AN- So... I'm not really sure where this came from, but viola! New Story. I'm not sure where the plot is heading yet, but... eh, this story will write itself. =}

Disclaimer- not mine.

Mom stopped me as soon as I hit the bottom step of our steep staircase. "Where are you going?"

"The studio." I gestured to the backpack I was carrying. "Have a project I need to finish." Mom nodded but her brow was still wrinkled. "Kyna, it's ten o'clock at night… you know how I feel about you going out this late….. it's not safe." Her voice was whiney. She was slowly trying to lay on the guilt trip from hell. I could feel my little heart caving. Thankfully, my cousin, Killian, breezed through the kitchen at that exact moment, saving me. Halleluiah.

"I'm going to the gym, Mom. I'll be home later."

"Killian! Give your sister a ride to the studio!"

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Why, so she can be stranded at the studio or be forced to work under pressure? She can drive herself."

"He's got a point, Mom." I hopped off the bottom step and pecked my mother on the check. "Bye Mom!" I dashed out the door to my beat up little car sitting out in the driveway. It was chilly outside. Then again, this was Boston. It was always chilly at night.

"Kyna! Got all your shit?" Killian appeared at my side, holding tight to his gym bag.

"Yeah… do you?"

"Yeah." He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. I wrinkled up my nose at the smell. Never would I ever smoke. Disgusting habit. "Alright….. see you at the plaza."

I took one route; my cousin another. The street lights were an orange haze I drove through, on edge, nerves cutting deep into me. I rolled up to a red light, and as I waited at the intersection, I noticed my hands trembling on the steering wheel.

This is fucking insane. Why, why WHY are we doing this?

It had been Killian's idea. I was along for the ride.

You could always turn the car around. Go to the studio and sculpt something. Forget this idea entirely.

I can't leave my cousin like that.

Correction: I can't leave my brother like that.

That thought sat better in my brain.

Loyal to a fault. That was me. And granted, Killian might have been my cousin by blood, but we had been around each other since birth- and he was only a day older than me. We might as well have well be brother and sister, even twins. Most people we met assumed we were siblings, and we never made an effort to correct them. Killian had lived with us since he was two. His biological mother- my aunt- died from cancer, and his father- like my father- had vanished into thin air before we ever knew them. Actually, they probably split the morning after- one night stand. Hit it and quit it, as it goes. I scowled to myself. If I ever met them, they were toast. Not even crunchy toast- We're talking charred and blackened toast.

I parked my car a few blocks away from the ritzy plaza hotel- with sprinting distance and grabbed my bag from the passenger seat. I shivered in the cold air as I walked to the side entrance of the hotel, where Killian was waiting for me. He was smoking- he had probably smoked an entire back between the house and the plaza.

I gave Killian a hard look. "Why are we doing this?"

He sighed and let out a breath of smoke. "The Saints are gone. Someone's got to keep our lovely local scumbags in check." He looked so serious- which is what humbled and scared me more than anything. My brother, serious. He was the hell raising, football star frat boy- he never took anything- aside from maybe his alcohol and cigarette consumption- serious.

"Alright…." I rolled my eyes at the stupidity of the situation- because this was a ludicrous, dumb, retarded idea. "Let's do some gratuitous violence."

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