Gnarled shadows paint the faces of the five men gathered around the desk, ones fingertips tapping and dragging across the crinkled, yellowing papers. Red and blue ink lines stretch across the table like looping highways on a roadmap. The boss's handwriting was as nebulous and messy as ever. A dim desklamp floods over the papers, illuminating the hands of the oldest man. Ink clings to his shaking palms, making his hands look even more bloody and bruised in the low light of the office.

"End of action report," he speaks sternly, lifting his gaze to address the men around him. His eyes are dark, sunken, and tired, but they still kept a crisp, baby blue hue. Dried blood is matted to his bunched eyebrows, and flecks of red dot his pale cheeks. Geoff Ramsey scrutinizes the three boys looking back at him from the other side of the desk, and his voice tightens. "Not so great, boys."A light swings overhead, though it's light is so dim it doesn't matter.

The three look back with varying degrees of anger and pain. Surprisingly, the foolhardy kid on the right- Gavin Free- was the least worse for wear. A little dirt and blood edge his tanned face, but no serious injuries. A sheepish look creeps into his smile.

The Puerto Rican sniper in the middle- Ray Narvaez Jr.- side-eyes the Brit. His chin, arms, and clothes are scraped and ripped. The edges of his tee are even singed. Charred fibers stick to his palms where he had to pat out the growing flames. The worst of it is an apparently broken nose, and a few bandages adorn his face. He bares his teeth slightly in a pained, annoyed grimace.

The Jersey-native headman of the trio- Michael Jones- scratches gently at his new, crudely-done self-stitches. His eyes are watery, red, and swollen after having taken the brunt of the blast. He'll be scrubbing dirt from his eyes for days. His jaw tightens under raw, freckled skin, but he dutifully holds the boss's gaze. He is angry, but he's listening first.

"Or, should I say, Gavin." Geoff's eyes drag over to the Brit, who shirks under the man's now unfriendly gaze. "What did we talk about, kid? What did I say right before we started?" The two other boys direct their attention to him as well. The boss's knuckles turn white as he clenches a fist.

"It was an accident, Geoff," pleads Gavin without meeting the boss's eyes. "I swear." There is something dishonest in his whimper that they all heard. It's not that Gavin was stupid, it's more that he was a special kind of brilliant. A special kind of brilliant that made him evil. Evil enough to set off some IEDs that Michael had just prepped, sending Michael and Ray into a dangerous firestorm.

"I swear, boss," mocks Michael in his best impression of Gavin's european whine. "Asshole! You knew that was rigged to go, and you were still playing around! If I thought you were smart enough to blow us all to the moon on purpose, I'd accuse you of treason," he spits with a venomous tone. Gavin winces at the words, but doesn't speak in his defense. He runs a finger over the curled edge of the map, trying to become invisible.

The boss allows Michael's outburst and runs a hand through his unkempt, black hair with a tired sigh. "You boys are just lucky that Jack was able to pick up the pieces and get you out of there. I suppose," his voice softens a bit, "if nothing else, this was a good emergency evac exercise for next time."

"Thanks, boss." The bearded man standing behind the boss grunts quietly at the praise. He was powerful, intimidating, and the boss's second-hand. A true mountain of a man, if you didn't know him. He wasn't injured at all from the blast, but perhaps a little dirty from pushing debris away from the boys. Blood speckles stain the shoulders of his shirt where he carried Michael, who thanks him quietly with a blink of acknowledgement. Jack wasn't a man of many words, and Michael admired that.

Geoff reclines in his chair and runs a hand over his face, serving only to smudge the remaining dirt more. "Go home and get rested up, boys. The bank job's off. Thanks to that little stunt, they know we're coming. They'll no doubt ramp up security." His eyes fall to the papers in front of him, absentmindedly following ones path from his side of the table to the other.

The boys dismiss themselves from the boss's office, Michael and Ray cursing quietly under their breath. Gavin follows with a little smile on his face, but it is quickly scared away by an insult from Ray. "Way to go, champ. You always blow it," he spits, turning to Michael to gesticulate his frustrations with large, swinging hand motions. "I knew he wasn't ready for this. Job of the year and he-"

"There's other banks, Ray," Gavin assures sheepishly to no response but an irritated breath. "Come on-"

As the door clicks closed and the voices melt away, Geoff turns slowly to Jack still with a hand perched on his forehead. His eyes go from tired to bleak and exhausted. The usually lively man's light drains from him. He seems to age all at once, slouching into the old desk. Geoff props himself up on the desk by an elbow and pulls a bottle of whiskey from under the cabinet. "These kids are running me ragged, Jack. I shouldn't be grey by forty."

The ginger man smiles with a lighthearted chuckle and pulls a chair closer. He takes a seat by his old friend as Geoff pours two glasses of alcohol. His shaky hands spill some onto his papers, and he curses quietly. Ink bleeds into the whiskey and slowly sinks into the paperwork, creating a new yellowed stain. It's useless now, anyway, he concedes. "You know they're good at what they do, though." There is a beat before Jack adds, "Well, two of them, anyway. Gavin's a bit of a wild card."

Geoff nods in quiet agreement. He and Jack clink their glasses together and there is a lengthy pause as each takes a long drink from their glass. Refreshed, the boss shakes his head before saying, quite seriously, "Do you think it's time for new blood?"

There's a pause for thought, and Jack doesn't look sure. Geoff clarifies his query quickly, "Additional people. Don't get me wrong. Gavin may be a huge moron, but he's our moron."

Jack shrugs slightly with an honest expression, "I think we could benefit from it. An extra man would make it easier to take bigger scores, for sure. Maybe it would be easier, too, just to help keep Gavin in line. Temporary hires aren't working, they can't keep up... Do you have someone specific in mind?"

Geoff downs his whiskey and starts to pour another for himself. It looks like there's an idea forming in his glass that's just out of reach. Finally, it seems to strike him, as he says, "I know a guy perfect for the job."

Jack looks skeptical, but looks like he's still listening to Geoff. A serious look forms on his kind face. "Not him, right?" He stares at Geoff, waiting for a response, but one doesn't come in time. Jack's eyebrows furrow, "Oh, no. Geoff."

The boss shrugs, "Can't beat 'em, join 'em, Jack. He'll scare Gavin into behaving." He tips the glass to his lips.

The other man looks on with hesitance as Geoff flips open his cellphone. "Are you sure it's safe?" He ventures cautiously.

"Safer than letting Gavin do what he wants? Oh, yeah. Much safer," Geoff speaks into the ringing. "I don't much like it either, Jack, but I think it's for the best we do this now."

Jack looks into his drink as the phone picks up.

.,::,.

"Gavin! God damn it-! Gavin!" Michael roars as the clumsy Brit bumps into his stitched side. Only thirty feet down the hall, and Gavin was already on his hopelessly frayed nerves again. His hand flies to the wound to cradle it gently under his shirt. Michael's seeing red already, but he wrestles down the urge to knock out his teammate. "Do you ever just stop? Are you capable?"

Gavin smirks a little bit and wipes Michael's spit off his cheek. "Sorry, Michael. I really am."

"Bullshit," Michael snaps through gritted teeth. "You absolutely are not."

Gavin slowly extends a hand to Michael's side and pulls up the edge of his shirt slightly as Michael silently protests. Dried brown splotches stain the blue fabric, but underneath it looked far rougher. Michael breathes in sharply as Gavin examines the suturing with more than his eyes. Curious fingers inspect the uneven, unfinished stitches sticking out of Michael's skin at all angles. The skin isn't even closed right. "This is a pretty slap job," Gavin criticizes loudly.

"Yeah, Gavin, that happens when you've suddenly got a big goddamn hole in your side," Ray remarks quietly. "Michael did his best given the tools he had."

"You did this to yourself?" Gavin asks, surprised by his friend. "Fair play, then."

"You must have missed that part while you were laughing and screaming," remarks Michael with a sharp edge. He jerks away from Gavin's hand. Of course he had done it himself. He wouldn't let anybody else touch him.

Gavin drops Michael's shirt back down to his hip and grunts. "I really am sorry, guys, I just wasn't being careful. Sorry about your busted-up nose, Ray." It sounds more genuine before. Only just.

Before Michael or Ray can respond to the apology, they hear breathing from down the hall. Shaky hands fly to waists, and Michael hisses, "I thought we were done with the cops." Gavin fumbles with his pistol, surprised.

"How adorable. Cops? Oh, you wish I were just a cop," the voice comes, and the boys stiffen. Michael squints into the darkness, but is unable to find the movement. Their hands tighten around the pistols, and Gavin makes a frightened, squealing noise. The figure slinks into sight, but his face is obscured by dark shadows. In this low light, he doesn't look quite human. "Is this any way to treat an old friend, Michael?"

Michael loosens his grip on the glock with a guarded look, though he keeps it pointed at the man. "Ryan Haywood. It isn't a pleasure at all."

"I just let myself in." The older, taller man lets out a low laugh and the two other boys share a confused look between them. Ryan's eyes match their boss's baby blues, but they look so much more calculating, devious. A more youthful evil resides behind them. A black and navy leather jacket is stretched across his broad shoulders, and a black carbine rifle is strapped to his back. There is no weapon in his hands to be seen, but Michael keeps his guard. "You look a little under the weather today, Michael. What's got you so torn up?" he teases.

"What do you want, Ryan?" Michael demands from the man, although he is in no condition to be making demands. The pulsing wound in his side protests his every movement. Gavin, on the other hand, lowers his weapon curiously. Michael notices, but brings no attention to it.

"You made a lot of noise in the city today. Cops everywhere," Ryan stops to drag his eyes across the beaten faces of the three boys. "You know, it's funny you still haven't killed poor old Geoff. He's wasting his time bumming around with you kids. How much did you lose him today?" His eyes stop on Ray's broken nose and he snickers quietly as if he found his answer.

"That was quick, Ryan," Geoff brushes past Michael to stand ahead of his boys. The lights in the derelict garment shop hallway swing and flicker with his voice. It wasn't a tone that the boss took very often, thankfully. "I didn't expect you until tomorrow." Michael's eyes narrow at the statement. He was invited?

"I was just in the neighborhood," Ryan purrs as the shafts of light rock around him. The dancing shadows on his face and shoulders make him look somewhat otherworldly. His voice lowers, heightening the effect. "Thought I'd drop by. Sounded like a party. Looks like I missed most of the fireworks, though."

"Still as much of a snake as ever," Jack remarks quietly. Michael lowers his weapon as he feels the guardian's presence behind him. He still keeps a wary eye on the newcomer, however, still trying to decipher what was going on.

Gavin breaks the silence between them, sounding somewhat exasperated. "Will somebody explain who this bloke is? Christ alive." Ryan's eyes glint in surprise, waiting eagerly for his introduction. His gaze shifts to Michael, prompting him.

"Are you kidding me? Iron Ryan?" Michael says, ignoring Ryan and looking at Gavin pointedly. Gavin's expression remains unchanged, and Michael growls in annoyance. His voice quickens in frustration with the brit, for whom this doesn't seem to be ringing any bells. "He's an international hitman based in good old Los Santos. A good one with a clean record. He used to run with Geoff in earlier years, but now he spends his days killing his 'allies' for sport." He says the last line with a healthy dose of contempt. Gavin meets Ryan's eyes curiously. Ryan simply grins in response- the expression of a predator proud of his reputation.

"That's enough, Michael," Geoff silences the younger man with a gesture, and Michael goes quiet with a non-combative shrug. Gavin raises his eyebrows at the newcomer. Ryan didn't look that tough... He ponders quietly where Ryan got the nickname of Iron Ryan, but decides he doesn't want a demonstration. It was probably a painful one.

Ryan shrugs and the rifle knocks against his shoulder blades to create a sick, hollow thud. In the low, warm light, he looks like the devil himself. "Allies? They were never my allies, Michael. They were tools, only tools, and tools are to be used. It's only practical." He huffs indignantly as he explains, as if offended by Michael's ignorance to utilitarianism. With a smile he directs his gaze at the boss, trying to prompt agreement from him. "Geoff, you understand such things."

Geoff doesn't miss a beat with his answer. "That was a long time ago, Ryan. We're proposing a more… mutually beneficial partnership this time."

Michael seems the only one shocked by this, but he keeps his mouth quiet as the boss speaks. A seething breath escapes him, but it could have been construed as pain. Ray finally puts his pistol away as Ryan turns to the side in mock pondering. A hand comes up to his chin, tapping lightly. "What a fantastic offer, Geoff. Ah, but… what is it you've got that interests me? What can you give me that I can't get on my own? A broken nose? A gaping hole in my side? Ah! Perhaps your offer is alcohol? Got a bit much of that."

Geoff smirks in the low light of the hall and pulls something from his pocket. It looks like a flash drive. He holds it between his fingers as if he were holding a diamond. Ray studies it incredulously, doubting it openly. He shares an amused look with Michael. "Well. A lot of things, Ryan. Starting with, but not limited to, your health and safety."

Ryan stops his mockery and focuses on the flash drive in uncharacteristic surprise. The tiny object breaks Ryan of his predatory persona for a moment. The boys take it in, too, but they are more confused than before. Ryan's eyes narrow, and his teeth bare slightly. His eyes waver from Geoff to the others as if weighing the odds of a physical fight before finally settling on the stick with a smile. "Alright, Ramsey. I'll take part in your little playdate."

Geoff pockets the flash drive and extends a hand to his old friend. Ryan takes it in his own, but roughly. Although the two men shake like enemies, their faces read diplomatic and calm. The boys share an uncertain look about the unsettling partnership. Ryan breaks his handshake with Geoff and looks past his new boss to meet Michael's gaze and to address him directly. "If you get in my way, you'll have more to worry about than stitching yourself up," he threatens. Geoff breaks their eye contact with his own. Michael wishes he could retaliate, but remains unmoved behind Geoff. He boils quietly, his fiery temper kept just below the surface.

"I'll be in touch," calls Geoff firmly as Ryan turns to leave. Ryan makes no response. As the shadowy man disappears down the stairwell, the boss turns back to face his crew. He is met with silent, puzzled and incredulous faces. He puts on a false grin but it doesn't sell. "Boys, that was your batshit-crazy new best friend."

"He seems like an alright guy. Seems like a very respectable business man," remarks Ray sarcastically. "Are you kidding me? Why this psycho? Out of thousands of capable crooks in LS, why the one who looks like he's been awake for three days, cracking skulls and drinking blood? Seriously! He looks like-!"

"He's more useful to us than you know, Ray," justifies the boss, silencing Ray with a gesture. "Besides, we need another old man on this team to keep you stupid kids in line. Now, really, just be careful, alright, boys? Don't provoke the bull. He's only useful to me until he kills one of you." Nobody looks satisfied with this response. Gavin looks instead like he's been handed a new challenge.

Michael stays quiet in contemplation. Another man was just another liability, and another man to split the score with. Not only this, but this man was a trained assassin known for his ruthless team-killing. They were just his new tools. He didn't trust Ryan as far as he could throw him, and, judging from Ryan's towering size, that wasn't very far. From Geoff's stories of old grandeur, Iron Ryan didn't seem the most morally upstanding man, either. He can't help but feel that taking him on as a partner is a huge mistake, as much as he wants to trust Geoff's judgement. A mistake big enough to cost them their lives. His eyes wander to Gavin, however, and second thoughts nag at him. There's a fire in Gavin's eyes that he rarely saw, and it was frightening. If Ryan didn't kill them, Gavin probably would. Right. Another pair of eyes on that trainwreck couldn't possibly hurt… Although he didn't have to like it.

"What's on that thumb drive, boss?" Gavin's voice breaks the silence in the hallway.

"Oh, this?" The boss takes the flash drive out his pocket as if to prove to himself it was still there. "Not what he thought it was. Don't lose sleep over it." He dismisses the drive by pocketing it again. "Now, really. Clean up and go home. I'll text you when I need something done." Gavin's curiosity doesn't seem satisfied with the answer, and he keeps a close eye on Geoff's hands.

"Any more surprises we should be aware of, boss?" asks Michael slowly and sarcastically, but Geoff ignores him. Instead, the boss strides past the boys with a wave. Jack follows suit, gently bumping Michael out of the way. The lads are left in the darkened, lonely hallway of the garment shop.

"He's a valuable asset to us. Don't set him off," says Jack dismissively before lumbering after Geoff into the shadows. He's not sure how much he believes it.

Gavin stares into the darkness of the hall as the two men disappear before him and into the stairwell, as if to make sure that Ryan is not still lurking there. Gavin turns back to Michael expectantly, wanting more information on their new teammate. When none comes he prompts, "That was a quick marriage. Why's the boss so quick to warm up to Ryan if you say he's so risky?"

Michael steps up to the window to his side and peers out into the darkened backlot. He sees Geoff and Jack saying their goodbyes and entering their own vehicles. He wondered where Ryan went, but decided he didn't care. "They've worked together before. And although Ryan is a big risk, it's kind of in Geoff's nature to see the best in people," he muses as the engines turn over and exhaust rises into the sky. Michael turns to look at Gavin, "Just- listen to Geoff, okay? If you do anything that will get us killed working with that maniac, I swear to God-!"

Gavin huffs indignantly, but says nothing more. His eyes flicker around outside, obscuring his thoughts.

Michael looks to Gavin again and his frown melts into a tiny smile. He lands a heavy-handed yet playful smack on Gav's shoulder. He pulls Ray in on his other side. Despite their Gavin-inflicted injuries, they were still friends and partners above all. Michael didn't want to admit it, but he kind of needed them. "Don't worry about it. We're not going to let that big ox get in our way."

"Big?" Ray corrects seriously, "Gargantuan. That's the word. Have you seen that guy? Jesus."