A/N: Well, as some of you may or may not know, this is my first story, and I'm still getting the hang of everything. So as I was logging on to my account, I realized there is this thing called "Stats" where you can see how many alerts you have, how many favorites lists you are one, if your story belongs to any C2's, etc. You see, I never knew that existed, but now that I do, all I have to say is... thank you. I never really knew how much my writing was accepted, how much you guys liked the story. From someone like me, who's work has always been turned down by their English teacher for not being of proper structure or not deep enough or whatever, it really means a lot to me that you guys like this story. You have no idea. It really made my day when I saw the response this story was getting. So thanks. That's all I have to say. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's a tad bit longer than usual :)

Spot looked at the boy with emotionless eyes. He didn't move, nor did he speak. He just stared at the newsie in front of him with a most scrutinizing gaze. The poor kid was quivering uncontrollably, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he withered under Brooklyn's gaze. Now, most people would be shocked at Spot's lack of empathy, at the fact that he felt absolutely nothing about the apparent suffering he was causing. However, there are a select few who know better. Spot Conlon had emotions. Who was anyone to tell you he didn't? What is seen is not always what actually is. When the Queens boy had told Spot that he had a message for him, Spot was smoldering inside. His well debated plan, that had just been settled moments ago, was now burning away before his very eyes. The conflict with Queens was about to have been ended, but now a damned messenger had to come in and rip his solution apart. Spot wanted nothing more than to throw up his hands in frustration and smash something. But he didn't. He couldn't. Any display of emotion like that would ruin him. Spot needed to appear unmoved.

"A message, huh?" Spot asked, his tone flat yet slightly taunting at the same time. The messenger broke his gaze from Spot's. A small grin formed on Brooklyn's lips. "So what's da bastard gotta say? Sure took him long enough tah think of somthin', but I guess wit Bull, dat can be expected." The Brooklyn boys that had gathered behind their leader laughed as Spot leaned against the doorframe with a smug expression on his face.

Freckles felt like an idiot, and very uncomfortable, which he knew was the goal Spot was going for. He didn't know what to say. He knew what the message was, but was seriously regretting making the decision to go to Brooklyn. Bull had told him to repeat his message word for word to Jack Kelly. Simple enough, right? Wrong. When he had knocked on the door to the Manhattan Lodging house, he was met by a confident Jack Kelly telling him to go to Brooklyn, and tell whatever Bull's message was to Spot Conlon. What was he supposed to do, go back to Queens and tell Bull that Cowboy shooed him off with a wave of his hand? Bull wouldn't have listened to any of his attempts for excuses. This was war, and there was no room for mistakes. The ones who made them tended to disappear.

Freckles sighed. If Spot was anyone else, he would've punched him for insulting his leader. That would have been the honorable thing to do, what Bull would have wanted him to do. But this wasn't just any newsie, this was Conlon. And though Freckles was burning with shame for saying nothing as Spot ripped his pride apart, he saw no other option. This was one boy he had no choice but to respect.

"Do yah want tah hear da message?" he asked, proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.

"No, I want yah tah come in here and play a round a' pokah wit us, maybe have a bottle of wine a' two." Spot said sarcastically, yet keeping his voice as icy as ever. The newsboys behind him laughed once again, but Spot showed no traces of amusement.

Freckles' cheeks burned with embarrassment. He was glad it was dark, otherwise he thought he might drown himself in the river from shame. This was beyond torture. Conlon was just playing with him, trying to brake him down, make him feel lower than dirt. Freckles was sorry to say that he had succeeded.

Taking a deep breath, Freckles willed himself to look into the eyes of Spot. Better get this over with. "Bull says dat Queens ain't gunna back down. He don't care who Kelly has workin' for him. He wants Manhattan, and is gunna take it. Kelly has once chance tah surrender. If he does, da Manhattan boys are allowed tah stay as newsies under Bull's rule, but Kelly's gotta leave. If he don't surrender, Bull says he don't mind killin' any of the Manhattan boys who get in his way. Kelly's got till noon tomorrow tah send a runnah tah Queens wit his surrender. If he don't, Manhattan bettah be ready for war."

There was silence. The Brookies were no longer laughing. Spot had shifted from his position leaning against the doorframe and was now standing on two feet in front of Freckles, with his hands balled into fists at his sides. Freckles become overwhelmed with fear. How could he have said that? Seriously, how could he have said that? He wanted to slap himself in the face for being so stupid. He should have never came to Brooklyn. This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. He was going to die, right now, a slow and painful death. He was sure of it. The look Spot was giving him now was already enough to make his heart slow in his chest. The way Spot's eyes were boring into him... damn, if looks could kill. Brooklyn took a step forward. Freckles took a step back. "Yes," thought Freckles, "dis is definitely da end." He was pretty sure Spot had never heard of the phrase 'don't shoot the messenger...'.

"Now you listen tah me." Spot said in a deathly quiet voice. His eyes were flashing dangerously, but other than that he appeared composed. "You is gunna run back to Queens and tell Bull dat Manhattan ain't gunna surrender, not now, not evah. But you is gunna tell him dat I'm givin' him once chance to surrender tah me." Spot jabbed a finger in his own chest for emphasis. "If Queens attacks Manhattan, its gunna look tah me like they is attackin' Brooklyn. And I ain't gunna like it if Queens attacks Brooklyn. If Bull surrenders, I might just forget dat dis whole little incident evah happened. But if he don't, I want him tah know dat he ain't just goin' up against Kelly, he's goin' up against Spot Conlon."

Once again, silence rang through the streets of Brooklyn. Freckles could hear the water of the river splashing up against the docks, the breeze rustling a few discarded newspapers on the road. He needed to get out of there, now. Spot Conlon just officially declared war on Queens, and here he was, deep into the enemy's territory. Yes, it was definitely time to go. Shifting his feet, he looked down at his hands. "I'll tell him," was all he said. He knew Spot wouldn't kill him, not now that he had his message to carry, but that didn't mean he wouldn't send him back to Queens beaten and bruised to prove a point.

"Get out of here," Spot growled. Freckles looked up into his eyes, he didn't need to be told twice. He turned away and was just about to break into a run when he quickly changed his mind. Spot already thought he was scared, he didn't need to confirm his suspicions for him. However, once he turned a corner and was out of sight of the lodging house, he didn't think twice before sprinting in the direction of Queens.

"Well, dat was interestin'," Night commented as Spot slammed the lodging house door. His leader turned to face him, raising an eyebrow, clearly not in the mood. Night looked away uncomfortably. He always seemed to manage to say the wrong things at exactly the wrong time. Taking Spot's glare as a cue for his dismissal, he turned to head towards the stairs, but stopped suddenly as a response from Spot startled him.

"Yeah, it was." Night looked back at Spot. He was leaning up against the was, striking a match to light a cigarette. After taking a leisurely drag and blowing out the smoke, he turned towards Night and continued. "Tomorrow we is goin' to go tah Manhattan again, let Jacky Boy know what happened."

Night nodded. "I'll go and tell Smalls." With a nod from Spot for approval, he hurried off.

Spot look another drag on his cigarette. Yeah, tomorrow they'd all go to Jack's turf, get him and his boys up to speed. This was perfect. Spot had been waiting for an excuse to go to Manhattan. It was driving him insane. He needed to see her again. He wanted to feel what he felt the first time he saw her once more. That feeling... he couldn't even describe it. It was like time had stopped. Nothing else existed, only him, only her. Her very presence had pulled him in, made it so that he could hardly take his eyes off her. He had only seen her for a few moments, had never even talked to her, but there was something about her. Something that made him want her more than anything he had ever wanted. And he didn't know why.

Spot sighed. This was getting annoying. Why did he give a damn if he ever saw this broad again? I mean, he hadn't even screwed her or anything. Why did he want her? Flicking his cigarette out the window, he walked headed up the stairs to his room. At the moment, he was too tired to give a shit. Kicking off his shoes and flopping down onto his bed, he closed his eyes. "Tomorrow," he thought to himself. "I'll finally find yah." A picture of her clear green eyes flashed through his mind. He smirked, only one thought in his mind as he drifted off into sleep.

"Come out, come out, wherevah yah are..."

A/N: Gosh, I'm sorry the girl isn't in this yet! I really hope you guys don't hate me for it! But you see, this chapter was originally really long and I had to cut it somewhere. But she will be in the next one, I promise! Ahh I know, this Queens stuff is just dragging on, but it is important and will come into play later. So don't give up on the story yet, for the real plot is just starting! Review, review, review, for the more I get, the faster I write!

Oh one more thing. Remember how I said I was kinda new to writing FF? Well, its true, so sadly I have a stupid question. Ummm what exactly is a Mary Sue? I know it is something bad obviously, but does anyone have a definition or something? Cuz I don't want my girl to be a Mary Sue, but I don't really know what one is, so help would be greatly appreciated. Thanks! Yeah I definitely feel stupid now... sheepish grin

Outsider Wolf