ya that. Normally, beating the shit out of another member gets ya the 10th Treatment – but since I like you, and Jadan's a pig, I'll let it go." smirked Amp as she strode over to Jadan, who was starting to his feet.
Mason, who had smacked Shepard on the shoulder, responded, facing Amp. "Jadan's fuckery aside, we got the shit, Amp." Smirking proudly, he took the three rings out of his pocket and placed them into the woman's waiting, outstretched hand. "Had a run in with the blues, but Shepard and I managed to outwit the witless."
"Nice work, you two – honestly, I thought you'd be sitting in some Alliance shithole prison by now and we'd have to kiss your asses goodbye until the trial, but still – nice. We can get at least 30 thou' for all of 'em."
Shepard strolled over to one of the tables that had been set up; it was full of energy drinks and red sand. Grabbing an energy drink – Shepard hated Red Sand; he found it was fucking awful on the sinuses – he cracked it open and guzzled half of it back before letting out a loud belch. "Hey, Amp – tell me somethin'. What's a fine piece of ass like you doin' with the Reds? You could start your own gang with a bod like that."
Amp turned to face him, face returned to a scowl; Shepard still grinned, as he knew her all too well – she might be the boss's LT and lover, but she enjoyed when the men of the Reds took notice of her.
Strutting over to where Shepard sat, she grinned and wagged her finger at him. "That's easy, Shep – I haven't found any men willing to do whatever the fuck it takes." Winking at him, she returned to looking over the dorm.
Everytime she does that, Shepard's mind mused, I have to restrain myself from wanting to give it to her right now...Sadly, even if she were interested in him, the boss's woman was his only; anyone who fucked with Fierro didn't live long enough for a repeat.
Mason soon walked over to Shepard, grinning widely. 'You're fucking awful, y'know that, right?"
Shepard laughed and took a gulp of his drink. "You're damned right."
Mason soon joined Shepard at the table, setting up and snorting a line of Red-Sand, at which point Shepard grimaced, eliciting a grin from Mason. "I know ya hate the shit, but I can't get enough, man. It's like weed, but better!"
Shepard shook his head. "Give me a joint any day to sand – shit leaves your sinuses as loose as the whores we've got on 53rd."
Laughing, Mason grabbed a can of Jolt – at least, Shepard thought it was called that – and guzzled some back; it didn't last however, as he promptly belched most of it onto the floor, cursing himself for doing sand and drinking.
Shepard howled with laughter as he watched the show, casually tossing his now-empty can onto the floor. "Jamo, you are a moron sometimes – and by sometimes, I mean all the time. God, you're worse then Finch when me and him did that sand deal with the Crips that turned into a shootout, you remember?"
Mason nodded. How could anyone forget? The 59th Street War was one of the most infamous conflicts that the Reds had been through in the past few years; Shepard and six other Reds were making a sand deal with a splinter faction of Crips who had a deal to make; in exchange for a supply of sand and backing against the main leaders, they would ally with the Reds and take over the sand trade in the NCC.
However, the deal went bad; the main Crip faction got word of it and sent fifteen armed Crips to break up the deal; in the ensuing battle, fix Crips were killed along with three Reds.
After that, there was no more splinter faction – and the war between the gangs got even nastier. Shepard shuddered as he remembered it; it was one of the first times that he, then aged 12, had fired a pistol.
Even in the Reds, you never forget something like that.
"Shepard? Too much Jolt? Helloo?"
Shepard blinked and shook his head; he had obviously zoned out. Mason was in front of him, waving his hand, and at Shepard's response, laughed heartily. "Ha, you gotta lay off the Jolt so fast, man...not good for ya."
Shepard grunted and smoothed out his ratted black tank top; it had been patched up several times from excessive tearing. "Shut up, Jamo – at least I don't snort sand like it's going out of style. I mean shit, you don't even HAVE biotic powers anymore, the telekinesis stopped having an effect last month, you did so much."
Mason chuckled before setting up another line of sand, which he snorted eagerly.
"Fair point. Fuck you."