Sam's steps got heavier with each stride down the dusty hallway. Ever since the incident months ago where all of the Omerta heads were gunned down, the top floors of Gomorrah have remained empty. This is where he wanted to meet. This is where he chose to end it all. It was his game, his venue. Sam, Mickey, Jeremy, Jared, Michael, they were nothing more than pawns in the whole game. Sam looked down to the torn and dirty carpet beneath his feet as his legs seemed to keep lifelessly moving forward. I bead of blood dripped from the wound on his head down to the rotting floor, splashing into thousands of more microscopic beads. Dragging his sprained leg behind him, Sam collapsed in the very middle of the hall, exhausted, out of breath, and bleeding out from the gunshot wound in his side. His mind completely erased the current situation and rewound to two weeks earlier in New Reno; Sam and his buddies or "business partners" Mickey and Jeremy were all on vacation, visiting the casinos and bars around the vile town. Most people would rather just go to the Strip, but the three men were nothing more than smugglers. They didn't make close to enough money to gain access to the Strip, and whatever caps or cash they did make was replaced by empty bottles of whiskey and of course, plenty of Jet. However, that all changed with a single game of poker. Jeremy had been testing his card counting abilities and took a seat next to a man wearing a beaten NCR field jacket, stained with blood.
"Hey there, soldier boy!" Jeremy yelled out, inebriated and out of control. The out of uniform NCR soldier turned his head and scowled, revealing to Jeremy the burnt half of his face…