Sex and drugs and guns. That is what the Saints stand for. She was supposed to be their leader, the Queen Saint. And she was a good leader; her emotions remained guarded beneath lock and key, behind a wall of stone and mortar. It stood beyond all opposition, every rocket launcher fired at it. She ran all of Boston; a city that she was proud to call her home, a place that she was proud to live in. And its people loved her, even if they didn't say so out in the open. The police turned a blind eye to her workings, and she knew better than to make any of her deals to conspicuous, to flashy. Lit roadsides belonged to the police, while the darkest alleys belonged to her.
She was Jane Rizzoli, and she ran the Third Street Saints.
When that call came in that they had been sighted, she had wanted to jump out into the open immediately. But she had witheld her initial reaction,and remained calm enough to listen to her partner. Barry Frost, late leader of the Deckers Gang, tracked the whereabouts of these... Things... That dared to infiltrate her perfect city. Even now, sitting behind her desk, partner perched on the arm of her swivelling chair, she was watching them. She was the only woman leader of the many gangs in the western hemisphere, her power was often tested. But she had yet to see a team that moved quite like this one.
The tell red- haired one ducked, firing two consecutive shots quickly, as the shorter woman behind her drew a pistol from a shoulder guard on the other woman. She aimed and fired within less than a heartbeat, before turning and firing again. jane nodded her head to dispatch another unit, simply watching the movements of the eight or so members. There was something that was much too... Calculated, about their moves. As if they were waiting for something. Then one slipped up. She wasn't completely sure which one it was exactly, one could never really be sure of anything other than a mistake being made. Jane raised a hand to her reciever, engaging it.
"Move in. Capture them all. No executions until further authorization has been recieved. I want answers before I kill them all." There was no affirmative given, for there was none needed. Her troops followed her orders, or they died. If they died following her orders at least, they were honored. If they deserted or disobeyed... Execution was too nice of a word for their treatment. "Frost, is there something strange about how they are moving, fighting?" She barely breathed to the darker- skinned man. He clicked a couple keys, before the battle projected into a larger view, spread across the opposing wall of the own troops were scattering, herding the red- clad soldiers inward forcefully, yet they almost seemed to move easily, as if they were moving of their own free will, rather than being forced.
"Yes, Rizzoli. They seem to be... Taking orders. But from inside. There is no wireless data infiltrating the group other than our own." The raven- haired woman leaned forward slightly, perplexed. If she took his words seriously, which she had more than enough grounds to do so, he was hinting that their leader had taken the field.
"What kind of mob boss takes the field with his troops? Zoom in on all of them men there." Five photos jumped up around the proceedings, and backgrounds followed within moments. Her tech? He was almost too good sometimes. If she didn't know better, every now and then she would have been worried about the ex- Decker's loyalty to her and the Saints. But she had destroyed the Deckers, and then given them the second chance they needed. And they proved their loyalty time and time again, in missions where, if they so wished, they could get away from her. They could try to band together and rally against her. Yet they didn't. They were no longer Deckers, really, but Saints. She raised a hand to the headpiece again. "Three to every male, two to female." She ordered promptly. "Isolate who their leader is, and quickly. Bring them to me." With satisfaction, Jane watched as her Saints organised themselves. She ran a well- oiled machine, and they were living up to their standards once again. They were making her proud to be their leader. Not that she wasn't normally proud, or anything. She was almost always proud. She watched as her soldiers left the dead where they were, including the red- haired one that had been such a glorious fighter. It was a shame, really. She could have been turned, could have become a Saint. Maybe even risen to where Frost had, at Jane's side. Frost cut the video feed back to its usual,, computer- screen size, before Jane folded her hands, leaning forward slightly on her desk. Now it was only a matter of moments before this gang's boss was walked in to meet her.
The door swung inward, and two of her own guardsmen stepped through, shorter blonde woman shoved through between them, before being pushed to a kneeling position on the floor. Jane cocked an eyebrow. She looked like nothing special, nothing she hadn't seen before on the streets. She raised hardened eyes to her guards, signaling Frost to speak.
"Lady Rizzoli ordered you to bring the leader, and only the leader." The man stated with a hard edge to his voice. One of her Saints bowed his head, shoving the woman's body forward.
"She's the only one that knows who it is. None of the others are talkin' at all, ma'am." Jane drew back slightly, tilting her head to the side as she did so. Curious, that this woman seemed to know a bit about the ruling party for the gang she was employed in. Perhaps a higher- class whore.
"Speak." Jane commanded.
"Have them remove their hands from me." The woman commanded back, her voice as threatening as Jane's own. The Saint leader drew back, appalled that a commoner such as this had the audacity to speak in such a tone while in her presence.
"Restrain her further." The blonde looked up, her eyes glinting slightly. She grinned, showing a row of perfectly white, aligned teeth.
"Very well, if that is how it is. I shall remove them myself." Jane had barely risen from her chair before there was blood squirting up to the ceiling from the left- most guard, and the right one falling to the ground. The blonde was standing, facing Jane, with a smug grin painted across her face. She raised her left hand, retracting the hidden blade that had been wielded so effortlessly to take the lives of two of her men in such a short time. Not only did she stand, but Jane noticed something else. Her initial conclusions about the woman had been supremely off- base. She wore her power, her authority, like a halo around the dark blonde hair that fell to the center of her back like waves. Her skin was pale, dusted with just the right amount of freckles, and her clothing was revealing enough to show confidence, yet modest enough to deter any normal person's thoughts. She was short, yet she made up for it with heels that were at least six inches in height, and she was all legs. Jane found herself having difficulty with swallowing. She thought her whores were pretty.
This woman was absolutely, fucking beautiful.
"Who the Hell are you, and who's presence do you believe to be standing within-" Frost began, when that confident smile interrupted him.
"I am in the presence of Jane Rizzoli leader of the Third Streets Saints." She whispered. She shrugged. "And who better to stand here, in this spot, than one to give ample enough warning, than I? The Morningstar will be taking over Boston, Lady Rizzoli, whether you enjoy this prospect or not." Jane slammed her hands down.
"And who are you to make such assumptions?" She growled out, her face turning scarlet more quickly than she could have imagined. The blonde ducked her head slightly, taking a few steps towards the window as she did so.
"Oh, forgive me. I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself." She grinned again. "Maura Isles, Leader of the Morningstar." She paused at the window, her blade flashing out a few moments before the glass shattered. "Oh, and a slight warning, to make this interesting." Jane opened her mouth to retort, when the woman held out her arms, as if to fall backwards from the height. "I believe you have roughly twenty- three seconds before this building explodes." She waved with one hand. "Adieu, Jane Rizzoli. Until we meet again." She threw herself back, flipping neatly into a perfect dive, when a black tornado tilted to its side, maneuvering until she met the bars upon the bottom of it. Jane let her shock at such a beautifully- executed maneuver over come her for a brief moment, before she snapped back into business mode. She glared at Frost.
"Get everyone out of the building, its going to fucking explode!" He scrambled off, and she glanced out the shattered window one last time, eyes narrowing. She knew what this meant, not only for her, but all of Boston.
This meant war.
AN- I don't honestly think I have ever been more pissed off in my life than I am currently. You see, this was supposed to be co-written. Also, we were supposed to be making a faux- Saints Row photo shoot, and a Rizzoli and Isles photo shoot. Oh, and then I was supposed to be recording a full cover album with someone else. Well its freaking one in the fucking morning, and know what my week has been like? "Oh, I'm not co-writing that." "Oh, you are NOT taking pictures of me." "My bunny died, so I'm going to forget about everything I planned to do with you." And a lot of screwing around in the studio where we are supposed to be seriously recording. What. The. Fuck. I have less than two weeks before I leave for college, and this was my god- damned last chance at some of this shit. So yea, I'm kind of pissy. Not to mention, that show I was really excited about? Fell the fuck off. Placed fucking last because I was neither popular enough nor pretty enough. Definitely really pissy.
In other words, I am now the only writer for this fic, and it is no longer a co- written adventure. My sincerest apologies, but I'll probably do a fucking better job with description anyway. Regardless of the changes, and my mega- pissy attitude, I hope you enjoy where this is going, and will go. If not, my apologies for being rude, but too fucking bad. I enjoy writing it. So leave reviews, even the bad ones make my days better, because they make me smile, and laugh a little bit.
Oh, but on a better note, i got my ass grabbed by a fifty year old drunk woman with cake on her boob. Yeaaaa. Mega win. But her advice to my friend and I was "Go into the woods with a six pack of beer, smoke some weed, kiss your girlfriend, fuck your brains out, and everything will be alright." I think I'm going to find me a girl and go take this advice. It made me laugh. And it would probably work. I could use a good fucking of my brains. Thank you drunk lady with cake on your boobs. Also my friend, Mr. Pissy- Pants, finally admitted that Sasha Alexander is at least a 9.5 on the scale. It has been one long argument, but I have prevailed. *grumble* calling Sasha a 5... How dare he. One does not simply call her a five, and get away with it.
With my 'happy' face still intact,
~SnapTobiume
