Disclaimer: I do not own Making Fiends or the characters, or the song 'Death and All His Friends'.

A/N: I know I keep starting TOO MANY NEW FICS! At this rate I'll never finish any, but I have made myself a little pact: no more new Making Fiends fics until I finish some. I have only finished one out of my five million on the go!

Yeah, so, about this story, it is an AU about the mafia. There is a lot of OOC ness, in fact I think the only one who is fully in character in this is Mr Milk. And possibly Vendetta. The characters are probably in their late teens/early twenties, and Mr Milk in his forties.

The title, Death and All His Friends, is from a Coldplay song I am particularly obsessed with, although the actual story has nothing to do with it. At all.

Also, I have gone over to the dark side. There is a bit of Marion/Mort in this. You all have yourselves to blame.

I'd better stop rambling and get on with this before the Author's Note reaches a thousand words, yeah?

I

Cards on the Table

The plastic of the cards felt sticky in his sweaty palm. He gazed at his hand. Two jacks, a queen and some other rubbish cards. He had no chance.

'Come on, Marvin! You in or out?'

Marvin looked up at his two friends, whose eyes were fixed on him.

'I fold.' He slammed his cards face down on the table and took a drag on his cigarette. Malachi and Mort showed theirs. He wouldn't have won anyway.

'It beeth not thine night, eh?' Malachi said, scraping the coins across the table and pocketing them.

'Didn't take that from the boss's stash, did you?' Mort inquired of Marvin, eyeing the cigarette jealously as his friend raised it to his mouth.

'I'm not in a suicidal mood.' Marvin flicked it, and a clump of smouldering ash was sent skittering across the basement floor.

'Our days are numbered anyway,' Mort groaned. 'With Vendetta's new fiend-making skills, it'll only be a matter of time before we're no longer needed. We'll be replaced for sure.' A hush fell over the three young men, who shuddered.

Malachi drained his Manhattan in one gulp- an unusual occurrence, as he rarely touched liquor.

'Dost…thou think she shalt…'

Mort nodded solemnly.

'Oh, for goodness sake!' Marvin's chair squeaked and thumped over backwards as he stood up. 'We're Vendetta's best men! No-one gets a job done better than us- we've got nothing to worry about!'

But even as the words left his mouth, he didn't quite believe them.

The door slammed open. The gangsters froze as a chunky grey creature, wobbling on its fat little legs, plodded up, placing a note n the table and waddling out. They gathered around, craning their necks to read the thin, sloping handwriting that scratched through the paper:

Milk's debt is due.

Collect it or bring me his head.

You have twelve hours.

The note was signed with a spiky V, which sent a chill down their spines.

Mort was the first to speak.

'I suppose…we'd better…'

'Verily.'

'Mm.'

They stood to leave, donning their coats, hats and dark glasses. Marvin sighed, and taking a hesitant look over his shoulder, reluctantly picked up his revolver and pocketed it on his way out.

The haze of several cigars clouded the low-hanging lights, and jazz music filled their ears as Marvin, Malachi and Mort shuffled into the room, hands in their pockets.

A band, consisting mainly of horns and saxophones played, accompanying the stage performers, as groups of twos and threes clustered around tables, slurring to each other.

From behind Mort's dark glasses, his eyes widened, and he took an entranced step towards the stage.

A curvy female singer had taken the stage, an array of coloured feathers in her blue hair, dressed in a sequined outfit that showed off her voluptuous figure.

Opening her plump mouth, she struck a pose and began to sing.

'Come on, lover boy,' Marvin yanked him by his collar and brought his attention back to the task at hand.

'The time shalt be right for to gaze at temptresses, but the present we must fulfil our duty and forget the wenches,' Malachi concurred.

They ambled across the back of the club, where a frail, middle-aged man, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, was cleaning glasses behind the bar.

Malachi cleared his throat.

'Oh my!' The man jumped. 'You're…her agents, aren't you?'

Marvin leaned across the bar counter. For some reason, he always had to play the role of the spokesperson, the bad guy. He hated it, but what could he do? Resist Vendetta's orders and his neck was on the line.

'I'm afraid, Mr. Milk, your debt is due today. My book states you owe the sum of…'

He checked his black notebook. '…One thousand dollars. Plus ten percent interest.'

Mr Milk turned even paler than he already was, and habitually ran his hand over his sweating bald patch.

'Oh, but…' he rubbed his shaking hands together, 'I really don't have…'

'Thou understandeth,' Malachi dived in, relieving Marvin of the burden, 'that thou has less than twelve hours in which to return thy favour. Thou knowest the wrath of the fiendmaker.'

Mr Milk pulled open the till, eyes scanning the collection of notes and coins.

'Well…t-the hundred in there will cover the interest, b-but…the rest… all my life-savings…I was gonna buy an engagement ring for Ms Minty the schoolteacher…'

Marvin's heart went out to this poor man, trying to lead a simple life, who had somehow gotten mixed up in this awful Vendetta business.

'Sorry, Milk,' he said, hiding behind is tone of voice. 'It's the ring money, or your head on a plate for Vendetta.'

He thrust the banknotes at Marvin, who counted them. One thousand, one hundred exactly. Marvin pocketed it, grateful the man had paid up. He'd never yet had to kill someone for non-payment, but they'd all heard stories of what happened to hit-men who couldn't bring themselves to carry out the boss's orders.

The trio hustled out again, shoulders slumped forward in what they intended to be a menacing sort of gait.

Sorry, Marvin thought as they started off down the alleyway. Sorry it had to be this way.

At least Mr Milk was out of the loop. Finished with his debt, he could start anew, build a home, maybe a family. Things Marvin could only dream of. He could do nothing. He too was under Vendetta's iron fist, but his position was far more permanent.

And there you are, the first chapter. Whaddya think?

I promise, I promise, I will put new chapters up for Dangerous and Charlotte Potter soon. That is high up on my priority list. And I vow, NO MORE NEW FICS! For a while. Wow, I think in total, the author's notes were longer than the story part of this chapter! Longer chapters are coming.