HEY GUYS! Guess who's back? That's right: Fox Trot is! All right, this is my first story in the series 'The Outsiders' and I'm just PRAYING that I kept the gang (what's left of it) in character. I'm really working on it. So please, tell me what you think and what I can improve on! THANKS!

PLEASE ENJOY AND REVIEW!

Apocalyptic

Neither one of my brothers had ever been beaten in a fight, but I wasn't exactly itching for someone to break the record…(The Outsiders, Page 143)

Sodapop Curtis grinned, looking pointedly at the Soc in front of him. Another stood behind him in the long and dark ally. A cigarette hung from the boy's lips in front of him; his madras jacket was a tan color and his hair was blonde. He looked proper, as do all Socs; like he could have just as easily been going to dinner with his girlfriend's parents than jumping a boy like Soda.

Soda himself stuck out like a sore thumb. He wore his usual black shirt with his torn blue jeans. He'd had the day off from work and had been sent into Soc territory for some groceries. When he'd told Darry he'd take on the job, he had no idea he'd have to deal with these bozos.

"Greaser," the Soc informed. "This is our turf."

"Like I didn't know!" Soda replied coolly. He quirked a brow. "Better yet: like I care."

The other boy smirked, his thin lips pulled up to one side. His blue eyes glinted in the streetlights. "You ain't even gonna fight back? Argue even?"

Soda stood strait, shrugging. "I ain't lookin' for a fight. I was just here for some food." He pointed slightly toward the plastic bag in his grip, then flashed one of his famous movie star smiles at the Socs. You know, the ones that make girls go weak in the knees. "So if I could just be on my merry…"

He took a step forward, but stopped.

A knife rested in the Socs hand; at least, he assumed it was, as it was pressed lightly on Soda's back. He couldn't much tell who was holding it. All he knew was it was kept sharp at all times.

"I thought that rumble'd taught you hoods a lesson in manners…" the boy behind him growled. Sodapop could feel his warm breath down his spine.

Soda didn't falter; he just rocked on his feet comfortably. "You forget that us 'hoods'-" he put up his fingers in quotations to emphasize this point- "won that rumble."

The Soc pushed the knife at Sodapop slightly harder to where he could feel the blade's cold metal prodding him in the back.

Then he smelled the alcohol on his breath. Great… he thought, rolling his eyes. So let alone are they serious, but they're drunk too…

Leaning forward a little to avoid the blade, the brown-eyed boy said, "Again. I'm not here looking for trouble. You jump me here, and you're starting the ---- we all just got done with. Let me on my way, and we can forget all this!" He smirked slightly, confident that the boys would back down when he put it simply.

The boy smiled, ice eyes glinting in the moonlight dangerously. He looks kinda like Dally… Soda thought dully, eyes narrowing. I don't like that…

"Not quite, grease." The boy in front of him said. "You see, this is about that '----' as you so kindly referred to it."

The sound of knuckles cracking echoed in the ally. Soda carefully moved away from the knife, turning his back to the wall so he could see the Socs. He'd been wrong about his odds; there were five against him. Hardly even by any standard. Soda calmly quirked a brow though his insides churned with anticipation of the first punch; a fight was inevitable at this point. He dropped his grocery bag on the dirt. "Whadaya mean?" he asked.

Soc #1, as Soda had so dutifully called him, answered. "We got a bud to spy on that kid, Ponyboy, who killed Bob. What better way to get back at him than with his favorite brother?" Chilling laughter erupted from the Socs; all eyes were on him and , for once, Soda didn't like it one bit. The blue-eyed Soc looked to him, finishing with, "Now he'll know how it feels to lose someone that important…"

Soda turned zero at the bone, fear gripping him. They're gonna kill me! Soda thought, panicked. He readied himself as the first punch of many was thrown.

The next day, Darrel Curtis flipped open the paper to the front page. "Sodapop!" he called, walking into the kitchen. Ponyboy sat at the table, eggs cooked and cake laid out.

"G'mornin'." He greeted, smiling.

Darry shook his head. "Where's Soda?" he inquired, looking up at Pony. The younger's face was stricken.

"He didn't come home last night?"

"No."

Pony sat down. That's not like him… he thought, blinking.

Suddenly, Darry dropped the newspaper, eyes wide. Quickly, he took a seat, resting his head in his hands; he averted his eyes from Pony purposely.

"What's wrong, Darry?" Curtis questioned, grabbing the older boy's shoulder.

"The paper… read it…" he said, his voice pained.

A sinking feeling settled into his stomach as he lifted the paper to his face. The feeling fell through him as he read the headline.

Boy Found Dead In Ally

Who's Behind It?

The body of a boy believed to be Sodapop Curtis was found today on the East side of Tulsa…

Pony dropped the paper , too, and fell to his knees, tears springing to his eyes. "No…" he whispered. Without warning, everything went black.