No Warning For You!

Charlie the Coffin watched Travis from his spot behind his desk. The man was young, there was no doubt about that; he was anywhere from his late twenties to early thirties, from what he could see. He was tottering forwards in his seat, and it was obvious the only thing keeping him there anymore were the ropes around his shoulders and wrists.

Charlie stood from his seat and walked over to Travis' prone form.

"Boy, look up," Charlie said, nudging Travis' foot a bit. It took several tries, but eventually Travis complied, looking at the mob boss through hazy eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

Travis said nothing, but continued to stare at Charlie with what could only ever be considered as a blank look.

"If you tell me where Farthing is, this can end." Charlie continued, and took Travis' silence as a cue to go on. "I've got other things to do, I'm sure you do too, and Pierce could go on all day, the sick fuck. I'd rather not have to watch anymore of this. So, if you want to get out of here before he gets back, I suggest you start talking. Quick."

Silence still.

"Why are you defending him? He's abandoned you." Charlie went on, trying to be reasonable.

Travis forced his eyes up to meet Charlie's again, and he gave a slow grin. Blood ran out of his mouth and down his chin, and he said something very peculiar.

"Mack shall ride again!"

And then he passed out.

Charlie stared at the limp body for a long moment, then said to the silence,

"Fucking delusional retard."

And then he sat back down at his desk and continued to carve.

The sound echoed through the kitchen, a clap that rang again and again in everyone's ears as Osprey stood with a raised, open palm, and Soap sat staring blankly at a wall he was sure he hadn't been looking at moments ago. A red hand print began to slowly develop on the pale flesh of the chef's cheek, and it was all everyone could do not to wince – no one said anything, and this just made it worse. For once Soap wished Tom would make some stupid comment, shove his foot in his mouth, be an asshole and say something incredibly off topic – but he didn't.

"Are you going to listen now, or do I have to bitch slap you again, Alex?" Osprey said matter-of-factly. "You know I don't slap, I punch, but I make an exception to bitch slap when someone is being a bi-"

And suddenly Osprey was on the ground as Soap swept a leg out and knocked her off her feet. She began to prop herself up on her elbows, but found she was unable to go any further as Soap was suddenly on her, pinning her where she lay.

"Four years, Osprey," Soap said between grit teeth, grey eyes flashing at her. "Four years I've been trying to get a new life, trying to forget what's happened, trying to keep the rest of my goddamn fucking sanity. You think this is easy, Sh-"

"Don't you dare say my name –" Osprey began.

"You think this is easy, Shelley? Do you?" Soap barreled on, hands firm on her shoulders. His eye twitched. "I'm expected to get over this, get over being a fucking neurotic, nervous, obsessive-compulsive with one swift smack and then strap on my knives and get to work? It doesn't go like that. I'm not a machine, and neither are you, so stop fucking pretending. You don't like this any more than I do!"

Beneath Soap's hands, Osprey's tensed muscles slowly relaxed and she sank back against the floor a little, watching him watching her. His breath began to even out now, and silence took hold again; the two merely watched one another, unable to go on.

"You're sure it was a brown station wagon you hit?" Tom asked.

"Shut up Tom!" Everyone said.

Jerry hated hospitals. She'd always had hated them, but she had come that day to see an old friend – admittedly it had been a brief visit, but Geoff had understood her hurry and hadn't commented when she couldn't look at the needle being put into his IV. That had always been the great thing about Geoff Gotten – he knew when to be tactful; he was a good guy, and he sure as hell hadn't deserved what happened to him that night.

She knew that company was welcomed from Geoff; even during every day life he hadn't been bothered by visits from old friends, so long as his children didn't hear about his exploits as a younger man. But especially right then and there, Jerry knew Geoff had welcomed her - even as Mrs Gotten watched with suspicion when she gave him a hug and a stuffed bear. The bear had been for Geoff's sense of humour; Jerry didn't do the flower thing. She only wanted flowers if they were on her grave - she'd already picked out the colour, too.

As she ground out her cigarette beneath a black stiletto, she mulled over what Geoff had told her. The shiny little freak was still alive after taking a knife to the chest; but then, Jerry supposed it only further proved the point she had tried to make since she'd first met him – he was heartless.

Sighing, she tugged her jacket closer to herself and began towards her car, trying not to think too hard about it. The Brotherhood would be rising again, and this time around she wouldn't be there to go to war with them.

Yes, the flowers would be purple, she was sure of it.

There was darkness.

Complete darkness.

Shit.

For a long moment, Ed thought he'd gone blind, and then he realized some utter tit had shoved a bag on his head. He had been about to take it off, but found it difficult since his hands were secured behind his back – bastards.

Shifting in the cold metal seat he'd been placed in, Ed came to the conclusion that if he twisted his hands a little like this, and managed to reach a sharp object, that he was probably still screwed. He didn't know how to fight.

He paused in his movements for a moment when he heard the sound of a door opening. There were footsteps near him and the sound of a click over head – the bag was removed from Ed, and blinding light suddenly filled his vision, causing him to squint until his eyes became used to the sudden change.

The first thing he saw was two men watching him patiently, both with sunglasses and dark suits.

"Hello Mister Farthing."

Reeeeeally short chapter. Really. Seriously. Short. Holy crap.

Iniko, you still teh sexxorz (Is that how it's spelled? Sexx0rz? Z3xx0rz? Bah). TeenagedBanshee, I totally understand the busy schedule thing, thanks for taking the time, it's appreciated. Junkie, I know my updating is infrequent, many apologies; knew you'd enjoy the angsty-ness. M. Mehiel, thanks for reviewing, I'm glad my efforts to mirror Ritchie's vision is paying off at least a little, it can be kind of difficult. Rose Atlee, thanks for your enthusiasm.

And to all my readers, thank you for reading and reviewing, you have no idea how much it means to me. If you're reading, please give a review once in a while so I know you're out there, it lets me know I should keep doing the story, that I'm not performing to an empty auditorium. Happy holidays everyone, hope it's a good one, and a happy new year if I don't get another chapter up before then.