Kingdom Come Records


Dante sat, bored by thuggish bickering about one's favorite hip-hop artist.
Seriously, everyone he encountered today had possessed encyclopedic knowledge of rap.

"Nigga what? Dre had the tightest beats down man, ain't nothin about that Jay-Z can touch!" The one said, and the other played all offended.

"Motherfuckah, Dre's flow sucks, Z is tha king. Ain't no one gonna touch hits like 'Empire State of Mind' or 'Takeover!'" The sound of their voices grated on Dante's left eyeball.

'Please, shut up.' The slayer wished in his head.

They kept bickering over who was better monotonously.

In a world where he could punch holes through just about anything he set his mind to, the slayer was considering breaking his 'no-human-kill' rule.
Following the discovery of the demon, the building was put into lockdown. Dante was formulating a plan to take care of it quickly.

All he would need was a way to summon and bind the creature, then he'd be able to kill it with good old-fashioned combat.

Sometimes the answer really was as simple as a sword.

Or a gun, that works too.

Yet, every time his attempts to focus were dogged by comments like, 'who da fuck is Drake?'

Eventually, a third criminal entered the room, and interrupted their argument.

"Yeah, but for real tho? Eminem got all you all bitches beat." He said, and the others mixed their denial with acceptance.

"The fuck you say!?" The one said, irate, "Eminem!? Really!?"

"I guess, but Z's still better."

"Oh no no no, that shit ain't even funny! Eminem's a white-ass bitch who can spit fast, Dre had the real deal." The man said, ardently sticking by his claims.

Dante finally had enough.

"You do know Dre discovered Eminem, right?" They looked at him, confused.

"Eh . . . So? Who the fuck asked you?" The Dre fan insulted him.

He didn't take kindly to that.

"No one. I just decided to speak."

"Yeah? Well Dre's still better. Best hip hop artist of tha 90s."

"What about The Pharcyde, Nas, Biggie and Kanye?" He questioned their argument plainly, and he knew the man liked at least of those as well.

The fan responded with a stutter.

"Wha- Well, I mean Nas is good too but-" The Dr. Dre fan was cut off by the Jay-Z fan.

"The Pharcyde's my shit, dawg. They, Jay-Z and Kanye are the top alt Hip Hop artists out there."

"Jay-Z started out as East Coast Gangsta and The Pharcyde haven't put out an album since 04." Dante pointed out.

"Wha- Well, what had happened was-" The guy was interrupted by the Eminem fan.

"Eminem and Kanye are the best. You know that Jay-Z clown is foolin'. Always was, always will be a poser." He said.

All of them were so confident in their opinions.

"Eminem was a bullied waiter and Kanye's a middle class drop-out, ya got anyone else?" Dante interjected once more.

At this, all three men started arguing in an increasingly childish manner.
They didn't even have the common decency to take it elsewhere.

'He-oh, god. Please don't kill each other,' Dante thought.
He could really feel then tension boiling, they were getting twitchy.

They kept at it, maintaining their rising anger, fueled by an 'art form' he didn't understand.

Then, to make matters far, far worse, Lady walked into the room, touting an Uzi she was polishing.
She was just looking for Dante, cleaning the weapon in preparation for when they'd deal with the demon.

Immediately, the crew drew their guns on her, all three exhibiting aspects of possible crack symptoms.

'You gotta be kidding me. I shoulda smelled it earlier . . .' He thought to himself.

They all trained their glocks, ready to fire in an instant.

Yet, her gun was bigger than any of theirs.

In a flash, all three men were smashed into various objects in the break room, and their guns torn apart.
He shoved one down with an angry fist, flopping their into the microwave on the counter.
The second the other tried to fire the gun, the slayer raced over, grabbing the bullet from midair as he knocked the man into the fridge.

Opening the door, he shoved the thug forward and slammed the contraption shut.
It wouldn't kill him, but he knew it would hurt like hell. Maybe leave a mark.

Dante didn't like it when strangers pointed guns at people he cared about, especially this person.

Lady just saw the tail end of it, as Dante threw a man up against the wall by his throat with one arm. He'd done it so hard the man fell unconscious on impact.

A twisted gun, it's barrel spliced off at the trigger, fell to the ground useless.

He haphazardly dropped the man to the floor and looked back at her.

Dante stared at her and sarcastically spoke, "Would you put that thing away? Remember where we are, sheesh."

"Uuh, okay . . . What was-" Her question was cut short.

"I don't want to talk about it." He said flatly and left the room with her, thinking to himself, '2Pac was better anyway.'

He muttered a swear under his breath.

He'd have to explain this one to King sooner or later. Eh, the ghost- er, demon did it. Yeah, yeah that would work.

It made sense now as to why the halls felt sinister, like they'd been twisted out of fashion.
The demon had control over the building, it'd been bound there somehow.

Actually, that was a pretty good point he hadn't realized.

If it wasn't your average poltergeist, then it had to have been summoned up.
Demons don't just pop up into the human realm because they can, there are barriers they should have to go through.

His father had seen to that, all those millennia ago.

They trudged down the halls to the entrance where they rendezvoused with King.

He was looking rather depressed, his eyes slightly bloodshot.

"So, what's the plan?" King had been informed to meet them here after the meeting by Lady.

She'd been notified by Dante to do so.

He'd had an idea, supposedly.

"I'm going to leave." Dante said.

"Wh-What!?" King didn't like to hear that.

"I'm coming back, calm down old man." The slayer was casual as always.

"Old man!? You fuckin' toddler, you got some nerve." Ben didn't like anything that detracted from him as a person, even little jokes that were obviously not serious.

"I have to grab some stuff from the shop, so don't lose your head. I'm bringing it all back. The sooner I do that, the sooner you don't have to see us anymore." The boy replied.

Dante didn't really care what King would do, he just needed to understand that it was part of the job.

He eyed Dante up and down.

The man was useful for sure, but he knew it.
How could King manipulate him into a further venture? Perhaps smaller jobs would be a better use of the boy.

He decided not to lose his head . . . Though, he would remind him who was the boss.

"Fine, boy. Go grab your shit. But, if you try to walk out on me . . . They won't find your white body. That's a Vice King guarantee." He snarled at the slayer.

He'd leaned in and really tried to hammer the message home, taking advantage of that thick vocal sheen.
King wasn't for much more than some obedience, perhaps even trying to scare the slayer.

A good man knows his limitations.

And Dante unexpectedly laughed back at him.

"Is that a fact?"

King nodded, his face running red.

"Oh. Well, then I want you to know something as well." He responded.

Ben looked at him with that sort of arrogant, 'really?' expression about his face.

The slayer pulled the older man close, placing a hand on his shoulder for the first time. This was significant.
It was the first time someone had just up and put themselves in Ben's personal space since he'd become a crime mogul.

"You try anything on me? And I will put you in the darkest place, so evil, you'll beg me for forgiveness." He growled it as a murmur into King's ear, who immediately tensed up.

"There's a special place in hell 'gangsta's' go, and I can take you there.
I can lead you to a burning bridge above a canyon of howling, tortured souls or a blood river filled with the living ash of your ancestors." His eyes grew dark.

King's eyes widened, and he stared at the wall. He'd never felt quite this uncomfortable.

It was like a shadow had begun to choke his soul.

"Your pick, honestly, either one is terrifying." Dante, in that moment, lowered his voice below King's own.

The baritone growl disturbed him, almost like the mercenary was just a wolf in leather.

"Uh huh . . . Enlightening." Ben said, trying to shake him off.

Dante's icy grip tightened.

His returned to a normal volume.

"I can lay you out, and fill your mouth with your mother's feces . . . Or, we can keep this little arrangement."

Dante enjoyed breaking out what was essentially his Vergil impression.
He was never so cruel or vicious, but damn was it fun.
Words couldn't express the amount of hate in his chest anyway.

Should he have really taken this job if he was going to hate it so much?

"I don't have to keep being this nice." The silver slayer finished, posing the question, "What do you think?"

That steely look was beginning to really creep King out.
What was with this crazy motherfuckah anyway?

The sword, the . . . creepy, biblical threats.

His whole body became irradiated with the coldest chill he'd ever experienced, and Dante's growl galvanized the moment.

The slayer pulled back from his ear, looking at King with a disturbingly calm smile. His grip loosened, then ceased altogether.
He didn't even bother to straighten his employer's jacket.

You could call it unprofessional of him to do this, but then again, he despised the job from the beginning.

The nervousness King displayed wasn't normal to himself, nor was it especially becoming of the most powerful kingpin in the city of Stilwater.

The slayer pulled out a little business card from the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Right, you keep that." Dante said, returning to his lighter nature. "Don't get any morbid ideas while I'm gone now."

Energetic and cocky, as always.

It was as if the whole interaction with King hadn't even happened.

Lady took notice, as though she'd seen Dante's dark half . . . In a way, she already had. It had bled through a bit in his voice just there.
She came to realize just how much he hated working with these men, these high gangstas and their egotistical hip hop.

That was a bit of a first; Dante got along with everybody. No exceptions.

He even was able to get along with someone like Warren.

The two subsequently departed when the noticeably-shaken King unlocked the front door for them.
As they left, Dante ensured the man would lock it again, as soon as they were out.
Hopefully, no human would leave. It was more than likely a few of the gang members had some spectral 'passengers' following them by this point.

A city of possessed thugs probably wouldn't go over well with the local police, as corrupt as they were . . .

The two found the fresh air welcoming, and the resolve to return minimal.
Nevertheless, Dante knew Morrison would kill him if he backed out.

Hell, if he backed out, they'd probably kill Morrison.

So they made their way back to the shop; Dante on foot . . . somehow, and Lady on her cycle.

Their wasn't any traffic this early in the morning, and so they found the open streets of Stilwater to be a comforting change.

Eventually, the two made their way out of downtown; Lady having to take the freeway to get back to Dante's shop, which was located in a more rural, red-light area.

They roved by countless broken down cars and rotted buildings, things that should have been discarded years ago.

For the most part, they were both capable of handling themselves.
Would anyone really want to screw with a man wearing a red trench coat?

And if Lady looked as packed as she normally was, then the tall bombshell really didn't have anything to worry about either.

She pulled into Dante's shop eventually, and found it just as it was.

He was waiting there for her, just like before.

Arguably the biggest change was the time of day.
They'd spent an entire twenty four hour period working for King, listening to obnoxious conversations and culture they really had no business being apart of.

If anything, for Dante it was good to be home.

It'd been awhile, certainly.

He hadn't slept for days, but that was a luxury his demonic half prevented him from needing.

The Cambion could stay awake for weeks at a time before needing any kind of rest.

He unlocked the front door, and the two grabbed what they needed.

Dante scavenged for a blue orb inside an ornate silver cage. Holy water.
Often effective agains demons, it might allow him to kill it without much fuss.
Lady seized her Bazooka.
The Kalina Ann was a powerful weapon, one that could even destroy some demons due to it's sheer firepower.

Then, there was the book. It was an old, seemingly babylonian text, bearing an indecipherable title.

From this was a ritual that could forcibly bind a summoned demon, needing only to be within the same building as where one was convoked.
If they could bind a creature like that, they could have a chance of killing it easily.
Thanks to be mostly being in the field, he normally didn't have a use for his dad's old book. Dante felt this case to be . . . 'Special,' though.

He could just kill it through trial and error, like usual.

Never take chances though.

So they took whatever ingredients required, and packaged them up in a cardboard box.
To avoid detection from the cops, they agreed to travel together, in a different manner than her motorcycle.

They'd need to, thanks to Kalina Ann.

Traveling out the front doors to his left, they went into a small alleyway.
In front was a what looked like just concrete wall.

Dante pressed a pressure plate, and opened a passage that led underground.

The wall moved upwards seven feet, enabling them to step through.

So they did.

It wasn't the sewers, mind you, but rather just the tunnels that ran beneath the city.
They were built during the old teamsters era, when some now-forgotten, big gangster ordered it constructed in secret.

They'd largely been neglected, principally after an earthquake had sunk the majority of the old city.

No choice in that situation but to build over it.

So, after that, no one was left to remember them.

Well, except the few that did, and began repairing them in secret.

Dante had heard there was a way to access the still-present underground if they went to the old mission hotel, but he'd never felt the need to go.
Actually, that was another good point, who knows what the hell might be lurking down there . . .
Maybe he'd give a perusal one of these days. You never know where a demonic infestation's been spawned.

Slowly, but surely, they managed to follow a map of the tunnels to an alley, nearby Ben's record building.


Two Hours Earlier


An Asian-American man, with a white-dyed flattop haircut, sat in a dark purple Cadillac Eldorado, next to a black guy with a beret. In the front passenger seat was an hombre named Dex.
One white guy with a strong chin sat beside him in the driver's seat, parked in place across from Kingdom Come records in secret.

"Damn, these muthafuckas are loaded." The first man said, his streetwise face matching the ghetto tone. He had a purple bomber jacket.

"Tell me about it." Dex replied, not even wanting to go into detail. This man was wearing mostly jean-related clothes, with a purple visor turned sideways.

"Gat, these guys've been around since . . . Well, I don't wanna date myself. At least 25 years. They're the toughest crew out here, or at least they were." The wise man in the beret said.

That was Julius Little, and he owned them all.

Even the car.

"Yeah? Well, they're gonna feel the wrath of a menace soon." Gat responded, grabbing the handle of his assault rifle, hidden from sight in the side of the door.

"Take it easy, Johnny." The driver said, a cockney accent pouring out.

They all stared at him, confused and shocked.

John, in particular, was quite miffed.

"Since when the fuck do you talk?" He demanded to know.

His target just stared back, empty inside.

"Relax Johnny, give the new playa a little room to breath." The boss interrupted. Julius was protective somewhat.

"Hey, it ain't my fault he decides to start sayin shit after nothin' at all." Johnny retorted, his rat-a-tat-tat drawl lazily speeding by.

He got stern looks, but he just ignored them.

The playa just returned to fiddling about with his revolver.
It was the only weapon they trusted the rookie with.

"Get back to work." Julius grumbled.

Despite his reputation, Johnny Gat knew his place.

The building was huge and glamorous, no doubt the results of years and years of ruthless thuggin'. The Vice's weren't to be fucked with, thanks mainly to Ben King's wrath.
From outside, the continued to play the waiting game, plying their targets with time and focus. Stake-outs sucked, but it gave a certain edge to the Saint's planning.

About two hours went by without any activity.

Johnny got restless again.

"Man, when the fuck are they gonna do somethin'?" He said.

"As soon as you stop asking." Dex replied, angered.

Johnny glared at him.

"Who da fuck you think you are? You're the 'Einstein' that's supposta' know their shit." Johnny replied, insulting Dex's planning skills.

"Yeah? Today, they were supposed to direct a crew over to the docks. You don't see that happening, do ya?" The 'Einstein' responded, "There's obviously been a change in plans.
All we gotta do is go talk to my guy, and we'll get through the change. Ain't like I can control these muthafuckas minds."

Johnny couldn't deny he had a point, yet still he argued.

"You better find out what happened, I ain't sweatin' my ass off in this car all day, puta." Johnny used Spanish to describe Dexter, and that hurt especially.

"Why don't you go shoot up chinatown you yellow-" They started to really argue, getting into it hardcore until Julius yelled over them.

"Can both y'all shut the fuck up long enough we can focus on the task at hand? Don't make me shoot you both."

That stopped the conversation immediately.

"I say we wait for these niggas another hour, an' if we see no one leave, then we head back to the row and focus on the Rollerz again." Julius knew what was best it seemed.

They couldn't really fault his logic. So many rivals, so little time.
And so they waited. And waited. And waited . . . A lot of the time they waited, they were silence.

Waiting still . . .

Finally, Dex decided to talk to Julius.

"Yo boss, if we gonna start kickin' it to the Kings, we'll need some firepower. I was thinkin' we'd head back up to Arizona; buy some pieces real cheap."

It was ludicrously easy to get guns there.

Julius thought it over, Dex always had good ideas . . . Usually.

"Sounds good. I'll let you draw it up when we get back." He knew he could count on Dex, or so he believed.

The planner grinned to himself in satisfaction.

The waiting continued.

And continued.

And continued . . .

Good lord, something happen!

Then, they saw it.

Two crackers being let out of the back doors by King himself. This was odd. In fact, this was just completely unexpected.
Unlike the Saints, the VK were a bit biased in it's recruitment measures.

Most of the time, the category was exclusively limited to just brothahs from the streets.

The crowd in the car was proof of that disparity; the Saints loved everybody.

So why were two caucasoids walking away, alive, from the most powerful black man in the city?

"Boss? You seein' this?" Johnny nudged Julius lightly, grabbing his weapon again.

"You sure as shit I'm seein' it."

Well, time to follow them. The Saints stayed back far enough they couldn't be seen, but close enough to keep in view.
The brit wasn't particularly interested but kept his patterns subtle enough that they couldn't really tell.
If he just stayed back far enough and never flared the engine, he could keep them relatively low-key, practically anonymous.

They followed the duo to what looked like a kinky strip club.

"What-'Devil May Cry?' Is it like, sadomasochist strip teases?" Johnny wondered aloud.

"Does that look like a strip club? That's too small." Dex corrected.

Johnny looked at the man for a moment.

"I'm gonna take that steering wheel . . . And I'm gonna beat you to death with it!" He threatened. He'd done something similar once of twice before, and Dexter knew it.

"Gat, relax." Julius ever-calming presence made it all better.

Then, after about twenty-five minutes of staking out the shop across the street, someone put it together that they'd been gone.

"Those fuckers have been playing us." The cockney one spoke up again, "I bet they knew we were tailin' em the moment we started cruising after 'em."

Julius was the only one of the four that seemed to listen at all.

"Okay, is this gonna be like a regular thing with you now?" Johnny asked, a bit more of a 'tough guy from New York' vibe in his speech now.

"You know what? He's absolutely right." Julius ignored Johnny's kvetching, "They been playin' us. I smelled a rat . . ."

They started to argue as Julius thought to himself.
Johnny started to accuse others in the gang of being a rat, misinterpreting Julius deduction.
Dex immediately defended both himself and Julius, arguing that it was the new guy.
The playa stayed silent as always.

It went on for a hot minute, before a red car pulled up nearby.

Los Carnales.

"Guys." The playa tried to mention it.

They told him to shut up.

"Not now!" Dex said as they continued to remain engrossed in their conversation.

"Guys!" He said, a little more urgent.

The reaction was the same.

"Shut it!" Johnny barked.

The windows on the lowrider opened, and hail of gunfire bounded their way.
As soon as he'd seen the barrels, the playa shifted into fifth and sped out of the line of fire.

"What the fuck!?" Johnny yelled.

"Drive-by, moron!" Julius exclaimed, smacking Gat on the back of his arrogant head.

"Yeah yeah . . ." He grumbled as they opened the windows and traded shots with the pursuant vehicle.

The driver swerved, taking an abrupt right as the Carnales anticipated the fake-out, following anyway.
They should have known, this was just outside of Carnales territory.
A second car joined, this one a red El Camino. They took notice of the similar brand as their own.

"Muthafuckas got a cadillac!" Johnny exclaimed as he poked out his AK and spread a bunch of shells.

"Cadillac!?" Julius replied.

"El Camino!"

"Those muthafuckas!" Julius yelled at the confirmation.

"I told you." Johnny kept his attention peeled to defense as the playa tried anything he could to lose them.

They swerved beneath bridges, at first speeding along the backstreets, away from civilization, but the chase spilled onto the main roads.
Speeding past an abrupt curve, the playa slowed down, then looked back and yelled.

"Blitz em!"

The first car that appeared was the Chevrolet lowrider, the faded crimson car flying by just as Johnny got his gun out the window.
He showered them with a hail Mary of bullets that took out the driver. They fishtailed uncontrollably, flying around as the car flew off into the gravel ditch.
The occupants were crushed as the roof compressed, and a horrifying 'No!' could be heard escaping the mangled metal box.

A few seconds later, the leaking engine ignited.

The second car was distracted by the flames, so no one shot at them, but the vehicle slowed down to witness the carnage.

Rico and his boys were in that car. Hector wouldn't like that at all.

The Saints sped off, tagging the scarlet rivals as they went.

A hispanic voice called out, "Watch the paint, cabron!"

Playa didn't care. He was too concerned with survival.
The chase continued, and this last car was the most annoying damn thing ever.

He'd swerve to the left, he'd weave in and out of traffic, nothing.

This damn car wouldn't crash, it wouldn't make any mistakes.
It even scraped their own car with a few well placed bullets. Bastards.

They kept going down fifth avenue, going towards the freeway, casually shooting at one another as the worst thing yet to happen came true.

The cops joined in.

Police are fun, but they can also be dicks, and this was a dicky situation.
About three squad cars showed after the first one called for back up. The Carnales had opened fire as well, taking out the good shooting arm of the officer in the passenger's seat.
So when the cavalcade showed up, the playa realized there was going to be a pretty big amount of cops after them.

To be fair, he'd been driving like a lunatic.

Then again, the only reason for this at all was thanks to their gangly friends, hellbent on killing them.

Julius was still thinking on the connection.

The Carnales couldn't have been forming a deal with the Vice Kings, they hated each other too much.
And yet, it had to be such an unholy union, the timing was just too coincidental.

A guy in a red trench coat just randomly walks out the back of their record building? The hub of their financial power, currently?
No, no this was planned. They knew of the Saints now, and this was their move.
Julius should have known by the color of the man's flags. Such a blatant showcasing of allegiance.

It was almost stupidly arrogant.

The playa blasted through a barricade, and the left tires got shredded by a spike strip. Well, this car was almost toast.

Not like it was originally theirs to begin with, but still.

Shit, the car was swerving.

And Los Carnales were still following behind.

What would it take to get rid of these guys? A thought occurred to him.
The bridge. They were close to the bridge now, having looped back around towards downtown after leaving earlier. If he could get close to the edge without driving off . . .

Worth a shot when you're already wanted.

They sped along on the right side of the suspended road, high above water. A set of train tracks bordered their left side, filling out the middle-space between the two directions of the overpass.
To their right, the view of the ocean. Far out across the bay, past all the boats, was the skyline of a coastal city.
It reminded Johnny of some old photos of Hong Kong he'd seen. Just this really, really dense outcropping of skyscrapers and green mountains.

Apart from the cops and this insistent group of Carnales, the road was more open than usual. A sub was also coming, speeding along the small, two-track causeway.

What to do, what to do . . .

Just then, a piece of shredded tire lodged in their wheel well, pulling them off to the right.

Overcorrecting, the playa forced the car back to the left, and they hit a motorcyclist. His body and his ride crumpled beneath them, as he became a temporary ramp.
Launching up, the four watched in slow motion as they jumped the train tracks, the Carnales smashing into the thin barrier and heading up after them.
Cops behind them watching in awe, screaming for them to stop as the border wall slowed down the cherry car. The Carnales fell down, first hitting the opposite barrier.

And then the train came.

It crashed into the still-airborne bangers, tearing through them like tissue paper.

A fireball engulfed their screams, almost exactly out of an 80s action film.

Following their unintentional launch, the train had only clipped the Saint's bumper, spinning them wildly around in an almost 180 degree fashion.
They landed close to the edge, nearly crashing off the other side.

Of all things, you never wanted to end up in the water in Stilwater. Their was some nasty floating around down there.
The nuclear power plant and the toxic waste dump nearby contributed to some gnarly discoveries.
Of course, the news was already wildly sensationalized. There was always this same hispanic reporter, Jane Valderama.

She'd come on with that dumb 'reporter-voice,' usually asking insipid questions and pestering police. She had a nice rack though.

Amazingly, the car still ran somehow, though the back dragged heavily.

He could feel the steering wheel want to pull in a certain direction.

The rear bumper had been partially sheared off by the blunt force of impact.

Dex held his neck, he had a touch of whiplash.

Meanwhile, their rival's car had been crushed, the bodies inside probably being ripped apart by the impact. Fragments of metal got chewed up and ground into the locomotive's gears.
Within a few seconds, the carriages became unhinged from the rails, and the metal heaps came roaring off the tracks.
Dozens of subway cars crashed forward, tearing through the cops vehicles, destroying city wheels and taxpayer uniforms. Urban desolation at its finest.

The trains cars slammed through the metal blockade, scraping off the edge into the sea, leaving it's many occupants to sink and drown.

Officer after officer were crushed, chewed up and torn to shreds as the thing derailed in a matter of seconds.

The bridge supports came undone as one of the train coaches smashed directly through steel wires, and the entire bridge's left side began to collapse off into the sea.

Ocean spray mixed with blood, and the carnage continued as the entire bridge itself began to vibrate and sway.

Wisely, the playa put the car into the fastest gear it would go before they could be killed, final destination style, by any other cataclysm.

Rushing by countless cries of horror and broken families, the Saints shook themselves out, unsettled.

At one point, Johnny swore he saw a black-cloaked figure.
The piles of mutilated flesh contorted with hunks of twisted iron could break your heart.

All this just because of a stake out.

They kept hearing explosions even after getting about a mile away, thankfully having been put on the side that led out of downtown. The row!
Just gotta get back to the row. Even Julius was wary of the incident, feeling a slight sense of motion sickness and some whiplash.

After a time, they'd managed to get to a peaceful part of town, the chaos of the bridge long gone.

Though not far away.

The playa pulled through the drive-thru of a Freckle Bitch's.

Pulling away with a feast of oily proportions, the group ate in the parking lot of an old hotel. There was silence for a little while.

"That got a little crazy." Johnny spoke up.

"The fireballs were pretty cool though." The rookie spoke up again as he munched on a burger.

"Yeah." Johnny replied, then chuckled, "You know, I think I can get used to you talking."

The playa smiled to himself.
Then he stayed quiet for the rest of the conversation.

"If we get rid of the car, the police probably won't be down our ass." Dex suggested after swallowing some fries.

"Good idea. Jules?" Gat always had to ask the boss.

"Hmm? Yeah, sounds good. Better pick a good replacement." He replied.

What a fucking misadventure of a day. They got nothing accomplished. Like, at all.
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to put Johnny on the Vice Kings.
He made things messy, but he was loyal. It was a few conflicting interests.

He'd leave their operations as they were, for now.


Kingdom Come Records


Dante and Lady arrived in that alleyway, climbing out of a manhole. Rather disgraceful to be here, picking themselves up by the filthy street.

She started to understand more why the man didn't like these kinds of jobs.

Nearby, an onslaught of chaotic noise thundered through the parking lots.

What on earth could that be?

The slayer didn't care, as long as he finished this damn job soon. They rushed out back into the lot they were in earlier, now from the opposite side.

That purple car was gone.
'I knew they'd been following us.' He though to himself. There were just certain things Dante knew. Perhaps it was well developed sense of danger.
Maybe it was something supernatural, he didn't really bother with it too much beyond more than an acknowledgement of honing his senses.

He got to the back door. King was waiting, pale as a sheet.

"We're back." Dante knocked on the glass door.

He knew exactly the right force so it wouldn't shatter. King stayed sitting there, looking reluctant to even move.

"Come on old man, open the door." He said.

Lady stayed silent.

For King, he couldn't take the insult, so it got him to move.

"I fuckin' told you, white boy." He was back in 'boss mode.'

"Yeah yeah, we got the stuff." Dante said.

King stayed silent.

"What?" He asked, "You alright? Did it come back?"

At the reference, King seemed to acknowledge him, and led them inside as he locked the doors again.

Walking in, Dante saw a gigantic, gory bloodstain on the hallway wall.
A shell of a person laid on the ground, the look of a thousand knives stabbing them at once etched into the skinless face.

"I take that as a yes." Lady mumbled. She was desensitized by now, and it creeped King out.

Dante looked back at Ben.

"When did this happen?"

"About ten minutes after you left." He replied resent-filled.

Ben continued with a hard swallow.

"It came for him, nobody could see what he was talkin' about." It was hard for the man to talk about, "When we came to see what was wrong . . . Found 'im just like that."

It was exceedingly difficult to get the words out without feeling bile rise to the surface.

"The others won't touch 'im. Think he's cursed or some shit . . . I been standing guard at the door."

Dante, in that moment, felt sympathy for the human devil. He could see how it plainly tore the man up to describe the death of one his crew.
This boy, this torn prince, was just a kid coming up in the wrong crowd. Didn't deserve none of this, not even for a second.
For all the dislike of King and his crew, Dante couldn't let this go unpunished. He'd right this wrong, even if it meant helping the Vice's out.

"Grab everyone you can." Dante told him.

King looked at him like he was a child. This insolent bastard was telling him what to do.

"An' why's that?"

"We're killing this fuckin' thing today." The slayer replied.


To Be Continued


Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.


Notes:

So this time I included the 3rd Street Saints.

You may think this is a meandering plot point, and that the addition of these characters may complicate things.

Dmc fans who are concerned with not knowing the Saints Row, you don't have to worry.
I try to introduce each character as if they were new, always. This is the reason Ben and the other members are completely given fully new introductions.
Additionally, I plan to use the Saints characters more as ancillary personae.

For the most part, they'll be causing trouble in the background, often trying to encroach upon others territory.
The whole scene here will have a definite impact in the next chapter. Don't expect them to keep popping up often like main characters. This story isn't about them.
The focus will remain locked on Dante, Lady, and the Vice Kings. Stuff is still happening outside the building, that was the point of the Saint's scene.

Now, to add clarity, I take influence from music when writing.
Very similarly to things like Devils Like Us and Hell's Bells, this series is influenced by a very specific genre.

While most of my other work, including my beta editing, takes influence from metal music, this is obviously more derived from, in terms of its themes, by hip hop music.

Specifically from the 1990s and late 80s.

The lyrics that dealt so directly with crime, police brutality/corruption and the clearly evident biases against those rappers really has that kind of rebellious theme I want to capture.
So stuff like the aforementioned 2pac, Notorious B.I.G., early Jay Z, horrorcore-Eminem, and more stuff, like N.W.A., 90's Nas, and Wu Tang Clan are all really important.
Also, Saints Row itself is pretty influential, the radio stations are very good in the first two games. So I went for that feel.

Nothing too gritty or hardcore, but very much crime and black comedy related.