Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Marvel, Respawn Entertainment, etc.

If you haven't, I'd encourage anyone there to go see Top Gun: Maverick right now, preferably on the biggest screen you can. An instant classic that is unlike anything else you've ever seen, I promise.

Guest: Yuri's abilities are fairly set in stone, with the jump kit, adhesive straps, and enhanced cloak being the main ones. This is a set inspired by her comic book persona, even if she uses Titanfall tech to do some of it, and it is also where the name 'Wraith' comes from, there is no relation to Apex Legends. While giving her those abilities would grant her more combat power, that's not strictly the point of the story, especially since this story doesn't need her to have that much to do what I need her to.

There will be part of what gets this story its M rating in the first section, but it's nothing outright explicit. Beyond that, this is a setup chapter with some character work with a title from 'Anthrax' who is another one of Thrash Metal's Big Four, yes, the last one will be on the next chapter. I don't feel much need to setup what is mostly setup, so I'll shut up and get on with the main event.

Justice Without Compromise – Chapter 3: Madhouse

Trapped in this nightmare

I wish I'd wake

As my whole life begins to shake

Four walls surround me

An empty gaze

I can't find my way out of this maze

And I don't care

Fall in, fall out

Gone without a doubt

Help me!

I can't take the blame

They don't feel the shame

It's a madhouse

Or so they claim

It's a madhouse

Oh, am I insane?

Having just finished toweling off her hair, a freshly showered and redressed Yuri Watanabe opened the door back into the bedroom of Lola's small apartment. While the vigilante was up and moving at the early hour after a fitful nights sleep, the bartender was still sleeping softly in the bed, prompting Watanabe to frown as she pondered her options. Picking up her phone and looking at the time, the vigilante let out a breath and went to the window, throwing open the blinds to let the early morning sun pour into the room.

Hearing Lola shift in bed behind her, Yuri turned just in time to catch the pillow the bartender had flung at her as a groan emanated from the bed. "Who turned on the sun?" muttered the Latin woman as she tried to bury herself under the sheets.

Watanabe rolled her eyes, and yanked the sheets off the bartender. "I did, Lola," spoke Yuri, "Now wake up, we need to talk."

"Yuriko?" replied Lola, her tone drowsy as she pushed herself up, leaning back against the headboard and raising her arms to stretch. The action revealed Lola to not be wearing anything after last nights activities, her tattoo adorned skin still coated in a thin sheen of sweat while she rubbed her eyes and looked at the oriental woman. "You stayed the night," observed Lola, the shock clear on her face, "You never stay the night." Yuri didn't answer, merely going to the chair at the small vanity in the room and taking a seat, crossing her legs as she faced the bed. Chuckling lowly, the laid back Latina looked over Yuri before asking, "Though maybe with how you woke me up that's not a good thing. So, why are you still here?"

"You didn't tell me the info you had for me," deadpanned Yuri, causing Lola's face to drop.

"Oh… sorry," she managed weakly, a blush forming on her face as she reached over to the nightstand and turned the clock around, groaning when she saw the early hour. "You did need to get laid though," commented the bartender as she pointed at Watanabe, "And so did I."

"And now I need to know what you wanted to tell me," replied Yuri, leveling a stern look at Lola in an attempt to get the excitable woman to focus. "Do that and I'll even close the curtains before I leave."

"Who says you have to leave?" asked the voluptuous bartender, only to get a distinctly unamused look in reply to the offer. After sighing theatrically, the woman said, "I heard there's gonna be another meeting this week at the bar, the rumor is it'll be between the Ranza and Noveilli factions of the Maggia. Something happened the other day they want to talk about."

Yuri stiffened, "When, exactly?" she asked, grabbing her phone and began making a note.

"Brunch meeting on Thursday, so 10:45?" guessed Lola, "I'm not sure exactly, I just heard it this morning and figured you'd want to know right away."

"I do, thank you," replied Watanabe as she finished making her note.

"Then you can close the curtains… unless you want to come over here and thank me," offered Lola as she shimmied her chest teasingly.

"No, I need to get back to work," replied Watanabe without a second thought, standing from the chair to go and close the curtains now that she had the information she needed. Yuri ignored the pouting woman in, more focused her phone to check for any updates from Jean or other contacts and the days plans. There wasn't much on the calendar, and even less that was critical, even with a new case and the news about the meeting, Yuri was stuck waiting for a break. Even working outside the law, with the freedom to do what she wanted, there were times when doing nothing was the best course of action. It was the part of police work Yuri had always detested the most.

Looking at her notes, she saw a reminder of one more thing she had to do before she left the apartment. Tilting her head, Yuri pondered how best to broach the issue for a moment, eyes scrutinizing the bartender's face before saying, "One more thing. That meeting? What spooked Ranza and Noveilli was probably Carmine Ricca getting killed in a hit yesterday."

"A hit?" asked Lola, clearly taken aback.

Yuri nodded in reply, her eyes looking over the Latina, her small tattoos, piercings, and breast implants Lola had meant at least one part of her past not that difficult to guess. A call to a friend on the force confirmed it, and for the first time, it would be relevant. "Him and three others," Yuri began before asking, "Did you know a Tiffany Mackenzie in your old line of work?"

The bartender crossed her arms, eyes narrowing in accusation, "How did you know that? I never told you."

"I'm a PI," lied Yuri without missing a beat. It was close enough to the truth that it was the answer she always gave to those who helped her with information, "I ran a check on you back after we first met."

"Damn, you really do need to get laid more often," muttered Lola under her breath, but Yuri didn't respond to the jib. There was a slight pause before Lolas eyes widened in recognition, "Oh yeah, Tootsie, I knew Tootsie. We were friends, even worked together some nights; those were fun. Why do you ask? Am I not good enough?"

"It's not that," assured Yuri, her tone clipped, "It's just that… Mackenzie was one of the others killed in the hit."

The news seemed to hit the former prostitute like a semi-truck, and she staggered back until she sat on the bed. "Tootsie's… dead?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes, "Why would they kill her?" asked Lola through heaving breaths.

Seeing the woman like this stung Yuri, and so she returned to the bed and sat next to Lola, consoling her like she had too many families who lost loved ones like this. "I'm not sure yet, might've just been wrong place, wrong time, but I have to ask, did she have any enemies? Scorned lovers maybe?"

Wiping the tears from her face, Lola shook her head, "No, not Tootsie, she was a pro, knew how to lay down the rules, and had a system for switching her sim cards for each client she had. She never… got attached."

Nodding with sympathy, Yuri said, "Thank you, I had to ask, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," replied Lola, wrapping Yuri in a hug that made the vigilante feel awkward. When the bartender looked up, her eyes were red and cheeks tearstained, "Just tell me something, Yuri." Watanabe nodded, watching as Lola took a breath and said, "You'll find the guys who did this right? Have them put away or whatever?"

"It's why I'll be watching the meet you told me about, to see if any of those guys know who was behind it," replied Yuri.

"I can help," blurted out the bartender, letting go of Watanabe and straightening. "The bar always wants someone there at that time, I can get my shift switched so I'm on duty and can listen in."

"I'd appreciate it," replied Yuri honestly, but the answer didn't come easily. She had gotten too many people hurt already, but couldn't find it in her to turn down the offer from someone who needed to help, "I'll stay close by, call if you need me." Giving the woman a pat on the leg, Watanabe stood back up and made for the door, letting Lola grieve alone.

With a coffee in one hand and a bag of donuts in the other, Detective Early Smith stepped out of the elevator and onto his floor, heading for the bullpen where his desk was. Flicking the light on, Smith saw that he was living up to his nickname by being the first one in, as he was nearly every morning, and sat down at his desk. While his desktop powered up, the young cop began munching on his jelly donut. Wiping a bit of strawberry jelly off his face and setting the donut aside, Early downed some of the coffee and saw his computer was ready.

Cracking his knuckles, he typed in his password and went through his email, seeing the barrage of updates waiting for him about the case he had gotten yesterday. Taking another bite of his donut, Smith pulled his notebook out of his desk and got started reading through all the answers he had. The coroner's reports were what he had expected, all four victims had been killed by gunshots from a high caliber handgun at close range, and the identities had been confirmed by fingerprint, dental, and DNA records. Ballistics confirmed the bullets as 270 grain .44 Magnum slugs, grooves left behind by the rifling were of approximately a 1:19 inch twist, or one full rotation every 19 inches of barrel length.

That, however, rounded out the known information, most of the other reports didn't have much of note. Forensics had found no shoeprints or tire tracks at the scene, and while they were still going through the car, everything they had found thus far belonged to the victims. A search through city camera feeds for the license plate of the Mercedes in order to try and construct a timeline of Ricca from when he left the courthouse until he was shot. He would have to try compiling all the instances of traffic cameras catching sight of the Mercs license plate at some point, a task he wasn't looking forward to. A similar process was being done for Mackenzie, facial recognition finding where the woman had been before her death.

A tedious and time-consuming set of tasks to be sure, but there wasn't much else for him to do at the moment, and so enjoying the quiet in the bullpen while it lasted, Smith set to work. He wasn't sure how much time elapsed, only that he had to put in Airpods as more people arrived so he could keep working, reverting back to the habits that got him through Cal Tech. So when he felt a tap on his shoulder, he had to pause Late Registration to turn and see his Captain, Stanley Carter, looming over him.

"Smith," he grunted, eyes roaming over the printouts strewn around the Detective's desk, Early's attempt to visualize all of the locations and times he had gotten. "How are you getting on?"

"Uh, well, I think," replied Smith, looking back over the information he had laid out, "I can walk you through what I have if you'd like, Captain."

"That won't be necessary Smith, I don't concern myself with these things, just checking if you have anything yet," returned Carter through gritted teeth, and Smith got the distinct impression he'd rather be anywhere else. "When you do have a lead, let me know, I'll find some patrol officers to run it down for you."

"Now that you mention it, I do have something," replied Smith before picking up one of his printouts. "Ricca's car was seen pulling into the Langham yesterday evening and dropped him off. Witnesses said he had dinner at the Ai Fiori restaurant there with…" began the Detective before pulling up a file on his computer, "This man. Jorge Gutierrez, owns a movers company, suspected of being an arms dealer, he was one of the last people to see Ricca alive. I'd like him brought in for questioning."

"I'll have a BOLO put out Smith, and task some guys I know in Traffic to it," replied Carter, "You suspect this was a deal gone bad?"

"Or the first shot in another gang war," said Smith, and saw Carter give a curt nod and turn away without so much as another word. "Asshole," muttered the Detective under his breath as he set back to work, seeing that his email notification was blinking. Opening the app, he saw the sender and his eyes widened as he immediately checked what the Commissioner had to say. When he was through, he sent out a bevy of emails of his own before leaning back in his seat and letting out a breath.

"Hitman impersonating a cop… Could definitely be the start of another gang war."

Inside the loft where she resided, Yuri Watanabe found herself as she often did, with her mind occupied, but her body idle. She had sent a message to Jean, asking for an update on Ranza and Noveilli, and now was left to wait for her friend to get back to her. Otherwise, she was ready to cover the meeting the following day, with her gear ready, and a spot for her perch already in mind. None of that put her mind at ease, and so Watanabe went to the ground floor going through a workout routine she knew like the back of her hand.

This had been a more recent development, one that only came about after the Wraith, it was a mental outlet as much as it was a physical benefit, and she needed both. With hands and feet taped, she lashed out at a punching bag with rapid bursts of quick strikes, combining punches, kicks, and knee and elbow strikes. As the Wraith it wasn't the most relevant practice, but when she needed to work through the frustration that arose with the tedium of waiting, little else did the trick quite like this.

Falling into the familiar rhythm, the other benefit of this habit made itself clear, Watanabe's strikes were quicker, more precise, and had greater fluidity than before. She had thought herself to be capable in hand to hand or with a gun as a cop, scoring top marks in those areas, but seeing Spider-Man effortlessly take down a dozen men in under a minute with nothing but his hands changed her perception of what 'good' was. For a long time she had been content to stay where she was and call in Spider-Man when there was something that neither she nor her officers could handle, but that was no longer an option. She could only rely on herself, both to stay alive and to do the right thing.

Snarling at the memories that thought elicited, Yuri jumped up and delivered a spinning roundhouse kick to the bag, hitting it with all her strength. Unlike a human however, the bag didn't do much other than slightly cave from the strike, killing her momentum and causing her to fall to mat in a sweating, exhausted heap. Rolling onto her back, Watanabe took a moment to catch her breath before pulling herself up and starting to undo the tape as her thoughts moved slower inside her head. The source of her anger was easy to understand, the prospect of the Maggia seemingly poised to plunge the city into yet another round of violence was a part of it, but that wasn't it. No, it was Ricca's murder, that he had been killed before she got the chance to learn about the mole that had gotten her men killed, that had riled her up.

Part of Yuri mentally chastised herself, that she could be so self-absorbed that she cared less about the bigger picture than her personal case, but the rest didn't care. The mole had gotten good men killed, her men, and she was going to see that he didn't get away with that. She had lost people in the line of duty, it had happened far too often, but she always made it a point to take down those responsible, and this was no different.

Changing into street clothes, and with her Python and tablet stuffed into a purse, Yuri left the loft, needing to get fresh air, or as fresh as it got in Manhattan. Fifteen minutes later, the ex-Captain found herself in a small, family-owned restaurant that she had frequented for years. Early in her career, Watanabe had busted the Maggia goon who had collected 'protection' money, and made a friend of the owner, who gladly welcomed her into the establishment ever since.

Even if she consigned herself to a booth in the back corner, it was cathartic for Yuri to feel some sense of 'normal' again. Picking at her plate of chicken and garlic sauce, she read throughthe emails Jean had sent her, the latest files on Ranza and Noveilli. These would help preparations for the meeting the next day. Neither file had much in terms of a residence or operating base, so Yuri made a note to pack some of her improvised trackers to hopefully shed some light on this issue.

A series of sudden screams from the front of the restaurant caught Yuri's attention, and she looked out to see four people wielding handguns, brazenly waving the weapons about as they shouted at the hostess. One of the men shoved the woman aside and began working the cash register while the other two moved back to where people were seated. One patron stood up, only for a robber to punch him in the face, sending him sprawling back across the table, sending plates shattering on the floor.

Yuri discretely pulled her revolver from her handbag, transitioning the gun to her right hand while keeping it in her lap, under the table and out of sight. Her eyes remained locked on the two men working their way through the restaurant, accosting those seated at the various tables as they went. "Come on people, hurry it up! Wallets, watches, rings, hand 'em over! And don't move!" shouted one, pointing his pistol at anyone who so much as shifted in their seats. A male and female robber, both with masks on their faces, ripped the belongings from people's hands as they systematically worked their way towards the back, closer to Yuri. The owner then emerged from the kitchen to see what the commotion was and, undaunted, strode right up to the shouting leader only to get summarily pistol whipped across the face. "Don't fuck with me, lady!" snapped the leader before turning back to his compatriots, "Hustle guys!"

Looking down at the sprawled out form of the owner, bleeding profusely from the new gash on her forehead, the boiling anger Watanabe felt was replaced by a chill of certainty as she thumbed the hammer back on the Python and called out, "You forgot your fortune cookie."

"What?" roared the leader as he spun around to face Yuri, taking a step closer to the woman. "What the fuck did you say to me?"

"I said 'you forgot your fortune cookie,'" repeated Yuri, reaching out with her left hand to pick up one of the treats off her own table, though her eyes remained firmly locked on the robber as he closed to within a few paces, putting himself between Yuri and an empty table. Crushing the cookie in her left hand, Yuri's right shifted under the table, leveling the Python. The robber was focused on the fortune cookie as it fell in pieces to the table until Yuri was just holding the small slip of paper inside. Her eyes only shifted for a second, as if she was reading what was on it before the corner of her lips curled upwards. "It says… You're shit outta luck."

The robber's face turned to a sneer that was quickly replaced by shock as Yuri pulled the trigger, the report of the Python echoing through the restaurant as the bullet tore through his leg and went into the empty table behind him. Now howling in pain, the robber collapsed, trying to raise his own handgun as Yuri got to her feet, not hesitating to put a second round into the man's chest.

A fresh round of screams began as the robbers turned to face Watanabe, only for the Python to come up and fire again, the .357 Magnum bucked in her hands as it sent another jacketed hollow point into the man's chest. While he crumpled to the floor, the female robber ducked around a corner, dropping her bag of loot as Yuri swung the revolver around and fired. The slug buried itself in the wall as its target got to cover, and so Watanabe closed the distance, stepping over the bodies of the pair she had already dispatched.

Nearing the corner, Yuri was somewhat surprised with the female robber attacked first, coming out to try and knock the revolver from Watanabe's hands, but misjudged the timing and came out too soon. Yuri reacted, tucking the gun in close and throwing an elbow that caught the woman in the face, staggering her long enough for Yuri to shove her to the ground just in time for the fourth robber to emerge from behind the cash register, gun up. He fired first, the round sailing errantly past Yuri's head, and she didn't let him fire a second. The retort from Yuri's snake gun was fast and final, the revolver snapping up and putting a round through his skull.

The last robber, the woman, got back to her feet, and tried rushing Yuri while she was distracted, but the ex-cop took a step forwards and jumped up, spinning just like she had earlier, her foot connecting with the robber's face. Unlike before, Yuri kept her balance, coming down on her feet, albeit only just. She did fare better than the recipient of the blow, skidding across the floor towards the recently fallen man. Coughing up a glob of blood and spitting it out on the floor, the woman sneered at Yuri, barring reded teeth before diving for her companion's gun and snatching it up off the tile.

By the time she brought it up, the robber found herself staring down the barrel of the Python as the cylinder rotated into place and the gun fired its sixth and final shot, the bullet going straight between the woman's eyes. Lowering the smoking gun, Yuri returned back to her table and found the owner slowly getting herself up off the floor. Wiping the blood off her face, the old woman gave Yuri a curt nod, one the ex-Captain returned before quickly gathering her belongings before she was ushered out the back door by the owner.

It was only when she was halfway back to her loft that Yuri realized that her mind was finally clear.

"The mayor will see you now, Commissioner," announced the woman's chief of staff, a somewhat effeminate man with over styled hair and gaudy suit. Jean neglected to reply, merely standing to follow the man from the waiting room, through the corridors of city hall, and into the Mayor's office. Entering the space, Jean had to suppress a sneer at the sight of two people she had come to detest, the Mayor, and the District Attorney, both of whom loved nothing more than to make her life difficult, or so it seemed. "Madam Mayor, Commissioner DeWolff," announced the chief of staff before making his way to stand behind his boss.

Offering a smile that Jean noticed didn't quite reach her eyes, the Mayor, a woman Jean had identified as a consummate politician, said, "Well DeWolff, let's have it."

"Have what?" ground out the Commissioner, trying to keep an even expression.

"Your report," answered the Mayor tersely, folding her hands on her desk, "What have you been doing."

"Well, for the last three quarters of an hour, I've been sitting on my ass in your outer office, waiting on you," deadpanned Jean, the words leaving her lips with a hint of venom. The woman behind the desk flinched at the rebuke, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Won't you sit down Commissioner DeWolff?" asked the Mayor, gesturing to an open chair, which Jean looked at for a moment before striding towards. Sitting down, the Commissioner narrowed her eyes at the Mayor, still perturbed at being summoned for this meeting only to then be forced to wait in some petty political power play. It was all Jean could do not to burst out laughing when the Mayor put on a serious expression and said, "There's a killer on the loose, possibly a gang war coming. I've asked you what's being done, fair enough?"

Even with nearly a dozen retorts queuing up on her tongue, DeWolff dismissed them all and instead nodded curtly. "I have a dozen people looking through people with Maggia ties, as well as known and suspected hitmen, and…."

"I trust the NYPD is not displaying any unconscious bias in this check?" intoned the DA with the same smirk that was always on his self-righteous face.

Turning to face the District Attorney, Jean replied, "We're casting a wide net in all respects, I assure you. Our worry is that this is someone new." The Commissioner then turned back to the Mayor, "The crime scene suggests the killer was impersonating a police officer, and so we are investigating this possibility with all due haste." Jean noted that the Mayor and DA exchanged a look, but neither spoke, and so DeWolff continued. "The only officers that ever went on that street were the ones responding to the initial reports of shots fired."

"And you have checked this possibility?" said the DA, his tone verging on mocking.

Gritting her teeth, Jean kept her response civil, "Our records were checked in order to reach this conclusion, there were no on-duty officers on that street, and no equipment has been reported missing or stolen. The weapon used, a .44 Magnum, is not one used by any of our officers. One must request special approval to use a non-issue weapon, and none of these requests have been filed for a handgun in that caliber. As far as registered .44s? They all belong to collectors, hunters, or target shooters. None of whom have any sort of criminal record beyond a parking ticket."

The DA turned to the Mayor, "Another issue we need to deal with Madam Mayor, these unregistered guns are a problem."

Jean pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply, before speaking again to keep the conversation on track. "We're trying to get surveillance onto several other Maggia leaders and properties, but none of our warrants have been approved yet," explained the Commissioner, casting a glance at the DA.

"I just can't imagine what you would need those for…" he replied, seemingly without a clue.

Suppressing a groan, DeWolff gave him one, "Because the most likely possibility is that they hired this hitman; one of them may both have something to gain and the resources to hire the man. Motive and opportunity. And if that isn't enough, then there's always a chance that one of them could be next, which could be the break we need."

An uncomfortable silence fell on the office, and tension hung thick in the air as everyone weighed their options and eyed one another, before the DA finally cracked first. "Very well, I'll get those to a judge this afternoon with my approval," he said, and Jean offered him a polite nod.

"That sums up what the NYPD is doing?" asked the Mayor, and Jean, with nothing else to add, nodded. "What about those outside the NYPD?"

DeWolff set her jaw, "How should I know?" she asked. "Vigilantes don't answer to me, all I can say is that nobody has interfered in this investigation, and I have every intention of keeping it that way."

"But not of doing what you were told and removing these vigilantes from the streets," accused the Mayor as she pulled a copy of the Daily Bugle out from her desk drawer and dropping it on the wood surface. On it was a section circled, her comments to the reporter, Watson, the previous night.

Jean's face remained expressionless, unrepentant for her statement. "You could always give me the resources I would need to do that," she offered, knowing the response.

"I can't do that," retorted the Mayor, "My donors would be furious if I went back on my word like that." Jean just shrugged; thankful she didn't have that problem. "But I'm the one in this office, I gave my word to the people what I would do, so why won't you recognize that?"

It took all of remaining self-control not to laugh in the woman's face, wondering if she truly didn't understand that she was only Mayor because Norman Osborn had been a fucking idiot. The industrialist only dropped out of a race he had a double-digit lead in in the polls upon the release of the Devil's Breath virus his company had illegally developed. "I recognize reality, not fantasy."

The Mayor looked like she was poised to launch herself across the desk and throttle Jean, and DeWolff hoped she did. Then the commissioner would finally have the excuse she needed to punch the insufferable woman in the teeth. As quick as the anger manifested, it disappeared, with a sharklike grin taking it's place. "Well I don't want a repeat of March, where Spider-Man provoked gun battles in minority communities, gun battles your officers joined, that's my policy."

DeWolff gave a devilish smile of her own. "When it comes to the choice to get bad guys off the streets or stand by and leave them on the streets, I instruct my officers to get them off the streets. And that's my policy."

Sitting at the desk in his office, Jorge Gutierrez was taking care of the business he couldn't during normal working hours. With his company owning a half dozen or so box trucks, employing men he could trust, and it being expected that they load and unload nondescript crates, 'E Z Moving Company' was a perfect cover for the other business Gutierrez ran. In his time working for Wilson Fisk, the immigrant had built up a network of his own, and after his boss went down, he went into business for himself.

So nothing was out of the ordinary when Ricca had come to him with a list of arms he wanted, but the exact contents of the list was a bit of a shock. The order had taken a bit longer to fill, and the man getting tangled up in the legal system had delayed Gutierrez delivering the arms. Then the Maggia boss had the temerity to get himself killed, meaning the arms dealer now had explosives and a bunch of funky AR-15 style rifles he had no clue how he was going to move.

The ringing of the doorbell prompted the arms dealer to pull up his security cameras and see who was at the door. "Fuck me!" he cursed when he saw a cop at his door. Any hopes that he could simply wait him out were dispelled as the doorbell rang again, and so Gutierrez slicked his hair back as he stood, making his way to answer the door. His police contact hadn't told him about anything like a search warrant, so hopefully this wasn't that. Putting on his fakest smile, Gutierrez opened the door and took in the cop, noting the white helmet, aviator sunglasses, leather riding boots, and the hand cannon on his hip. "Afternoon officer, how can I help you today?"

"Jorge Gutierrez," answered the cop, voice as cold as his bitch of an ex. "I am here to conduct a search of the premises," announced this lawman without a hint of emotion before stepping up to the door.

"Woah, woah, hey there!" shouted Gutierrez, playing up the part of the indignant businessman. Putting a hand on the shoulder of the cop to keep him in place, the arms dealer asked, "Don't you need a warrant or something like that amigo? You can't just come in here."

His insistence was met with a blank stare from the aviator shades before a fist was rammed into the Hispanic man's gut, knocking the wind out of him. By the time he realized what was happening, the cop had already shoved him through the door and slammed him into the wall. Gutierrez tried to throw a punch of his own, face set in a furious sneer. The cop blocked the blow and threw another punch into Jorge's jaw, sending him sprawling across the floor. Coughing, Gutierrez spit out a bit of blood and one of his teeth, feeling the sting of his split lip as he ran his tongue along it.

Pushing himself up, his efforts were cut short as a boot slammed into his chest, and Jorge could feel his breathing falter as he struggled to take in more oxygen. He then felt the cop hoist him up onto wobbly legs and shove him through the halls of his own office towards the storerooms in the back. Without fanfare, Gutierrez was shoved against the last door at the end of the hall, "Open it," instructed the cop, not even sounding winded from their fight.

"Hey, fuck you man! I'm gonna…." Began the arms dealer, only for his threat to be cut off when he turned around to see the big bore of the cop's .44 Magnum pointed right at his face. Swallowing, and feeling the first bits of fear, Jorge nodded and went for the key in his pockets, "Alright man, fine," he acquiesced. A shaky hand slid the key into the lock and turned the knob. Pushing the door opened, Gutierrez let out a breath because he knew that there was no hiding what was inside. Even if there were numerous crates and boxes which concealed their contents, various small arms, RPGs, and other weapons.

"Thank you for your cooperation," intoned the cop, and those were the last words Gutierrez would hear before the cop pulled the trigger of his revolver.

Closing Notes: Something of a development chapter, there will be a few of these early on, but next chapter is when things really start to get rolling, so look forward to that.

Otherwise, reviews are appreciated, so leave one if you have something to say.

Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.