Disclaimer: So, after a couple of month, finally the last chapter to this little project. As always, it ended up becoming much longer than what I initially had in mind. Thanks to all those who have stuck with me up until now. I hope you enjoyed the ride so far, and will accompany Lin and the player on this last part of their journey.
Chapter 3 — The Reaper's Due
As it turned out, being beaten up and killing a couple of Saints in retaliation had done wonders for Lin's credibility with the Rollerz. She was in — for real this time — and the intel she came to share was remarkable. It did not make up for what happened, of course, but the player still could not help but be somewhat glad that at the very least it all hadn't been for naught.
With Lin's and Donnie's help, the Rollerz had come up with a daring plan to compensate for the Saints' messing up their convoy heist, and without Lin to tip the Saints off, the Rollerz had actually managed to pull this little stunt off, salvaging all the parts that they needed in order to complete the package for Sharp's ominous buyers from oversea. Sharp was still keeping a close lid on the identity of these shady figures, but from Donnie Lin had been able to learn that at least the shipment was heading for the UK. Whether that brought them any closer to finding out who these people were was anyone's guess.
Lin also pointed out that the whole shipment was currently holed up in a single location — some kind of receiving station in Copperton — awaiting final transport. The Security was tight. Sharp had pulled some strings, deliberately disrupting and delaying the station's day to day activities before locking it down altogether, amassing loads and loads of containers and stacked up crates that now clotted both the out- and the inside. Effectively, he had turned the yard into a labyrinth and possible deathtrap for anyone foolish enough to walk into it. Nothing was left to chance. The deal was going down in two days, and already Price had hauled up half the gang on that single property, and the other half would join them for the actual deal, making it the perfect chance not only to mess with the Rollerz grand coup, but also to hit them when they were all gathered up in one place. If it worked, they would be able to wipe the Rollerz off the face of the earth with a single sweep. That at least was Lin's and the player's reasoning. They were both aware that it wouldn't be easy, but between the two of them, they considered it worth the risk.
When the player told Julius about the plan, he wasn't exactly thrilled. At first, he said nothing, just starring blankly into space. After a while, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, and his eyes snapped back into focus.
"Jesus, playa," he rumbled. "You sure about this? Sounds like a major bloodbath to me. A lot of good people could get killed. Is this really the smart play here?"
"Fuck the smart play!"
All eyes snapped towards Johnny. A plan promising this much mayhem was of course right up the Gat's alley, and his eyes lit up like that of a psychotic little boy on Christmas Eve. The player wasn't sure whether that fact comforted or concerned him. Either way, Johnny raged on.
"In case you haven't realized it yet, a lot of good people have already died. Worst of all, it ain't even our enemies doing the shootin' these days. That stuff with Lin was fuckin' twisted, and it messes with the crews' heads. Some good old-fashioned violence is just what our boys need!"
"He has a point, Julius," agreed Troy, his somber calmness in stark contrast to Johnny's sudden outburst. "Lin's friendly fire rattled all our cages, and it is worse for our people on the streets. They are confused, and they are pretty damn pissed, and it's building up in them. If we don't do somethin' about it, the whole situation might explode in our faces."
"Exactly!" said Johnny." Listen to the man."
Julius ignored him. His eyes remained fixed on Troy.
"You're tellin' me you're with Johnny on this one?" he asked. "You want us to go up against the Rollerz in force?"
Troy glanced at Johnny, apparently as skeptical to the notion as Julius himself was. He thought about the answer for a while, an unlit cigarette circling between his fingers. Eventually, he gave a small sigh, and looked back at Julius.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I am."
Everyone needed a moment to let that one sink in. The player raised an eye-brow, Julius blinked in disbelief, and Dex's mouth fell open and froze in that pose. Troy made a point of ignoring them all, and Johnny simply didn't get what all the commotion was suddenly about, his head darting back and forth with a grumpy and hostile sort of cluelessness.
Dex was the first among them to regain his composure. "Well, that was a first," he remarked. Julius and the player nodded in agreement.
"Dex, what's your take on this?" Julius asked.
Dex face froze once more, growing thoughtful and unreadable. "I feel you, Jules. This isn't exactly the kind of airtight operation that I'd prefer. Too many variables. Too many things that can go wrong."
Julius seemed relieved. But Dex wasn't finished.
"However," he went on, putting much emphasize on the word. "You can always only plan things up to a certain point. At the end of the day, a shootout stays a shootout, and if your are out to waste some motherfucker, you need to be prepared to eat a bullet yourself. It's far from ideal, but taking out the Rollerz altogether might be worth the risk. Sorry, Jules. I'm with the others. We should give it a try."
Julius hid his disappointment well. He could have still overruled his lieutenants. He was the leader, after all. But that wasn't the kind of person Julius Little was. He had learned to rely upon their council, and when they were in a rare agreement like this, he was not conceited enough to go against them. It was a great gesture of trust, and a credit to the man.
"All right. It's decided then. But if we're going to do this, we are going to prepare for it as thoroughly as humanly possible. First of all, we need to lock down the Row with as few men as possible. Dex, I want you on that. Work something out. I don't want King or the Carnalez steamrolling all over us if they get wind of our move against the Rollerz."
"You gottit, Jules. I'll make it airtight."
"Make sure you do," said Julius. Next, he turned to Troy. "You're on gadget duty. We're going to need bigger guns, as much as you can get your hands on, no matter what it costs. Pay extra if you think It'll shut the sellers up. I don't want any of the other gangs knowing that were up to somethin'."
Troy nodded. "I might have a few ideas how to make it work."
"We'll also need some new wheels. If we approach in purple, the Rollerz will spot us from miles away, and we are going to need the element of surprise if we want to come out on top. Nothing too flashy, understood? We need to fit in. Maybe a truck or two if you can get them. I also want several routes worked out for our approach. Hopefully that will make us look less suspicious."
Troy shrugged, and finally placed the cigarette he had been toying with in his mouth. "Not a problem."
"What about me?" asked Johnny.
"I was getting to that. Don't worry, you're goin' to love this. The Rollerz will be ready for trouble when we hit them. Your job will be to throw them off their game. Do whatever you must, but hit them hard, and in ways they are not going to expect."
Johnny's smile was as mischievous as it was pleased, and he cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck in anticipation of the carnage he was about to unleash on the Rollerz. "I knew there was a reason I got out of bed today. The bastards won't know what hit'em."
"I'm countin' on it," answered Julius, before turning to the gathered round as a whole once more. "We strike in two days. Not a whole much of time to set things up. So you better get to it, gentlemen."
Julius's words held true. The next 48 hours were busy ones for the 3rd Street Saints. Between trying to organize everything they required for the raid, keeping the word from getting out, and setting up the defenses, the Row was in a constant state of covert activity. The player saw little of Julius or the other lieutenants during that time, and if he did manage to catch a glimpse, they were pretty much drowning in work, and had no time for idle chit-chatting with him, leaving the player to his own devices. Even Johnny, who usually was not exactly renowned for his great and elaborate planning efforts, was not hanging around idly. In fact, the player did not see him at all. He heard from one of the boys that Johnny had been spotted over at Samson's, but what those two were whipping up was a mystery to everyone.
With no real part in planning the raid, the player helped out where he could, even managed to do a couple of small jobs on the side, just to keep his mind off things. Lin checked in with him only once, affirming that everything was still in place and updating him on what she was able to find out about security matters and guard shifts. It all did little to quell the tension that built up inside of him. He could not help but feel that somehow all of this was his fault; that this was his one chance to either set things right or to fuck them up completely. The pressure that came with that sense of responsibility and anxiety haunted him in his every waking hour, and especially at night. He didn't get much sleep.
Yet when the day of the attack finally dawned, he was up long before the sun was actually in the sky, crawling up and down the walls of his apartment. He didn't feel tired at all. Impatience and anxiety had burned that from his system the moment he had opened his eyes. His head was clear, although he registered that certain partial sense of heaviness and tightness that came with too little rest. He treaded to over to the window, pushing it open and allowing the cool predawn air to wash over him. His gaze traveled south-east, towards the receiving station , issuing a silent challenge. Today it would end, he vowed. One way or another.
The morning passed in an agonizingly sluggish haze. Despite the hard knots in his gut, Julius's protégé had enough sense to force a little something down his throat, ignoring the nervous rumbling in his belly and the vile taste that somehow refused to jump off his tongue. Afterwards, he checked his guns, cleaning them with great care and filling as many mags as he had with bullets from his stash. He went over the details of the plan again, making sure he knew the details by hard, and when he was all done and ready, with several more hours to kill, he started the hole procedure again. Twice.
Eventually, he couldn't stand it any more and headed out, arriving at the church half an hour early. He wasn't the only one. Seeing the other Saints prowling the courtyard provided him with some solace. Apparently, other people were nervous about the whole affair as well. They exchanged greetings and settled down on the graveyard, engaging in a little bit of idle chatter, stopping whenever another member or small group of Saints joined the flock. Each time, the lapse before the chatter continued grew longer. By the time Julius arrived, an awkward silence had settled over the church. It certainly didn't help that Johnny, Troy and Dex were meeting with their crews at other locations.
Julius strode past people and graves alike, dragging every pair of eyes along as he moved towards the church, much like a priest during a funeral procession. The Saints rose and followed him, gathering in single throng in front of the church as their leader ascended the stairs and turned around to face them. It was time to listen.
"All right, people," he began, his voice strong and reaching out over the graveyard with ease. "You all know what we are here for. We have been hitting the Rollerz hard the last couple of weeks. We blew up their wheels and messed with their races. We took their turfs and ambushed their operations, and the motherfuckers reeled and buckled beneath those punches, make no mistake about that. But when we sat out to clean up the streets, we knew that the other crews would not go quietly. We knew there would be blowback, and that we would have to pay with blood for everything that we accomplish. We knew that. We were ready for it."
Julius paused, walking back and forth on top of the stairs, his gaze roaming the faces of his followers. "And yet the Rollerz managed to hit us in a way that we were not prepared for, striking at us in a twisted way where it hurts the most. Worst thing is, the motherfuckers don't even realize it. But I tell you one thing; that fact is going to come back and bite the Rollerz in the ass today. Today, we are going to get our payback, and wipe the Rollerz off the face of the earth. Now who's with me?"
The crowd cheered and screamed their approval, and the player found himself joining in. It felt strangely liberating, and the cheering experienced a second power surge as the Saints poured all their frustration and tension into their lungs to fuel their screams. Julius stood atop his little dais like a statue, allowing the emotions to wash over him, basking in them, but now allowing himself to join in. He kept himself apart and aloof, and the player could not help but admire Julius for that. Julius had to be as tense and tired as everyone else, probably even more so with all the burdens and tough decisions that rested on his shoulders, and yet he gave it all in service to his family, providing them with a way to let off some steam and lifting their spirits, keeping none of it for himself. It were the markings of a true leader, and the player felt both humbled and inspired to be in the presence of such a man, and even more to be able to call him a friend.
The cheering eventually dissipated, the different voices slowly fading away. Julius waited until the very last of them had gone silent. Then, an infinitesimal smile appeared on his lips, and this tiny gesture in turn washed over the crew like a wave, powerful and infectious in its display of discipline and confidence. Before long, every Saint in attendance was grinning. Only then did Julius nod, and his deep voice rang out over the graveyard for the final time.
"All right, people. Let's roll."
Julius had wanted the Saints' rides to be inconspicuous for the raid. What he ended up with was a wild mix of family carriers and half-wrecked beaters that should have been left to die on some junkyard long ago. Julius's group had divided themselves between six of the dubious vehicles. The player himself was riding shotgun in an old cobalt-blue van of some defunct electronics company, his assault rifle lying flat across his lap. The old engine was wheezing and coughing like a mortally wounded animal as the van hauled itself and its passengers toward their destination. At several turns, the player to wondered whether they would arrive there at all. The din was so loud that it was mind-wrecking, and after a few tentative attempts, the crew gave up any effort of trying to have a conversation during the drive. It was a pretty depressing experience. However, there was also an upside to it all. as much as it was getting on his nerves, the excessive noise managed to achieve something that no amount of mental preparation or assuring words had managed to achieve. At long last, the player found himself actually looking forward for it all to start.
By the will of some benevolent higher force, the rust-bucket somehow made it to Copperton in one piece, and they entered the prearranged stand-by loops that led their convoy in changing circles around the receiving station while they waited for the other crews to check in. Looking out of their side windows, they could already see their target. The receiving station was easily one of the biggest buildings in the district, reaching four or five stories high into the sky and towering easily over the predominantly flat warehouses that made up most of the area. The building itself was unspectacular, dull gray in color and with a weathered billboard reading "SWANJEK" on its roof. On any given day, the player would not have looked twice at a building such as this, but today, knowing what awaited them there, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. The longer he stared at it, the more menacing it became in his mind, until he now longer saw some boring receiving station but a gray, bunker-like fortress that rose threateningly into the sky. It was a small mercy that he didn't have to stare at it for too long.
Julius's crew had not even completed its first loop when Julius's hand rose from the lead car and gave everybody the signal to begin the final approach. Everybody was in place, it seemed. The player swallowed hard, his clammy hands clenching around the assault rifle in his lap. This was it, he thought. There would be no turning back now.
Nobody in the van said a word as they circled back towards the station. The radio was dead too, and the despite the constant din of the car itself, the silence lying beneath suddenly felt oppressive, almost tangible in nature. It had to be the same for the other cars, the player suspected. He craned his neck, taking in the features of the men and women riding with him. Chances were not all of them would make it out of this in one piece, and he wanted to make sure that he would at least remember their faces. It was the very least they deserved.
The convoy slowly accelerated as it came around the last curve, both momentum and anticipation building up for the final push into the compound. Several of the old engines complained noisily as their drivers wrestled more speed from their ancient bones, but despite their mechanical panting, all managed to keep up. Meanwhile, the receiving station got closer and closer and closer, until the fateful moment at last arrived, and the assault began.
Pulling hard on their wheels, the Saints' cars came steered onto the compound from three sides, engines howling and tires screeching. Due to the scores of crates clogging the yard, they didn't get far. Still, the plan served its purpose, utilizing the element of surprise and creating a landing zone for the Saints within the compound. All over the place, doors flew open and purple-clad gangers began to pour out of their vehicles, guns blazing. The first shot fell even before that. The Rollerz might not have expected an all out assault to be launched on them, certainly not at this specific time of the day, but they certainly had prepared for trouble. Guards were stationed all over the place; on the roofs of the warehouses and the station building, and at numerous points on top of the crate-piles as well. They did not waste any time to ask who the trespassers were, and opened fire straight away.
Windows shattered and metal clanked as the first bursts pelted down onto the Saints. Those who were already out sought cover behind the vehicles' open doors and crates. Then they brought their own weapons to bear. A deafening jumble of shots and shouts ensued, the Saints laying down covering fire as more and more of their soldiers got clear of the cars and added their own guns to the fight. The guards at the gates were quickly both outgunned and outmatched. Several went down with varying degrees of injuries. Others were wise enough to fall back while they still could, probably to meet up with other Rollerz deeper within the maze to muster a more effective defense. Hard on their heels, the Saints pushed on.
The compound turned into a battlefield. The Saints swarmed into the maze like locusts, overwhelming the first pockets of resistance and flowing on with an unquenchable thirst for Rollerz blood. They were reveling in the violence they brought, granting no quarter and celebrating their chance at payback that had finally arrived. It was hard not to be swept along. The player didn't even try. He was one of the pack in his moment, out for blood as much as anyone else, maybe even more so. Surging around a corner of the maze, he ducked just in time to escape a bullet. Three Rollerz were facing him. The player shot the first and charged at the second, bringing the Roller between himself and the line of fire of the third ganger. Whiplashing the pistol that was pointed at him away with the stock of his rifle, he player followed through and backhanded the weapon against the Roller's jaw. The ganger howled in pain and stumbled aside. The player followed him. Before his opponent could recover, the player grabbed him and turned him around, one arm snaked around the man's neck. Confronted with his comrade as a human shield, the last Roller hesitated for a second. The player didn't. He shot the third Roller straight in the face. Then, he tossed his hostage to the ground and pointed the rifle at him. The guy scrambled around, wide-eyed and pleading for his life. The player put him down without blinking anyway.
In this fashion, the Saints penetrated deep into the compound. At each junction, they split up, swarming left and right as they sought the quickest route both to the main building as well as the Rollerz final demise. Yet the further they got, the more thinned out their ranks became, until they were moving through the maze in groups of no more than five or six people. At the same time, more and more Rollerz entered the fray. They poured out of the station building and the adjacent warehouses, and took up defensive positions within the maze. At other points, previously unseen enforcers rose from hidden watch posts to take their shot. Faced with this increased resistance, the Saints' initial momentum slowly began to wane. The fighting grew fiercer and more tenacious, the Saints gaining less and less ground until finally their progress ground to a halt. Several crews became pinned down. They fought on grimly, shooting and firing in all directions, but the tables had turned, and the Rollerz had the upper hand now. Gleefully, they began to pick the Saints off, one target at a time.
Johnny could not have picked a better moment to make his entrance.
The wire fence surrounding the station tore like frail paper as the massive bulldozer forced its way through. The machine's original yellow paint had been crudely blotched over with purple, and the cabin had been encased in thick metal plating, with only the tiniest of hatches for the driver to peek through. On top of it all, the dozer's frame was studded with spikes, and hung with savage chains and meet-hooks. Everything about it just screamed mayhem and utter destruction, and from within maniacal laughter could be heard, followed by a "Come get some!" as Johnny put the giant machine to work.
With total disregard for human life or property, the bulldozer powered on into the crate-filled yard, smashing boxes and containers aside and sweeping others along with as little effort as a snowplow cleaning a driveway. Frantic cries sounded, and several of the Rollerz abandoned their posts, jumping to safety before the bulldozer could reach them. Other, less reasonable crew members turned on the dozer and opened fire, but it pelted of the machines massive plating like it was nothing. The first Roller was send flying when Johnny smashed his container out from under him. The unfortunate soul hit the yard a few moments later with a wet, disgusting crunch. After that, the rest of the Rollerz fled whenever Johnny came steering his big machine in their direction.
With the pressure relieved and most of the attention resting on Johnny for the time being, Julius quickly sensed the opportunity for the Saints to recover and regain the initiative. "All right, boys!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Show these motherfuckers what we're made of!"
As one, the Saints rose and surged forward once more. Several perished in what crossfire the Rollerz were still able to maintain, pierced and gored by multitudes of bullets, but the Rollerz quickly started dropping as well. The different groups of the Saints started working together now, coordinated by their captains and lieutenants, ganging up on the blue pockets of resistance or drawing them out so another group could finish them of. It was still a gory and chaotic carnage; with yells and screams and barking guns creating a nerve-wracking cacophony of human misery, but at least the Saints were gaining ground once more.
Meanwhile, Johnny had finally exhausted the capabilities of the bulldozer, having torn several gabs into the walls of the crate-constructed maze and throwing the Rollerz' defense into complete disarray. He ended up shoving half-a-dozen crates all the way into the side of the one of the warehouses on the compound, punching half a hole into the thin walls before grinding to a halt. The armored doors of the cabin flew and Johnny dropped himself to the ground, recklessly defying the fire pelting down on him. The fire ceased instantly when he hoisted his next surprise to his shoulder, replaced by more frantic shuffling and shouts of warning that mixed themselves into the tangle of sound that echoed back and forth over the receiving station. Grinning madly, Johnny wasn't swayed by any of it. The bazooka fired and its missile swooshed forward, crested by a trail of smoke, right into where the concentration of the Rollerz was still at its thickest. The explosion could be felt throughout the entire compound, vibrating through concrete and crates alike even before the deafening blast and the flash of heat. Pieces of burning wood and plastic were scattered all over the place, raining down into yard in a shower of smoking debris. A ragged cheer went up from the Saints, and Johnny raised his hands victoriously into the air, laughing as he discarded the now empty RPG. But he still wasn't finished. Climbing back into the dozer's cabin, he produced a flamethrower. A mad glint entered his eyes as he lit it, and a howl of pure enjoyment rose from his lungs. Only then did he enter the fray for good. It did not take long before the wretched stench of burning flesh rose into the air.
The player surged around one corner after another, sending burst after controlled burst into whatever Rollerz he came across, exterminating them or driving them back like vermin that they were. He was pretty much leading the charge by now, pushing ahead of the rest of the crews with a small band of soldiers. He didn't know what drove the others to risk their lives in the vanguard. He himself could not let anyone else take point. This whole mess was his responsibility, and he would be the one making it right. Things might have looked promising at this point, but as long as Lin was still somewhere in that building, and as long as a single Roller was left standing, this thing wasn't over yet, and as long as that was the case, there would be no rest for him.
At long last, the arrived at the far end of the yard, where the compound's main building rose into the sky. The fighting was still particularly fierce here, and the player's meager group had been forced to leave two of their own behind with gunshots to the shoulder and leg, effectively reducing their number to just three. All that separated them from the building were a last few yards of open terrain, but it might just as well have been miles, for a couple of Rollerz had pinned them down behind the edge of the crate-barrier, and were just waiting for the Saints to show themselves. The gunfights still continued all around them. Johnny's shock and awe tactics had messed up the Rollerz' defenses completely, but pockets of blue still held out throughout the compound, or had somehow found the courage to regroup, and even though they were loosing ground, they were still putting up a hell of a fight. Judging by Johnny's violent curses and laughter than rang out over the compound, at least one of the Saints appreciated the good sport.
Over the din of combat, the player didn't hear how Julius caught up with them until the Saint's boss appeared suddenly behind him with a cadre of men. They all huddled into cover next to their comrades, Julius selecting a spot right next to the player.
"What's the situation?" he called over the din around them. "Why have you stopped?"
"Not my choice," the player replied, " but a few of the Rollerz take their job as doormen way too serious! They are just waiting for us to poke our heads out.''
Julius cursed under his breath and looked around, taking the time to look in each and every face of the men that were present. Then he glanced back the way they had come and a flicker of sadness passed over his face. "This is already taking too long," he said. "With every minute that we waste, the chance of Price and his lackeys escaping becomes higher. And Lin —"
"Like I don't fucking know that!" snapped the player. "What are we going to do about it?"
His little outburst startled Julius. He glared at the player, visibly displeased by the lack of respect in his protégé's voice. Now remorseful, the player averted his eyes in a sign of submission. Still, the other Saints exchanged uneasy glances, a notion that was not lost on Julius.
"Fine," he said, his voice still tense. "You wait here, and we'll move around to take care of the Rollerz for you. As soon as we do, you push through. You're down for that, boy?"
The player nodded without hesitation, and Julius signaled for his men to move out. He himself stuck around for a bit longer to stare at the player like a father disappointed by his favorite kid. "You finish this," he ordered sternly. "And you get Lin out of there, you hear me?"
He didn't wait for a reply. With a brief nod to the rest of the remaining men, he headed back around corner from where he had come, leaving the player alone with his two companions. Their looks alone were almost more than the player could bear in that moment.
"Let's focus on getting this done first, all right? We can talk all about my stupidity when those fuckers are dead."
His two homies nodded, one of them giving him an encouraging smile and telling him not to worry. The player appreciated it greatly.
It was weird to sit around, doing nothing but waiting while all around people were still engaged in combat. Luckily, they did not have to wait long, but holed up as they were behind their cover and with a good deal of adrenaline still coursing through their bodies, even that short period of time seemed like an eternity. When at last they heard Julius's voice, followed by a cascade of gunfire, the player and his small crew surged to their feet. Quickly they exchanged a series of grim nods, and then they launched themselves as one into open and towards the door.
It were just a few steps, but with every gunshot that went off, the player held his breath for the fraction of a second, every single time half-expecting for a bullet to hammer into his body and for the pain to set in. But the pain never came, and before he even realized it, he was within the building, uninjured and unharmed. His two homies had made it as well. They were left with precious little time to celebrate. Their entering of the building had not gone by unnoticed, and already they could hear alarmed cries and the heavy, resounding footfalls of several Roller goons heading their way. The player's relieved smile tightened into a grim line, and he raised his rifle in a silent challenge. Now that he was in, nothing would stand in his way. He looked at his teammates, seeing his own determination mirrored in their faces. They all shared another nod of profound understanding. Then they started making their way up.
The powerful burst tore through the blue jacket and into its wearer's body, throwing him backward and smashing through the door of the third floor. She sharp bark of the rifle that echoed through the staircase was followed by the dull clicking of an empty chamber. The player discarded the weapon without another moment's thought, drawing his sidearm and pushing on through. His remaining companion followed. They left more than half-a-dozen Rollerz lying dead on the first two floors behind them, as well as one of their own, killed by stray bullet to the head. The player pushed the thought from his mind. The time for mourning would come later. There was still killing to be done.
Taking a quick peek around the corner leading into the staircase, the player made a quick inventory of their surroundings. The Rollerz had created themselves some nice little crib here. The biggest part of the floor was a single open area, almost loft-like, that was dominated by even more crates, pool tables, chairs and rugged couches, all aligned in a way to grant a good view on the giant screen and projector combo that dominated the eastern wall. An overlapping crisscross of various carpets covered the otherwise barren concrete floor, providing the area with a vaguely oriental flair. By contrast, the most western part of the floor made an operational, if somewhat cold impression, consisting of a small section of adjacent office cubicles that looked as if they had so far remained untouched by the gangers' hands.
The Rollerz were already waiting for them. They had taken up position behind the couches, their weapons braced upon the couches' backs, as well as behind some of the concrete pillars that supported the higher floors above. The player hardly noticed these goons, however. He only had eyes for the big four that stood together at the window front. Everybody was there: Price, Sharp, Donnie and most importantly — Lin. The player felt a fresh surge of energy and determination as he laid eyes on her. Found you, he whispered within his own head. Now all he had to do was to get her out of there.
With a silent battlecry on his lips, he threw himself headlong into the fight.
"Joseph, it seems our guests have arrived," Sharp said dryly as he spotted the storming Saint. "Let us make them feel welcome, shall we?"
Price nodded to his uncle. Behind his shades, his face was tense and fierce, but his face lit up at Sharp's remark. His own gun surged up with eagerness. "You heard the man, boys! Light'em up!"
The Rollerz did not need to be told twice. They started firing, and bullets from a multitude of guns began to riddle the corridor with bullets. Keeping his head down, the player surged forward, swaying left and right in a jagged line and returning fire blindly. The enemy's bullets were buzzing around him like a swarm of angry bees, whistling past him and tearing chunks of wood out of crates and pulverizing tiny parts of the concrete walls upon impact. He barely made it through alive, turning his run towards an especially bulky crate into a slide just as scores of bullets tore through the air where his head had been a fraction of a second ago. His partner wasn't as lucky, unfortunately. The player spotted his motionless body several yards behind him, arms spread wide, the nearby weapon slowly drowning in the blood that already pooled around his body. The player closed his eyes and turned away from the sight, torn between regret and impotent rage. He hadn't even heard his homie fall. He recovered quickly, pushing the thought forcefully from his mind. There was nothing he could do for his fallen comrade now. He needed to care about those who were still alive, including himself.
Things weren't looking too good on that front, either. On his own and pinned down, his chances of coming out on top of this one were remote at best. The only ace up his sleeve was Lin, but even with her help getting out of this in piece would be hard to pull off. Huddled against his cover, the player waited until the rain of bullets eventually subsided. He tried to risk a peek, but immediately another barrel snapped towards him. The player barely managed to duck back to safety to escape getting his face blown off.
Price's laughter rang out; full, reboant and full of gleeful amusement. "Well, that didn't work out like you planned, did it, bitch? I must say, for the one that messed up our game so much lately, you are kind of a letdown, pal. Seriously, how did you see it all play out? You charging in here like the freakin' cavalry and taking all of us out on your own?"
The other Rollerz chuckled and joined in Price's laughter; all except for William Sharp, whose face was as devoid of joy as ever. Price exchanged encouraging glances with his crew, finding plenty of approval in return. He looked at Donnie and smiled, and Donnie smiled back, if somewhat more tentatively.
But so did Lin. She stood right behind Donnie, looking over his shoulder and straight at Price as an evil smile spread all over her face, and her eyes lit up with anticipating fierceness. Without another warning, she brought her weapon up. The soft click that turned off the safety of the weapon was barely above a whisper.
"Who said he was alone, dipshit?" she asked, her voice dripping with sardonic glee. She didn't give Price any time to reply. Her finger curled around the trigger and fire and death started smashing into the Rollerz.
Everything erupted in chaos. Lin's first burst blew three of Price's henchmen off their feet. The others darted for cover, all but forgetting the player over Lin's sudden attack. It was a mistake they would soon regret. The player jumped up, quickly shooting one of the Rollerz in the gut before settling into a sideward run, and sending the rest of his mag into the disorganized tangle that was the Rollerz. Between Lin's bullets and his own, four more gangers perished in the crossfire.
But the Rollerz eventually recovered from their initial shock, and started to bring their own guns to bear. A crate behind the player all but exploded when a shotgun shell tore into it, showering him with sharp shreds and splinters of wood. He staggered in his run, and more and more bullets cut through the air dangerously close to him. With a hoarse curse on his lips, the player ran on and dived behind the relative safety of one of the building's concrete pillars. All it did was to earn him a little breather. Reloading his gun, he risked a quick glance.
His heart almost stopped when he saw Lin still standing out in the open.
She had grabbed Donnie and was trying to pull him with her to the cover of the nearby office cubicles, but slender Donnie was putting up a remarkable fight, and with only one of her hands free, Lin had problems trying to subdue him. The Rollerz were just about to take advantage of that fact, when Price's deep voice boomed throughout the entire floor. "Don't shoot, you morons! You might hit Donnie!"
The player sighed in relief seeing the Rollerz comply, only to curse again when several of the gunmen swung towards him. The same moment, angry cries sounded from the direction of the stairwell, and a second wave of Saints came pouring into the room. The two sides opened fire almost simultaneously. The Saints fought bravely, but the Rollerz still outnumbered them and laid a deadly carpet of screaming bullets over the entrance, downing many of the Saints before they were able to leave the choke point of the door and take cover.
The player tried to help as much as he could, darting in and out of cover, taking aim and hammering a fresh hole into the head of one Roller after the other. Three times, his little stunt worked, but eventually the Rollerz firepower forced him back into hiding. Their lines had thinned out considerately, many of them lying dead or wounded on the cold floor now, but the same held true for the group of Saints that had tried to come to the player's rescue. Not a single one was left standing. Despair threatened to overwhelm the player. The bodies weighing on his conscience just kept piling up, no matter how hard he tried to keep it from happening. Everything just because he had wanted to keep one person out of harms way, and even in that regard chances were he was about to fail as well.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Lin was growing tired of Donnie's resistance. She smacked him hard across the face with her Uzi, stunning him and wrestling a pitiful yelp from his lips. Before he could recover, he knee came up and buried itself in Donnie's stomach. The mechanic's eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he groaned hoarsely before his legs gave way. Yet even as he fell, Donnie somehow managed to hold on to Lin's arm, and as he collapsed past her to the floor, the momentum of his weight spun Lin around, exposing her backside to the Rollerz. It was exactly the kind of chance that Price had been waiting for. With a menacing roar, he appeared from behind his cover to finish Lin off once and for all, but even bent over half-way to the ground, Lin craned her neck and laid another hail of suppressive fire over the room, forcing Price back into hiding and keeping him and his goons at bay, at least for a while longer. Firing blindly as she tried to haul Donnie back into position as a human shield, her eyes widened suddenly when a dull clicking sound announced that she had run out of bullets. Her last shred of protection evaporated into thin air. Once more the Rollerz stuck their heads out of cover, winning smiles spreading all around, as they took aim to finally rid themselves of the traitor.
Once again, they were forced back.
Before anyone could pull the trigger, repeated pistol-fire rained down upon the Rollerz. The player had run into the open and gave it all he had, emptying his own mag as well as another pistol he had swept up to buy Lin a few more precious seconds. His eyes were ablaze with both fear and fury, and he was shouting defiantly at the top of his lungs as he switched targets again and again in order to keep the Rollerz from taking their shots.
It almost would have worked. Lin had almost Donnie back on his feet again, when another gun appeared unexpectedly on the Rollerz side; a 44 Shepard, drawn out of an immaculate grey business suit. "Children," chided William Sharp, as if annoyed to be forced to take direct action himself. The player saw him take aim, and tried to bring his weapons around, but he came too late.
Sharp fired.
The bullet was catapulted out of the barrel with a thunderous boom and traveled through the air with a velocity of around 1000 meters per second. For all those that were watching, it appeared to instantaneously reach its target. But that target wasn't Lin. At the last second, Donnie cried out a warning and pushed himself in front of her. The bullet hit him straight in the chest. Part of his torso just seemed to vanish in a red cloud, and the impact rocked through his body, tossing him backwards against Lin like a rag doll. He collapsed instantly after that, his eyes frozen in a state of surprise and onsetting panic.
Lin kept standing; motionless and shocked. Her unblinking eyes were empty and far away, her face full of incomprehension, the lips slightly parted. Slowly and catatonically, she turned to look down at Donnie as he stared up at her with an expression that mirrored her own, as if they both did not understand what had just happened. Lin's eyes began to shimmer and tremble, followed by her lips, and then an inhuman wail of pure terror forced its way out of her mouth. The first cry was followed by a second and a third, cutting through the air and resounding from the falls of the building, before Lin finally collapsed to her knees to take hold of Donnie.
On the other side, Sharp chuckled. "Touching," he gloated, readying himself for another shot. Instead, he yelped out in sudden pain when the player's bullet grazed his shoulder. Instantly, Price was at his uncle's side, pulling Sharp to safety. The player gritted his teeth and stomped his feet about missing, casting a helpless look into Lin's direction, but then he found himself fighting for his life once more, when the remaining Rollerz all turned on him and opened fire. How he made it back behind cover, even he himself didn't fully understand.
Price was no happier with his uncle's shot than the Saints were. Having just rescued him, he pushed Sharp roughly against one of the crates that provided them with cover, bristling with rage, and bellowing, "You just shot my boy!" into his face.
Sharp, however, was unfazed. "I know," he said, in his emotionless, matter-of-factly tone. "It's tragic."
He said something else, but it was lost beneath the sound of gunfire. The player winced behind his crate as the bullets tore into it. His gaze darted back to Lin. She was still with Donnie, completely out in the open. It didn't look good.
"What are you waiting for?" he heard Sharp call out to the Rollerz. "Shoot them already."
"Happy to comply, pal!" came the answer. The player's heart made a jump when he recognized the voice. The voice didn't come from within the Rollerz. It came from the staircase. Eyes widened by disbelief, the player turned around, just in time to see Troy and a small army of Saints surge through the door. The boys did not waste any time. Whooping and shouting, they zeroed in their weapons and had at it. Several of the Rollerz fell beneath the first bursts before they had the chance to react. The rest suddenly found themselves seriously pinned down, and in a whole lot of trouble. The player couldn't help but smile. The bastards deserved no less.
Price and Sharp sensed the turning of the tide as well. For a moment, they fought on, especially Price who tried to rouse his soldiers' fighting spirit with hoarse curses and cries of defiance, but as soon as another one of his goons died with a bullet piercing his brain, Sharp decided it was time for them to go. As their few remaining men fought on, the Rollerz' leaders darted hastily towards the elevator that rested half-hidden in the eastern corner of the floor. The doors sprang open instantly. Sharp disappeared right away, but Price turned around once more before entering, his gaze roaming about Donnie's motionless form as well as those of his men who were still fighting to cover his retreat. His mouth tightened into a grim line, and his face turned into a tormented visage of guilt and agony. He pulled away with one violent, abrupt movement. Then he too was lost from sight, and the doors of the elevator fell shut.
With Price and Sharp gone, the pitiful rest of the Rollerz succumbed quickly to the overwhelming power of the Saints. To their credit, none of the gangers surrendered willingly or tried to save their own hide. They all fought and fell together — as one — the way it was supposed to be. Still, some of the homies were surprised when Troy instructed them not to kill those among the Rollerz who still breathed after the firefight. The player honestly couldn't have cared less about their fate. Before the last shot had even went off, he was cutting straight through the open ground, rushing towards Lin's side. She looked all right, or at least not seriously injured, but she was still totally out of it, cradling Donnie in her arms as if he was some helpless little infant. By some miracle, the boy was still alive and even semi-conscious, through the player was left to wonder whether the past part was more of a curse than a miracle. One look at the wound sufficed to know that Donnie had to be in a hell of pain. The fact that he wasn't cursing or crying wasn't a good sign.
Kneeling down beside them, the player put a hand to Lin's shoulder and squeezed gently, just to let her know he was there. If she even registered his touch, she gave no sign of it. Her eyes remained pinned on Donnie, and she was rocking back and forth and shaking her head.
"Why?" she muttered again and again, her voice on the brink of breaking.
Eventually, Donnie answered her. "Pretty damn stupid, eh?" He tried to smile, but winced when a fresh wave of agony seared over his face. He started to cough; the bad kind — weak and wheezing and violent — that left his lips coated with blotches of fresh red. He groaned.
"Somehow ... couldn't let him. Just couldn't."
"But why?" Lin asked again. "Why did you do it? I betrayed you, all of you. They are your friends."
The barest hint of a smile reappeared on Donnie's face. It was all the could manage now.
"Yeah. But you're my girl."
He said it as if it explained everything. Maybe it did. The player looked to Lin, trying to ignore the lump in his own throat. He had little enough respect for Donnie and his kind, but he couldn't deny that what he just did took balls, and was about the greatest kind of sacrifice one could bring for another person. And when that other person happened to be a mole from another gang sent to rip your crew apart, that said something. The player wasn't sure what exactly, but it was definitely something.
Lin seemed to think so as well. She looked just as shocked as she had when Donnie had been hit, her face a frozen mask of skeptical amazement, totally dazzled and rendered speechless by Donnie's remark.
"You're so beautiful, " Donnie went on, his eyes already half-closed and all dreamy. Another terrible cough wrecked through his body, causing him to convulse and groan with pain. Blood from his mouth dripped unto his jacket, close to the wet dark stain where the wound was drenching through his clothes. When he finally recovered, his face had lost all of its color and had taken on a haunted gleam. His voice was nothing but a whisper, trailing off into the distance.
"Shit, Lin ... I think —"
He never finished the sentence. Donnie's expression softened as his entire body relaxed, and the life in his eyes spluttered and faded away with a last sigh. Then he was gone.
Lin looked at the body for a long time. She didn't say anything, and neither did she cry or curse. She just looked at Donnie, lost in her own thoughts, trying to accept what had just happened, to make sense of it all. But there no answers to be found. The player didn't interfere. He couldn't. The tragedy of the moment had swept him away. He wasn't involved. He didn't matter. He was only a spectator, unable to do or say anything that would have made any difference.
The sounds of battle had died down within the packing station. The Rollerz were all but finished. Several Saints rushed down the stairs, intending to keep Price and Sharp from escaping. Others silently joined Lin and the player by the cubicles. Troy was among them. They all stared at Lin, cradling the body of one of their enemies; their own faces respectfully solemn and grave.
On the outside, an engine zoomed to life, high-pitched and powerful. The sound finally forced Lin out of her paralysis. Her eyes snapped back into focus, and she glanced at the window, then at the player, and finally at Donnie again. A sad smile played around her lips, then she tsked and shook her head.
"Idiot," she croaked huskily, resting his head gently on the floor. Reaching for her gun, she rose to her feet. The car outside took off with a humming shriek, a flash of blue that surged past crates and dead bodies on its way off the compound and onto the streets. Lin ejected the mag and reloaded the weapon. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, her face relaxed, and for a moment she seemed almost peaceful and content. It was a frail illusion, for the next instance, her eyes snapped open again and her features settled into the same aggressive scowl that everybody had come to expect from her. She racked the slide and turned towards the player, as if nothing had happened.
"Let's go. Price and Sharp aren't going to kill themselves."
Out of reflex, the player nodded. It was all he could manage, really. Lin's sudden transformation had him at a loss, and he was torn between amazement and genuine concern as he mumbled an incomprehensible reply. But he wouldn't have dreamed of arguing with Lin. So he got up and before he knew it, he was on his way down towards the garage, and the blue-white Voxel that was in it.
Ever since the had joined the 3rd Street Saints, the newcomer from the Row had seen some pretty impressive displays of driving skills. He had developed a certain knack for it himself, competing in several street races and leaving seasoned drivers choking on the dust of his exhaust pipes, not to mention the frequent chases with the cops. Yet none of it could compare to what he witnessed as he sat beside Lin as she directed her Voxel through the twists and turns of Stilwater's streets.
She was handling the car like she had been born to do it; as if the engine, wheels and pedals were merely an extension of her being. The speed with which she was cutting through traffic was staggering, beyond anything the player had ever seen. But where this kind of driving would have been reckless and near suicidal for other drivers, Lin operated at this level of performance without ever surrendering even the tiniest shred of control.
It didn't take much to figure out where Price and Sharp were going. There was only one place left to the Rollerz: Sharp's Mansion, and Lin knew the way how to get there just as well as Price or Sharp themselves did. They left Copperton behind very quickly, moving into Prawn Court and from there straight to the interstate. It was somewhat of a gamble. If Price and Sharp decided to take the long route, they would loose them, but given the pressure weighing on the Rollerz' leaders, it was the safest bet they could make. Lin whipped her Voxel over the interstate like a woman possessed, never so much as stepping off the gas, the steering wheel spinning in her hands as she worked her magic. Still, the player was left wondering whether it would be enough.
As it turned out, it was. From one moment to the next, Price's blue Attrazione flashed into sight, way faster than the player would have expected him to. Price too was driving at a speed that could only be described as reckless, his car's engine screeching and screaming as its high performance enabled him to pass other cars by with arrogant ease. But now, competition had arrived.
"Gotcha, you bastards," Lin mumbled to herself. "You ready for this, playa?"
In response, the player picked up her Uzi and switched off the safety. He nodded. "Let's do this."
And with that, they began their attack.
They had nearly halved the distance to their target when Price finally spotted them. The Attrazione's constant zooming sound suddenly sky-rocketed into a high-pitched screech, and more than 600 horsepower were instantly transferred to the tarmac. The resulting acceleration was stunning, even to the player and Lin who knew their way around cars. With an ease as if it had just entered the competition in earnest, Price's sports car surged off.
"Shit!" cried Lin, her voice bitter and strained. But she hadn't come this far only to give up now. "Buckle up and hang on to something," she ordered, then flipped open a hidden switch within her console. Without waiting for the player to comply, she hit it, and a massive jolt yanked through the car as the nitro ignited and added its strength to the engine's. Blue flames licked out of the Voxel's exhaust pipes as the engine worked itself into a frenzy, resulting in a power so strong that it pushed Lin and the player back into their seats. The player barely managed to buckle his seat belt. Then they surged after Price.
At a speed like this, even Lin's impressive reflexes were tested to the limit. Her face was a mask of utter concentration. Her hands and feet seemed to move on their own, shifting gears, hitting the breaks and stepping down onto the gas, always trying to maintain the precarious balance between speed, acceleration and control. They surged past other cars left and right, accompanied by loud swooshes of sound. Lin's performance was beyond masterful, each adjustment and move masterfully executed. She wasn't merely avoiding other cars as she sought after Price. She was an artist; a vehicular seamstress weaving another thread of machinery through an already lush tapestry of activity.
Still: Lin's Voxel might have been a finely tuned racing engine, but the Attrazione was a beast of a different kind. Even with the nitrous boost, Lin was not able to match Price when it came to sheer speed. It was astonishing really, and despite the nature of the situation, the player could not help but marvel at the feat of construction that was the Attrazione. But while Price had the stronger engine on his side, it did him little good in the long run. He managed to gain on Lin when he had the space to unleash the car's full potential, but the interstate was filled with a steady stream of commuters, trucks and delivery vans that denied Price full use of this advantage. In addition, the Attrazione proved maybe too powerful for even its own good, unable to restrain its own tremendous momentum during the quick maneuvers that Price put it through in order to lose his pursuers. The Rollerz' leader knew the car like the back of his own hand, but even masterfully executed, he still lost a fracture of a second every single time he had to reign in the power of his engine to keep the car in line.
Lin's Voxel, on the other hand, darted in and out of traffic with a quiet grace and sovereignty that was beyond reproach, and even though she gained only a blink of an eye on Price each time, it began to show. Slowly but steadily, they were getting closer. With each yard, the tension grew, fresh adrenalin surging through their bodies as the decisive moment approached. The player's hands tightened around the grip of the SMG, and Lin's face flinched into a fierce snarl until she could bear it no longer and snapped.
"Let's take those motherfuckers out!"
The player did not need to be told twice. He cranked down the window, and was just about to lean out to take aim when the Attrazione's passenger window lowered as well, and Sharp's massive revolver snaked out. The weapon boomed twice. The first shot missed them by several yards, but the second one was a hit, and even though it caused no serious damage, it still tore a big ugly hole into the Voxel's hood. The player took in the air sharply, casting a fearful glance at Lin. He remembered very well how protective the woman was of her car. But his commotion was unfounded this time. Lin didn't even so much as blink. In a way, it proved even scarier than the outburst the player had expected. Clearer than everything else, it told him that Donnie's death had sent Lin over the edge, that she wouldn't rest until she had choked the very life out of William Sharp, and there was nothing in the world — not even messing up her beloved ride — that Sharp could do to make Lin hate him more than she already did. It was almost enough for the player to pity him. Almost.
The player leaned out of the window once more and started to return fire. The SKR-7 howled, and the Attrazione's tail-light exploded into a million pieces, with additional bullets biting into metal to the left and right. Immediately, Pierce tried to drift out of the line of fire, but Lin matched his movements to the letter, and the player sent another burst flying that tore into the sport's car's backside. As a result, Price's maneuvers became more daring, his wheels never maintaining a course for more than a moment, and briefly it appeared as if this tactic would work out. But after one or two dodged bursts, he player simply abandoned careful aiming altogether and allowed the firing frequency of the SKR-7 to do most of the work for him. Many bullets missed in the wide spray that followed, but yet others found their marks, punching holes into the Attrazione's body and bouncing off its frame. With it's engine located at the back of the car, it was only a question of time before he'd hit something important.
But then Price did something neither Lin nor the Player were ready for. He hit the breaks. Not hard and not for long, but long enough to deprive the Attrazione of a good portion of its speed. All of a sudden, the Voxel was much faster than the vehicle it pursued, and as a result the back of the Attrazione came shooting towards them. The crash was unavoidable. Price hit the Voxel a solid punch. Metal crunched and groaned as it was bent and squashed together under the weight of the car's momentum. A massive jerk shook the car, and Lin and the player both snapped forward, saved only by their seat-belts from hitting the dash or going straight out the window.
For some reason, especially the player was mighty thankful for that.
He still banged up his arm pretty bad when he tried to pull it in. The pain surged from his elbow to his shoulder from there to every remote corner of his body. He hissed, then groaned and finally swore, pressing the throbbing limp closely against his body. Beside him, Lin recovered much better from the crash. Even as the Attrazione bounced away from the Voxel like a ricocheting bullet, Lin brought her swaying car back under control, and immediately went on the offensive again. Price had earned himself a brief respite from the player's gunfire, but the crash had sent him skidding just as it had Lin, and Price fought much longer and harder to stabilize his ride.
It provided Lin just with the window she needed.
The Voxel shot up to the Attrazione once more and swayed to the right, engine screaming, seemingly intending to make a pass, but then Lin pulled up dangerously close to the other car as she surged forward, and as soon as her front wheels were probably aligned with Price's rear ones, the player also realized why: Lin was about to spin him.
As if on cue, Lin pulled on the wheel and steered into the Attrazione's back. She began tentatively, almost gently bringing the two cars together, but once the contact was established, she steered sharply to the left, and forced Price's back to break out in one fluent sweep. Tires screeched and smoked as they lost traction and reconnected at odd angles, the tarmac grinding away at their substance with a score of miniature blades. Price rotated, trying to keep his car under control, but in this crucial moment, he slipped. The car spun and skidded around, drawing nearly three complete circles before finally grinding to a smoking halt, its kinetic energy finally exhausted.
Lin's Voxel surged by on the Attrazione's left, its own break-lights immediately flaring to life as Lin turned her baby around with a flawless spin of her own. She never took her eyes of the Attrazione. For a moment, everything was quiet within the Voxel, then Lin's voice rose, calm and barely above a whisper, even as her hands dug into the leather-upholstered steering wheel.
"Would you shoot the bastards already?"
The player glanced at her, still marveling at the stunt she had just pulled. He nodded hesitantly, and raised his gun. The SKR-7's barrage commenced a moment later, and her sprays ripped through the Attrazione's front-shield and into the cabin. The glass broke in places and shattered into opaque cob-webs in others, the pristine white of the cracks contrasting sharply with the spurts of red coating that splashed against the glass from the inside. The player kept firing and firing, pumping the entire magazine into the cabin before being forced to stop. Then everything grew quiet again.
Before he even realized it, Lin was out of the car and on the street, producing a piece and walking towards the Attrazione's shattered husk. The player gave a yelp of surprise and darted after her, struggling to reload his own weapon. He shouted at her to stop, but if Lin did ignored him. She approached the car with a single-minded dedication that brooked no opposition, moving to the passenger side and pulling open the scissor door. Her pistol came up instantly, but she didn't shoot. Instead, she lowered it again, reached in and yanked William Sharp's maimed body out onto the tarmac. The player quickly moved to the driver's side, to make sure that Price was no longer posing a threat.
He needn't have worried. Price was dead; two bullets in the chest, one to the head, straight through his signature shades and into the brain. It wasn't a pretty sight, with gore and small shreds of brainmatter everywhere, but even though the player flinched at the gruesome display, he could not help but feel a sense of grim satisfaction. This was what you got for messing with the 3rd Street Saints. Everybody take a closer look, he thought. This is Joseph Price, and he had it coming.
With Price permanently pacified, the player moved back around the car to Lin. He found her standing over Sharp's body, her arms trembling with seething anger as she pointed the gun at his head. The older man's body was a mess. Half-a-dozen of the SKR's bullets had buried themselves in his torso, ruining his custom-tailored suit even before the blood from the wounds had drenched it through. But even as he lay there, riddled with bullets and laying in a growing pool of his own blood, Sharp was somehow still alive. He labored with wheezing breaths to fill his lungs, his face a distorted mask of pain, and yet a sardonic smile played around his lips as he stared Lin straight in the eyes.
Lin wanted to shoot him every second they remained like this. It was written clearly all over her face. But something was holding her back, as if she was still waiting for something specific to happen.
"Do you mind, girl?" Sharp complained between coughs. "I'm in quite a bit of pain here."
Lin snorted. "Good. You deserve it, asshole."
"Doubtlessly," Sharp wheezed, followed by another cough. "Though that is quite the statement coming from a traitorous low-life like yourself." He paused, gathering his strength. "Care to elaborate?"
Lin's hands clenched even harder around the grip of her gun, and she reset her aim. "You shot Donnie."
Sharp rolled his eyes in frustration "What is is about that boy?" he asked with an elongated sigh. "But allow me to correct you: I didn't shoot him. I tried to shoot YOU, and like the nimrod he has always been, Donnie thought it was a good idea to catch that bullet in your stead. Ah, well ... at least it will be the last mistake he ever made. Let's take comfort in that, shall we?"
Lin was lost for words, so stunned was she by Sharp's sadistic glee. Anger and sadness were warring over her face. A winning, hungry smile played around Sharp's lips as he basked in the brief power-rush of his triumph, but it was short-lived. Lin might have been lost for words, but that did not mean she was without ways to put the smug sadist in his place. Lifting her foot, she brought it down on Sharp's chest, right on top of one of the gun-shot wounds. She pressed down on it, slowly and deliberately, controlling the intensity of the ensuing cry of pain she wrestled from Sharp's lips as accurately as with the gas-pedal of her car. The sounds of Sharp's agony echoed out over the freeway. To Lin, it probably sounded like music.
"Any other comment you'd like to make?"
Fueled by the pain, Sharp's countenance finally slipped. His features contorted into a snarl of murderous rage. "You better enjoy your little victory here, you impudent little whore! Go! Go back to the cesspit of a place you call home and wallow in the dirt for a last couple of times, because I promise you, once he is finished with it, everything you have ever known will be leveled to the ground!"
Lin and the player exchanged a puzzled glance. "What are you talking about?" Lin demanded to know. "Who is he?"
Sharp did not answer, not even when Lin stepped onto his wounds once more. He winced and groaned, but he didn't bulge, and afterwards a satisfied smile spread once again over his face. Then, he just waited for the end in stoic silence. His features softened, the tension of the pain leaking out of him, until his eyes glazed over and finally froze.
Lin wouldn't have it. Immediately, she jumped into action, trying to delay the inevitable and to rouse Sharp once more into consciousness. She kicked him, then stomped upon him repeatedly. When that didn't help, she threw herself on top of him, slapping and shaking him as she screamed with a hysteric voice for him to come back; that she wasn't finished with him. But no matter how hard she shook or pounded on him, it was all in vain. Sharp was dead.
Nevertheless, Lin kept pounding the lifeless corpse until the player at long last pulled her off of it. Lin struggled against him, screaming and kicking, and for a moment the player expected her to lash out against him as well. But suddenly the screaming ceased, and her body grew limp in his arms. The player held her close for another moment or two, distrustful of the sudden cease in resistance. Only when she showed no signs of going after Sharp again did he release her. Lin headed straight for her car. Bracing herself against the Voxel's side, she lit herself a smoke, and stared off into the distance. The player decided to give her some space, even though he threw wary glances up and down the highway. The steady stream of cars had dried up on the northbound lanes after the crash, the people closest to the gunfire probably too scared to move and therefore blocking the road with their own vehicles. Still, it was only a question of time until the police arrived at the scene. With the southward lanes still very much operating, there certainly wasn't a shortage of potential witnesses to indite them, and the player doubted they would be able to talk their way out of this one should the cops manage to catch up with them.
Lin's eyes were still distant and forbidding by the time she snuffed out her smoke. The player approached her slowly, on the lookout for any sign of reproach or anger. But there wasn't any, and the player positioned himself right next to Lin. They shared each other's company in silence. There as an almost surreal touch to the two of them standing there like this, surrounded by ruin and corpses and with the police on the way, and yet there was a strange sense of intimacy and seclusion to the situation. The player felt a quiet sense of joy rising within him. He sighed, for he knew that it couldn't last.
"We need to get going," he said reluctantly.
Lin ignored him, looking over to Sharp's remains. "I didn't realize how sadistic he was. I hope that bastard burns."
"It's over now. He's dead."
Lin shook her head. "Can't help but feel like somehow he still won. What he said —"
"Doesn't matter," the player finished for her. "He was just trying to get under your skin. Whatever happens, we're going to handle it, okay?"
Lin crossed her arms and tsked at the player. The barest hint of a smile played around her lips. "Look at you. Since when have you grown all tough and confident?"
The player shrugged. Crossing his arms behind his head, he allowed his eyes to roam off the interstate, gazing upon Stilwater as it lay before them. Lin had a point, he thought. Merely a few short months ago, he had been a nobody. Some punk picked freshly off the streets. He had been in way over his head, and more than happy for any piece of guidance provided by the more senior members of the gang. Up until now, he hadn't noticed how much things had changed since then; how much he had changed. It was scary, and at the same time strangely thrilling. There was no point denying it. Life as a criminal suited him. He smiled.
"I guess I had good teachers," he said. His smile turned into a cocky smirk. "You're ready to get out of here?"
Lin didn't answer straight away. Once again, she turned towards the crash-site, taking in the scene in all its gruesome details. Her eyes traveled east, towards the Row and the packing station where Donnie had taken his last breath. She lingered, four, five seconds, before a sigh escaped her lips, and she turned to the player once more.
"Yes," she said, "Take me home. I need to get changed. Looks like my time in blue is over."
They didn't talk much on their was back to the Row. The approaching sirens soon faded away, and the two of them had much on their minds as the last traces of adrenalin left their systems and more and more of the day's events settled into their thoughts. They continued north before exiting the freeway, then turned east, straight for the next Rim Jobs. They needed to get the car of the street and fixed, and Lin wasted no time ordering a purple paint job as well. With Lin's Voxel safe and secure in the workshop and enough money on the table to buy the mechanics' discretion in the matter, the two Saints turned to organizing an alternate means of transportation. It didn't really pose a problem. After all, Julius had assigned the player a personal wheel woman just for this kind of situation.
As it turned out, "Wheels" and Lin knew each other, and she was more than happy to give the two of them a ride. Initially, the unexpected familiarity between the two women was kind of off-putting for the player, but the longer he lounged in the back of Wheels's Destiny, the happier he became about her presence. The two women had a lot in common, and after not having seen each other for quite some time, they also had a lot of catching up to do. They talked about all kinds of things; from cars and races to news about people they both knew from the Row and new developments within the Saints — with a lot of trash-talk strewn in between. It was casual, honest and seemingly effortless for the most part, and the player was thankful for that. he sure as hell would not have been able to do the same. As considerate and careful as Wheels was, though, she hit a nerve with Lin twice during the drive, causing for Lin to lapse into silence. The pauses didn't last long on both occasions, leading the player to think that these moments had their value as well. Talking with Wheels was very much like a little trial run for Lin's homecoming. It was less complicated and in a controlled space, but nevertheless it prepared Lin for what was waiting for her back at the church. Most importantly, it showed Lin that this was indeed a homecoming, a return to friends and family who knew her and cared for her, not just a couple of bangers that happened to wear the same colors.
The parking spaces in front of Lin's apartment were all swarmed with second rate cars when they arrived. Wheels had no choice but to double-park, and before the player was able to so much as ask whether Lin wanted him to accompany her inside, Lin had already jumped out of the car and disappeared inside the building. The player couldn't help but smile wryly at that. While waiting, he mustered the building's exterior for a moment, trying to imagine what Lin's place might have looked like. But the house looked dreary and bleak, just like pretty much every single building on the Row, and he came up empty, not even able to decide whether he would expect Lin's place to be messy or tidied up. He considered to ask Wheels whether she knew anything in that regard, but ended up deciding against it. It was never good to appear too curious about things.
Lin returned ten minutes later, and for the first time since the player had known her, she looked every bit the Saints' lieutenant that she was. One might have argued that she didn't look much different; nothing more than a change of pants and wearing a slightly different top, but the impact was remarkable, especially for the player who had adopted associating certain colors with the enemy as second nature. Seeing Lin wear purple just felt right, as if he could finally see her for who she really was. He hoped the other Saints would feel the same way.
It wasn't far from Lin's apartment to the church, and they arrived within a couple of minutes. On their way, they were still able to see traces of the Saints' security detail locking down the Row, standing on Rooftops or within entryway of buildings along the way. A few of them cast longing looks in their direction as they passed by, eager to be part of the celebration that could already be heard by now.
"They've already started partying?" Lin asked. She sounded angry more than surprised. "Before they even know whether we made it at all?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Wheels replied casually from the driver's seat. "Of course they know. First thing I did after your call was to tell the others — like you should have. Everybody was waiting to hear from you, worried shitless. Johnny even took two handfuls of guys up to that one prick's mansion, just in case you ended up there for some reason. Geez, girl; it is really about time you're back. Seems you have forgotten how we roll around here."
Lin's angry outburst withered away on her lips, and she lapsed into silence. In the back of the car, the player smirked. For one thing, seeing Lin lost for words was a rare and precious sight indeed. But more importantly, he couldn't have agreed more with what Wheels had said: It really was time Lin was back.
When they arrived at the church, half the gang was already waiting for them. They lined the street and clotted the yard, chatting and drinking beer while in the back a few grills had been fired up. Judging by the state of the preparations, Wheels had been right. The Party hadn't been going on for long. An excited murmur passed through the crowd as Wheels pulled up to the church, intermingled with a good deal of hoots and cheers. The player felt like he was some kind of celebrity about to walk down the red carpet at some movie gala. It was something he could grow accustomed to, he decided with a smirk.
Julius, Dex and Troy were the first to greet them when they left the car.
"It is good to see you." Julius smiled warmly and spread his arms, as if presenting the Row to Lin after her absence. "Welcome home."
Lin smiled tentatively in response, but she still didn't seem very much at ease with being there. If Julius was in any way concerned by this, he gave no sign of it. Without warning, he surged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders and swept her into a fierce embrace. "You had us worried," he went on, his voice shivering slightly, before he let go of her again. "I am proud of you. We couldn't have done it without you."
Behind the two, Dex began to laugh. "Jesus, Jules; stop smothering her, or you'll scare her off before she is truly back."
As Julius stepped away, Dex moved in, and Lin and he casually knocked fists together. "It is good to have you back, though."
Lin nodded, and from where the player was standing, it looked a little less anxious this time.
Troy didn't open with a line. Instead, he reached out and offered Lin a smoke. Lin accepted it without any comment whatsoever. Producing his lighter from one of his pockets, Troy gave her fire. It was an odd gesture, neither festive nor meaningful enough at first glance, but the way Troy did it also gave it a supportive and nurturing touch that the player found somewhat surprising. It was hard for him to imagine what the lieutenants' meetings had looked like with Lin being there, but judging by the way Troy clashed with Johnny, the player didn't exactly expect for Lin and Troy to have been one heart and soul for most of the time. Yet Troy seemed genuinely concerned for her.
Lin took a long draw on the cigarette and breathed it out with a prolonged sigh, the two plumes of smoke rising from her nostrils like that of a dragon. She glanced at the cigarette, then back at Troy. The edges of her mouth darted upwards.
"Your brand still tastes like shit."
Troy laughed. "Yeah, well at least I am no longer going to be the only one the guys complain about. Let us know when you need anything, all right?"
It went on like this for a while. After the first tier, lots and lots of other members wanted a chance to welcome Lin home, among them many personal friends or old crew members. The player and Wheels stayed close to her, while all around them the party finally begun in earnest. More and more, Lin actually began to look like she enjoyed herself. There were few if any genuine displays of affection in her interaction with the other Saints, and a lot of trash-talk and tough acts instead, but that was just the way that Lin was, and the player still felt it came from the heart. So caught up was he in the exchange between Lin and the others that he paid little attention to those who were not pushing to the front to meet her.
He probably should have.
There was a lot of uncertainty gathered in the crowd, mixed in with a bit of discontent and traces of undisguised hatred. Confused and annoyed mutterings began to rise from the back of the group. Some sort of commotion had broken out, and it spread towards the lines further at the front. Somebody was forcing his way through the crowd, and was not above using elbows and shoves to get his will. The player chuckled at the sight, and watched the scene with great interest, wondering who was that eager to reconnect with Lin. It probably had to be someone special, he thought. Lin seemed curious as well. Then the crowd parted, and a young woman emerged to move up to Lin, her face a tense mask of barely maintained control. The next moment, Lin stared down the barrel of a 9mm pointed squarely at her face.
Everybody froze. Some gasped in surprise, exchanging fearful glances, while others just stood still and waited, hoping for it all to be some sort of joke that would reveal itself any given moment now. The player himself belonged to his second group, but the moment passed, and no punchline was delivered. The girl just kept the gun pointed at Lin, and Lin stared back at her with an expressionless and empty face. The gun was shaking wildly in the gunwoman's hand, and her eyes were all wide and fearful. The player cursed inwardly. There was no way this was a show, he realized.
His hands moved as if with a mind on their own, drawing his own gun and pointing it at the girl. The crowd gasped again, and a confused murmur spread through the ranks. Across the yard, the other Saints had begun to notice that something was going on, and the crowd of spectators was slowly growing bigger. The girl herself looked genuinely surprised to find a gun pointed at her, as if this possibility hadn't really crossed her mind in advance. It only served to unravel her further. Tears began to brim over her eyes, and she sobbed, glancing again and again at the player, who felt that his control of the situation was slipping further and further away. Where the hell was Julius!
"Why are you pointing that thing at me?" the girl demanded to know, her high-pitched voice on the brink of breaking.
Remaining calm, the player nodded towards Lin. "Because you're pointing' your's at her."
At that, the girl's face lost all semblance of cohesion, twisting and twitching from snarls into subs and manic, cynical laughter. Then it exploded out of her. "But ... but she killed my brother!"
For a single moment, everything was deadly quiet. The echo of the girl's outburst lingered in the air, undeniable and smothering in its ramifications. It touched upon every heart and soul that was present on the courtyard. There was no escaping it. Even the player, who had come prepared for trouble found himself totally swept away by the oppressive power of the girl's obvious pain. He couldn't think of a single thing that would make her story any less tragic or damning, just as he had been powerless to say anything that would have helped Lin when Donnie had died. Sometimes, there simply was no counter argument, and no consolation to be given. Sometimes in life, there was only pure and naked misery, and people just had to find a way to live with that. Only that in this case, the girl's way of coping involved putting a gun to Lin's head and being one inch away from pulling the trigger. Profound and mind-numbing weariness settled over the player. He was so very very tired of it all. In addition to that, there was the guilt. He had hoped to bury it together with the Rollerz, but there it was again. That the girl was making Lin responsible for it instead of him, even though it had been his actions that had set it all in motion, only made it worse. For the first time since he joined the Saints, the player felt helpless again, as if walking down the streets of the Row once more, not knowing whether somebody would offer him some crappy watch or take his life away from him. As much as he felt for that girl; for making him feel this way, he hated her in that moment. Nobody would ever take control over his life away from him. Not for anything in the world.
It made what he was about to do a whole lot easier.
"Put it down, girl," he snarled. "I'm gonna blow your fucking head off before I allow you to take a shot at her."
"Stop wasting your breath," Lin said suddenly. "She is not going to do it."
"The hell I am, bitch!" cried the girl in response.
Lin only smirked derisively. "You had your shot. When you first stepped out of the crowd, nobody could have stopped you, but you blew it. My best guess? You're all talk."
The player shot Lin a warning glance. What the hell was she doing? It sure as hell wasn't helping to defuse the situation.
The girl of course took the bait. "You ... you mean unlike you, who shoots without hesitation — without remorse — even when the people you're wasting are supposed to be your own!? Fuck you!"
Lin's eyes flashed and narrowed. The player could hear her gritting her teeth. "At least I get the job done," she countered.
It was one verbal slap too many. The player could see it lighting the girl's fuse, the way how her pupils retracted in shook that quickly burst into anger, and how her face tensed in preparation of turning into a sneer that would inevitably be followed by her pulling the trigger. But even as the girl's body moved to put her wrathful snap into motion, so did the player, and even in her outburst the girl wasn't able to compete with his reflexes. Half-jumping a step forward, her barked at her with all the alarmed urgency his voice could provide, stretching his arms a little as he did to emphasize the presence of his own gun again.
"Don't even think about it," he yelled. "You so much as move another muscle in a way that I don't like, and you're dead!"
No shots rang out. The girl's eyes had turned toward the player, all shocked and bug-eyed, obviously scared out of her depth. The player suppressed a relieved sigh, keeping his body tense and maintaining his violent gaze. So he was still able to scare her. That was good, he thought. It meant she didn't want to die, and consequently that meant there was maybe still a chance they would all get out of this alive.
"Why?" The girl was half-sobbing and half-hissing by now, mentally exhausted. "Why are you protecting her? She's a fucking murderer!"
The player shrugged. "So am I. You see, Lin here didn't have a choice. She didn't, because I messed up. So if that means that I now have to kill one of our own as well to set things right with her, I am not going to like it, but you damn better believe me, girl: I AM going to do it. Now p-u-t t-h-e g-u-n d-o-w-n. I am not going to say it again."
The very moment he finished the sentence, he knew she was not going to do it. He could see it written all over her face. The defiant gleam in her eyes, and the way she pressed her lips together spoke to him as clearly as if she had said her intentions out loud. A wave of regret washed over him. It was not because he was about so shoot a girl whose only crime was to lover her brother. It was because he had lied to her. He had said he wouldn't like killing her. The truth was, however, that part of him would hate himself for the rest of his life for it. But the words had been said, and now he had to follow through. On the streets, there was no backing down, and no taking it back. A lever inside him turned and slid into place, and his finger hooked around the trigger —
"That's enough!"
The player suppressed a snarl when Julius finally arrived on the scene. Now he wanted to call the shouts, when it was already too late. The player had half a mind to just go ahead and shoot the girl, out of spite as much as out of defiance and to demonstrate his independence and integrity, but with grinding teeth he decided against it. Even though he didn't like to admit it, he was glad to defer the situation to Julius. Let him deal with this mess, he thought. Nevertheless, he lowered his gun only with great reluctance.
Julius acknowledged the gesture with an infinitesimal nod, then turned his attentions fully upon the girl. His face took on a pained expression. "You're Carrie, right?" he asked softly. "Travis's sister."
Carrie winced under the soft-spokeness of the inquiry, but she nodded, trying not to look at Julius directly. Julius shifted slowly to the right, directly into her field of vision. Carrie's eyes darted away from him again. It was a risky move move, for now she was aiming blindly at Lin. Julius, however, remained calm. "Why won't you look at me, sweetheart? Has my mug become so ugly over the last few weeks?"
"No," whimpered Carrie. She didn't finish the sentence, tumbling straight into the next one. "Please, Mr. Little, I have to do this. She killed him."
"She is not the one responsible. I think deep down you know that. If anybody, you should be pointing your gun at me."
Carrie's eyes widened in startled disbelief as they centered on Julius. Her's weren't the only ones. A lot of people cast questioning glances at their leader, and another breeze of murmurs drifted through the crowd. Even Lin gasped at the statement. She was about to surge forward and object, but Julius's arm snapped upwards and signaled her to stay where she was. His eyes never left Carrie.
The girl blinked puzzledly at Julius. It was obvious that Julius had caught her off guard with his demand, and Carrie needed a moment to sort through the thoughts of feelings that were moving through her head. Even when she had, her answer came very hesitantly, beginning at little more than uncertain stutters and whimpers. "You?" she asked. "But — no! You have been nothing but kind to us. Travis looked up to you like a second father!"
"It is kind of you to say that," Julius replied with a sad smile. "But that does not change the fact that it is my responsibility. You all are. You, Carrie, your brother, and also Lin over there. She probably even more so, for it was me who asked her to hook up with the Rollerz. Everything that followed from that on is on me."
He almost had her in that moment. Carrie winced and whimpered, on the brink of tears. But then she shook her head again, trying to dislodge the doubts that the player and Julius had by now placed firmly within her head.
"But she killed — " she started, trying to rebuild her argument from scratch. Julius didn't let her.
"No she didn't" he repeated, more forceful this time. "She might have pulled the trigger, but it wasn't her that got him killed. I did that. Standing up for something he believed in did that. He knew what he was getting into when he joined. Not a day went by in the Row without somebody getting killed before we came, and that was just from gangs fighting over shit that weren't their's. We knew they weren't going down without a fight, and that is just what we gave them. So yes, your brother died in a Rollerz drive-by and we are all very sorry for your loss, Carrie, truly we are. We feel it too. He was a good kid. But we lost more people today, to ensure that no one will ever be gunned down by blue again, and the woman you are pointing that gun at happens to be the person that made it all possible. The one without whom people would still get wasted by the Westside tomorrow and next week and in three months time. So you better ask yourself, sweetheart: Are you truly avenging your brother right now? Or did we already do that, did SHE already do that when we made sure that nobody — both in or outside this family — will ever suffer the same fate ever again?"
Julius paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. His voice quieted down, and became soft and gentle once more. "It's your choice, Carrie. But you damn better make sure it's the right one. If there is even a single shred of doubt in you, you should put the gun down."
Nobody so much as uttered a whisper. Some were even holding their breaths. The tension was nothing short of tangible, the air charged to the limit with the graveness and scope of the moment. All eyes rested on Carrie, she herself little more than a pitiful pile of misery and uncertainty as she tried to make the right choice, torn between what her head and her heart were telling her to be right thing. By now, she was shaking from head to toe, and the tears were flowing freely, a solemn reminder to all the other Saints how dear the price of victory had been, even in the face of the more recent losses.
Lin still hadn't moved an inch. She would have had ample opportunity by now. She could have sought cover. She might even have pulled a gun on her own or thrown herself at Carrie in a moment of distraction. The player harbored no doubt that in Carrie's unsettled state, Lin would have made short work of her. And yet she hadn't done any of these things. She just stood there, passively awaiting the outcome of the situation, whatever it would turn out to be. It was almost as if she saw herself on trial, and was submitting to the judge's verdict, fully prepared to accept even the most vile of punishments.
Maybe it was this very acceptance that saved her life. After a last long look at Lin, Carrie, at long last, lowered her gun.
The palpable sighs of relief rose like a shudder through the gathered Saints, and to his surprise the player realized that he had been holding his breath as well. He joined in the communal sigh, and the tension built up in his body flowed away, fingers unclenching from their tight grip on the gun and all the strained muscles growing firm and subtle once more. A second sigh followed shortly after the first, this time a sign of his exhaustion rather than relief. Carefully, he approached Carrie and snatched away her gun. She didn't resist. A moment later, one of her friends took her sobbing frame by the shoulders and led her away. The player turned to Julius, and between the two of them, they shared a tired look, followed by an appreciative nod.
"That's about enough excitement for one day," said the player. "You think Johnny will be pissed he missed out on it?"
Julius chuckled. "Nah. Shooting our own girls is something not even he could stomach. I think he is happier where he is."
"We did it, though, Julius. We actually did it."
"Yes we did, but the price was high. You should enjoy the little respite while you can. The next couple of days will be busy ones. Between taking over the Rollerz turf and the heat from the cops, I doubt any of us will get much rest. Better make the most of now."
To the player's ears, truer words had never been spoken. With a departing smile, he turned away from Julius and towards Lin. Only that Lin wasn't there anymore. The player's eyes widened in shock, and began to dart frantically around the courtyard, only to spot Lin at the sidewalk, just in time to see her enter the Destiny alongside Wheels. Her face was the only one in sight that hadn't brightened up after the guns had been lowered. Carrie's little stunt had ruined her mood for good, so it seemed. The player couldn't really hold that against her, but he still felt a hollow aching in his chest that she would just walk away from him like this, after all they had been through over the course of the day. For a moment, he considered following her, but pride and weariness kept him firmly where he was. It had been a long day. Surly, whatever business remained between him and Lin could wait to be dealt with at another opportunity.
Lin took a last draw on her smoke, exhausting the poisonous little stump, and snipped it to the curb. The doors of the car slammed shut, and then it took off, leaving the player standing, and wondering whether he would ever start to get that woman.
The party continued for a few hours. After the more than awkward stand-off, the mood was understandably a little tense. Still, the people were trying to make it work, and there was some laughter and good humor going around every now and again. Things picked up a little when Johnny returned from his errant. He was in high spirits after the day's events, and in his usual manner he sweeping everybody along with crude jokes and extensive boasting of how he had all but dismantled Sharp's mansion. Hearing that Lin had already left after almost getting shot caused Gat to frown, but after a moment he shrugged it off, made some ballsy comment and went of to find a beer and Aisha — precisely in that order.
In the end, it wasn't the mood that broke things up. It was the weather. The sky filled up with clouds, bit by bit, until it was overcast in its entirety. As the minutes passed by, the clouds grew darker and darker, from gray in white to gray and darker gray, and from there to an even darker shade, tinged with purple. Nobody was surprised when it started to rain. A small portion of the Saints refused to end it even then, and moved the party from the courtyard to inside the church. For the majority, though, the change in weather was a rather welcome excuse to call it a day after everything that had happened. They headed off in small groups, sharing cars or walking home in groups of three or four. Even after a party, they still knew that walking around alone wasn't safe.
Johnny invited the player to stay along with the others, but Julius's disciple declined, making up some excuse about feeling dizzy after the crash on the highway. It wasn't exactly untrue, though not the sole reason the player wanted to get out of there. Johnny called him a pussy, but the smile that accompanied the insult took away much of its punch. The player smiled in return and said his farewells. Then he got out.
Having left his own pair of wheels at home and not wanting to bother Wheels twice in one day, the player caught a ride with one of the boys. His lack of sleep from the previous night finally began to show itself in earnest, and on the ride he caught himself twice almost dozing off. Yet when his driver let him out in front of his house, the player didn't go to bed or laid down to doze off on the couch. He hit the shower, drowned a cup of coffee, and was out of the front door again within the hour. The weather had only grown worse in the meantime. The streets and alleys were coated with a constant flow of water, looking slick and shiny like some gray fish-skin. The rain was falling heavily, a constant drumming against the windshield of the player's car. Time passed in a haze, and before he knew it, he found himself in front of Lin's house again. Despite his earlier statement, he told himself that it was all right, that he just wanted to make sure everything was okay, nothing more. Like Wheels before him, the player was forced to double-park, then jumped out onto the streets. Instantly, the angry rain lashed at him with icy kisses and buffeting breaths. Trying to shrink back into his jacket, the player hurried over the street and to the house entrance. Taking the two steps that led up to the door in one go, he scanned the doorbell panel. It looked like it hadn't been changed in ages. Sighing, the player tried to recall on what floor Lin's apartment might have been. It would have been easier had Wheels dropped Lin off at night. That way, the player would at least have noticed the lights going on, but as things were, he had no idea of knowing which bell to ring — if they even worked, that was.
Shrugging helplessly, he chose one of the bells at random. He didn't hear anything from the inside as he pushed the worn button, but by itself that didn't mean anything. Together with the fact that no reaction whatsoever transpired, it meant that this was not the way he was getting into the building. He tried another one — with the same, unsatisfying result. On the third try, he was lucky. A charming elderly woman buzzed him through and actually received him within the stairwell. The player was intrigued. Either the lady had been lucky as hell to survive as long as she did, hid a loaded gun somewhere in the folds of her faded dress, or the Saints' presence had had a more profound and lasting effect on the neighborhood than the player had realized. Not conceited enough to bet it was the latter, the player kept his guard up. But Mrs. Thompson seemed to be a genuinely charming old lady. She was glad to be of help, and pointed him straight towards Lin's apartment three floors above her. It was a good thing the player had come to visit, she said. 'That young lady' — as she referred to Lin — didn't get many visitors according to her, and always seemed so serious and angry that Mrs. Thompson had actually begun to worry about her. "Ain't right," she lamented. "Pretty young thing like that, always with that ugly scowl..." The player laughed a lot during the rest of the conversation, partly because he was simply enjoying himself, partly because imagining how Lin would react if she found out some elderly lady was concerned about her happiness was just pure gold.
The player arrived at Lin's door only after having had to promise Mrs. Thompson that he would put a smile on Lin's lips the next time he saw her. He had not had the heart to refuse the old woman. But given the circumstances of the current situation, he fairly certain he would not be able to stand by that promise. Shaking off a last fond chuckle in memory of Mrs. Thompson, he raised his hand and was about to knock on Lin's door when a certain thought suddenly stopped him dead in his tracks. If Lin was actually home, what would he say to her? Hey Lin, I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay? She would punch him straight in the face for that. Yet it was true. It didn't matter that she could take care of herself. The point was she didn't have to. Not on days like this, at least.
The player let his gaze roam the worn staircase as he tried to come up with some excuse or cover for his visit, but he quickly grew tired of it and just knocked. To hell with the act, he thought. If Lin was going to be pissed at people just for giving a shit about her, that was her fucking problem, not his. Three solid knocks resounded off the wooden door. The player took a step back, and braced himself for anything between a simple scowl, Lin's usual verbal assault, and finding himself looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. Yet none of these things happened, for nothing happened at all. Nothing stirred within the apartment and not a sound was to be heard. The player sighed and tried again, just be sure. Maybe Lin was just asleep. But this second attempt turned out to be as unsuccessful as the first. Either Lin wasn't home, or she was making a point of ignoring him. Neither alternative did much to put the player's mind at ease. He was worried. With another sigh, he knocked his head softly against the flaking white door.
"Jesus, Lin," he whispered. "Where the hell are you?"
With a heavy heart, he drove home.
He awoke on his couch to the blaring noise of his phone. It was dark outside, the drumming rain glinting within the glare of the streetlights. The player groaned. He had no idea how long he had been asleep. The thought of looking at the time didn't occur to him, with the prevalent screeching of his phone tormenting every fiber of his being. With a groan, he grabbed at the device with languid movements. Finally catching it and putting it to his ear, he answered the call, and froze. His mind cleared instantly
Of course it was her.
"It is time," she said. "Same place as last time. Two hours. Don't be late."
Just like that, the line went dead again. To his own surprise, the player noticed that this habit of Lin didn't actually annoy him as much any more. Instead, he found himself chuckling sleepily, wondering whether Lin's phone calls had ever come back to bite her in the ass. Like for example through a demented grandmother picking up some dude's phone, listening to the cryptic message but forgetting about it a few seconds later again since it didn't make sense, with the guy being none the wiser and Lin waiting somewhere in the rain because no one was fucking knowing she was even there. Priceless. At least it was in the player's head. It would serve Lin right for a change. His smile lessened. With him, Lin didn't need to worry, through. He wouldn't leave her standing, not after what they had been through together. Not ever, even if she didn't feel the same way.
His joking mood didn't last long. Soon after the call had ended and throughout his drive to the Glitz, the player's thoughts turned ever more dark and gloomy. There was no doubt why Lin wanted to meet up. From her point of view, they still had a score to settle. She wanted for him to fight her, only to show that she was able to beat him. As if he cared about that shit. It was ironic. He had tried to get in touch with her to make sure no harm had come to her, and now, when she finally reached out to him, it was to do precisely the opposite; to beat his ass to the ground, just for the sake of her stupid pride.
He didn't want to fight her. Not because she was a woman, and certainly not because he was afraid of having his ass handled to him. He just didn't want to fight a friend, not for no reason at all. At the same time, he knew Lin would not let this one go, and he had made a promise to her; a promise he would keep, even though he thought it was completely insane.
By the time he arrived at the Glitz, the constant rain had worked itself into an angry downpour. It was the kind of rain that drenched you through to the bone within a minute, the kind that made even car drivers think twice about going anywhere in this weather. The rain every aspect of the nightly city as it struggled desperately not to drown within the flooding rain. The sound was no exception. Whether it were the drumming droplets of the peltering rain, the splashing of wet tires plowing through puddles of water, or the lapping and hollow gulping sounds as the rain flowed down the drains — the sounds of water were omnipresent.
The streets were all but deserted. Everybody with a least bit of common sense had sought protection inside, leaving only the desperate and crazy to walk the streets. The player wondered which category he belonged to. The Glitz itself looked as it always did; maybe with a few less cars parked nearby and without the smokers and idle chatters outside. The player didn't really care much. He wasn't here to party. Nevertheless, a wry smile darted over his face as he remembered his last encounter he had with Lin here. If only the weather had been as shitty on that night, all of this could have been avoided. In his rain, nobody would be interrupting them.
Lin was already waiting back in the alley. She leaned against the wall in a futile attempt to escape the worst of the rain, half invisible in the shadows, with only part of her hand weakly illuminated by the dwindling amber of a cigarette tugged firmly between her fingers. If she felt any discomfort because of the rain, she gave no sign of it, which was remarkable for as far as the player could see, she hadn't donned a jacket, and was wearing the same clothes that she had earlier in the day. The player felt cold just by looking at her, and was not above pressing his arms closely against his sides and allowing himself a plaintive shiver.
"Well, if this weather isn't just perfect," he complained, trying to sound casually. "Very dramatic, I like it. How long've you been waiting?"
Lin's head turned slowly towards him, as if she was just registering his arrival. The cigarette traveled towards the deep shadows of her face, its light flaring to life when she took a drag and causing parts of her features to flicker into sight for just a moment. Her eyes seemed to look right through him, great black orbs that looked almost inhuman in the brief and fiery glow. Her face was expressionless, almost slack, with drops of water jumping off her chin and her hair drenched into complete disarray. Then the cigarette dimmed again, and was snatched from her mouth, traveling back to her side. Her face once more plunged into darkness. She didn't answer him.
The player furrowed his brows, balancing on the line between confusion and concern. Lin wasn't normally the chatty type, that was true, but this kind of silence was unusual, even by her standards. By now, the player was well acquainted with her signature-scowl, but normally it was mixed in with biting insults and remarks dripping with sarcasm. That, the player could have handled, but the eerie silent treatment was unsettling. She had never before outright ignored a question, too. With an instant, all thoughts about being able to settle this without another fight, or at least not moving past some sort of easy sparring match went down the drain. He didn't get it. Could this stupid re-match really mean so much to her?
"Johnny told me to say hi, by the way," he went on, trying to somehow fill the ensuing silence. "He was sorry to have missed you at the church. But you should have seen him; I have never seen him so goddamn pleased with himself. He even took pictures of himself tearing apart Sharp's mansion. Hilarious, I'm telling ya."
Lin didn't seem to think so. In fact, the only perceivable reaction the player spotted was her body tensing up even more, followed by a forced clenching and unclenching of her fist. She still wouldn't talk, and this time the player lapsed after her into silence. The wind had picked up again, howling over northern Stilwater in short, agitated gusts, lashing the player with a constant bombardment of pattering rain. His jacket was still putting up a fight against the elements, but his pants were drenched through and through by now, and as he stood in silence, staring at Lin's shadowy figure, a small trickling of water traveled down the nape of his neck, sending an uncomfortable chill through his body. Barely able to suppress a shudder, the player's gaze roamed the alley, helplessly looking for some way out of this predicament. But he found none. Drawing air in through the nose and releasing it the same way in a centering sigh, he finally admitted defeat.
"Okay, fine," he said. "How do you want to do this?"
Surely, that was what Lin wanted. Stop all the smalltalk, all the niceties, just get to the point and let the brawl begin. If it was, Lin sorely missed her cue. Her head roamed around — not unlike the player's had barely a few moments ago — even traveling down the far end of the alley. Her hands and arms were shook by infrequent tremblings by now. Whether these stemmed from excitement or rage, the player was unable to tell. Yet when Lin still didn't reply, he was starting to pissed himself. He hadn't come to her to talk to a wall, after all.
"Oh, come on Lin!" he exploded. "I ain't got all day. How do you want to —"
Lin launched herself at him, darting out of the shadows with startling speed. Caught by surprise, the player backpedaled, raising his fists to muster a defense against the sudden ambush. His face contorted into a snarl; so much for beating him straight up! Anger lent him strength, and he reached back, about to sent a vicious swing at Lin that would knock her out of her trajectory. Yet at the last possible moment, his eyes flared wide open and he suddenly stopped. The next moment, Lin crushed into his startled form, throwing her arms around him, and burying her face in his chest. She was cold to the touch, drenched from head to toe, as he had suspected, her form strangely delicate and frail as she hung on to him.
"I don't," she whispered huskily. "Just hold me."
It took the player a moment to adjust, but he had swept her up in his arms before he even realized it. It didn't really matter what had wrecked her so much — she had experienced ample misery to choose from — nor did it matter how unusual it was for Lin to be like this. She had every right to be, and while the player wasn't used to it, he accepted it without hesitation, pressing her a little more firmly against his chest as he did. The only thing of any importance was that he had come to do whatever he could to make her feel better, even if it meant getting the shit beaten out of himself. In a way, the reality of the situation was both better and worse. It was heart-wrecking to see Lin, normally so proud and strong, that upset and beside herself, and the player would have instantly traded her beating the shit out of him in exchange for her happiness. But at the same time, he couldn't deny that holding Lin in his arms felt right, and profoundly so. Plus, not getting beaten up was nice in its own right. But whatever Lin needed, he would do, for — as he realized with ever striking clarity — he never wanted to be without her ever again.
So he stayed with her, standing in the rain, holding her close, and not letting go.
The End