AUTHOR: Well, I sure hope that people are excited by this update. Special thanks to Dierdre for beta-ing it. And please feel free to review. In fact, I encourage it!
WARNING: This chapter has violence and swearing. You have been warned.
……………………………………
……………………………………
……………………………………
What once used to be an office building had been drastically changed after the Purple Dragons moved in. Probably even more after the newest management had taken over. On almost every floor there was loud music and party lights that flashed in different colors each second, although on most floors there were surprisingly few Purple Dragons actually partying. On almost every floor at least three groups gathered, either talking in hushed tones or arguing, all looking not too happy and agitated, as if waiting for something that no one knew when would come.
The party lights helped M.J. hide the clumsy drawing on his face as he walked up the stairs, making sure his right side was to the wall. When he reached the seventh floor, he was met with a hallway, and stationed at the end were five guards that were clearly supposed to be guarding the double doors, but instead were playing cards or reading comic books.
When M.J. walked closer, one of them noticed him and stood up. "The boss ain't seein' anyone. Piss off."
The rest of the guards had now all noticed M.J., and he quickly became the center of attention. Unfazed, M.J. reached into his pocket in a non-threatening move and pulled out Stone's amulet.
The moment of truth...
"Hun sent me."
The guards' eyes widened in surprise as the rest whispered to each other in hushed tones. Recovering from his initial surprise, the guard chuckled humorlessly. "'bout time you guys took care of that clown. That shit-for-brains has been suckin' up our own stuff from the moment he got 'ere. Why da hell did you wait so long to do this?"
M.J. didn't reply immediately, but instead walked passed the guard and towards the double doors.
"This place isn't exactly one of our most important assets," M.J. finally said as he placed his hand on the doorknob. He then turned back slightly to the guards, his right cheek facing the door. "Don't start yelling about what is gonna happen here. At least, not until it's done."
And with that, M.J. opened the door and walked in. When it closed, the guard took a deep breath and looked at his buddies. "Boys, if that dude's eyes aren't those of a coldhearted killer, then I don't know whose are."
……………………………………
……………………………………
Flashy.
That's about the only word that can describe B.B.'s taste in furniture. And flashy doesn't necessarily mean good. It sure as hell doesn't now.
What might have at one point been the building's main offices, had now been totally converted by… someone who had no taste at all. Nearly every wall had a different bright color with patterns that hurt the eye if you looked at them for too long, along with expensive-looking wooden floors and furniture that would have made a relic from the 80's say 'groovy'.
The entire freaking floor had B.B. written all over it.
Huh, guess that's where all the money went, instead of into Hun's pockets. I'm also beginning to wonder why someone hasn't come and killed that jerk yet.
Pop music suddenly started playing somewhere on the other side of the room, behind the half-closed doors.
But better late then never, I suppose.
……………………………………
Not to M.J.'s surprise, what was behind the doors bore a mocking resemblance to an office. A big window was inset on the left wall, an old filing cabinet to M.J.'s right, as well as an old-fashioned money safe that had been left open, revealing a shotgun, a handful of money, two coke-bags, several empty ones and a small white trail that ended at a desk. And sitting behind that ugly desk was B.B., about to do the same thing he had been doing when M.J. first met him all those years ago. He even said the same thing when M.J. knocked on the open door.
"Buzz off, I'm busy!" And with that, B.B. shoved the straw into his nose and sucked hard on the coke that had been lined up on the round mirror atop his desk. After doing that, he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath and smiling hugely as a slight line of drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He still didn't notice as M.J. walked into the room.
"You just never learned to lay off the blow, B.B. Is that's why you did it? For that coke shit?"
B.B. blinked stupidly as the voice registered to him, his groggy eyes trying to focus on M.J.
"...wha..? Who..." B.B. blinked again, and when he saw who had spoken he seemed to sober up in record time. "Wha... M.J.? The hell you doin' 'ere?"
But M.J. said nothing in reply, simply looking at B.B. as his knuckles turned white when his fists clenched tighter. B.B. licked his lips nervously as his nose started leaking a sluggish line of snot, "Umm... y-yer not still angry 'bout wha I did with yer alligator pet, are ya?"
Having that old memory dragged to the surface was about the last thing M.J. needed. With a snarl he jumped atop the desk and kicked B.B. in the stomach, causing him to fall to the floor coughing and gasping for breath as his fake teeth fell out of his mouth. His original ones had gotten smashed to pieces when M.J. found out what B.B. had done to his pal.
"Leatherhead was a crocodile, you dumbass!" Yelled M.J. as he jumped back on the floor. B.B., still too busy gasping for breath and reaching for his teeth, didn't look like he had heard him.
"Why the hell did you do it, huh? Why the hell did you sell us out? Is that's what B.B. stands for? Backstabbing Bastard?"
Placing his teeth back in his mouth, B.B. turned his angry eyes at M.J., the coke still in his system giving him some small courage. "Yeah! That's what I did! I sold yo all piece of shits 'cause you all deserved it! Ya all treated me like nothin', never gave me goddamn chance to have my star rise, an' now look at me! I'm someone high up! I'm a Lou Tenant!"
"It's pronounced Lieutenant, you doped-up little shit face! An' thanks to you sellin' us out we lost half our numbers in a week! WE GOT SLAUGHTERED! GROVE STREET IS GONE THANKS TO YOU!" The barely kept rage started to reach the surface, as M.J. remembered the chaos that ensued when the Purple Dragons slipped through the backdoor and into Grove Street areas; a door opened by a crack-head. As M.J. yelled in anger, B.B. unsteadily got to his feet, what little courage he had just seconds ago all but gone as he leaned against the money safe, keeping as much distance from M.J. as possible and sweating like a pig.
"S-s-s-s-o? Grove Street was nuthin', a joke! A relic from the past! It was weak 'cause the head family refused to keep up with the times, to find other ways to get some cash an' not always get it from some lousy street races an' robberies! They didn't even allow us to take protection money from people! While everybody else was sellin' an' makin' some dough and buyin' some hardcore guns an' takin' streets, we still stuck to some lousy pee-shooters an' did nothin'! Grove should have gotten wiped out ages ago! I saw a chance for me an' I took it, an' NOW look at me! I got power! I got money! I got babes an' ain't no-one tries to steal from me or give me shit! NOBODY! An' especially not some white boy who shoulda died with the Grove! You're probably only alive 'cause you ran away like a chicken shit!"
The slightly calmer part of M.J.'s enraged mind told him to ignore the last remark, as he narrowed his eyes and hissed through clenched teeth, "Bullshit. You're still the same no-good dope head you've been all your miserable fuckin' life. You were given more chances then you could ever deserve, yet for some unexplainable reason you always fucked up big time an' just whined about it bein' someone else's fault. Hell, you couldn't learn how to drive at all. Remember? We even once said we placed a bag of coke on the other side of the street, an' you weren't even halfway there before you crashed into the only tree in the entire block! Even havin' the gang tattoo was too much, you miserable little-"
B.B. made a clumsy turn as he reached into the money safe for the shotgun, but M.J. was faster. Kicking at the safe's door, it slammed right into B.B.'s arm, and the sounds of bones breaking could be heard, although it was replaced a second later by screaming as B.B. fell to the floor.
M.J. watched as the traitor wailed for his guards to come, slowly crawling towards the door. When B.B. was halfway there, M.J. walked up to him and kicked him in the side hard enough to flip his body around, revealing a face wet with sweat and tears. By the looks of things, he had also wet himself.
"You still haven't changed at all, B.B. You're still a fuckup, a whiner and totally incapable of handling anything," M.J. then reached into his pocket and pulled out Stone's medallion. "Even your own crew wants you dead, an' for once in my life I'm gonna agree with the Dragons."
……………………………………
……………………………………
Stone took a whiff of a newly lit joint, sat against the stairs outside and got totally relaxed. He had almost fallen asleep when the sounds of glass breaking came from overhead, along with a very familiar shrill scream wailing as it got closer.
B.B.'s corpse landed on the hood of his own car, smashing every window in the process. Nearly everyone who was outside screamed in surprise, as Stone blinked repeatedly at the body of his former boss.
"...dude."
……………………………………
When M.J. walked out of the building a large crowd had gathered around B.B.'s landing site, although no one seemed to want to get very close. Some nodded approvingly, while others appeared to be in shock. Walking through the gathered gangsters and up to the car, M.J. placed the shotgun he had taken on the hood and grabbed B.B.'s pink shirt, ripping it open without any hesitation. A tattoo was etched in the same spot across his chest as M.J.'s, except thatthis one had only one word. Grove. B.B. couldn't handle the pain when he was supposed to get it all, and had to settle for that one word.
Reaching into his pocket, M.J. pulled out an old pocket knife and carved an X across the tattoo. The crowd around him gasped as he then raised the knife and plunged it into the center of the dead man's chest, right where B.B.'s heart was.
M.J.'s face held no expression whatsoever as he placed the dragon medallion on the hood, grabbed the shotgun and walked away, the crowd dispersing before him as he walked into the night.
……………………………………
15 minutes later, M.J. was back on the same rooftop he had been on hours ago, holding the broken binoculars in his hands and gazing at the apartment building. There was still a crowd, and no one had yet touched the body.
Before the Purple Dragons even attacked us Groves, we knew we didn't have a chance.
The Purple Dragons aren't just a run-of-the-mill gang. They are too organized, and when they first appeared in New York, the speed in which they worked as they started taking over was just so... totally unexpected. They worked fast, and lots of young people practically fell in love with them because of how good they were at destroying one opposition after another. They also just loved those dragon tattoos.
And when it was Grove's turn, well... everybody knew the score. Us the most. But everybody was also damn determined to make the Dragons pay dearly for every street they took, and to make sure everybody would remember the Grove Street gang. We had the spirit, the numbers and... that was about it. But we all were gonna fight.
Well, everybody except for...
We figured we could hold out for maybe two or three months, but then B.B., that prick, sold us out. He gave the Dragons names and places, opening a backdoor that the Dragons used to the fullest. The first night was the worst, 'cause most of the hits happened at people's homes. Our own were practically killed in their own beds, but the Dragons didn't stop there. They continued without mercy, driving the dagger that B.B. had placed for them further into our backs. An' just as we figured out what was happening and who had betrayed us, the Dragons attacked us from the front.
Grove Street, a gang that had existed for nearly 30 years, ended in about a month.
As far as I know, I'm the only one left. All because I... because I...
……………………………………
The sounds of a truck driving up the street snapped M.J. back to reality. The truck was big and black, with a huge purple dragon painted on each side. It stopped in front of the building, and there suddenly seemed to be a certain... tension among the crowd.
Hmm, I knew that killing someone high up would catch some attention, but not this soon. Must have been in the neighborhood when whoever it is heard about B.B.'s death. Who knows, maybe I'll get two lieutenants in one night. Wouldn't that be something...
Even without looking through the binoculars, M.J. saw that the figure walking out of the truck was big. Very big. And when he did look, he nearly dropped the binoculars for the second time that night.
The giant figure was dressed all in black, although his hugely muscled arms were exposed, showing a big purple dragon on his left arm. His blond hair was tied into a ponytail, revealing three red scars across his left cheek.
HOLY… that's... that's him! I don't fucking believe it! Hun! The freaking leader of the Purple Dragons! What the hell is he doing here!
Hun moved slowly towards B.B.'s car, walking like someone not in the least good mood. Then again, maybe he always walked like that. Regardless, he strode up to B.B.'s dead body and gazed down upon M.J.'s handiwork. The frown on his face got deeper as he picked up the medallion and slowly turned to the crowd, saying something.
Oh man, there's no way this is just some damn coincidence. That bastard was either just cruising by or was heading right here. But if that's the case, then why... Aw, man, he was probably coming here to finally take care of B.B., to make an example of him to all those who paid him late or something. And even though that dump is some backwater place and not really important, not even Hun could ignore the lack of money coming from it for very long.
Man, he sure looks pissed for some reason.
...There's no fucking way I'm gonna miss this chance. The moment I started this damn crusade I knew I was gonna end up dead, but if I manage to get that son of a bitch… Tagging the only known leader of the Purple Dragons? Man, my dead homiez will love it; they might even... forgive me.
There was a certain acceptance in M.J.'s expression as he lowered his binoculars and picked up the shotgun.
But as he turned, a figure came flying out of nowhere and kicked him right in the chest, sending him sprawling across the rooftop. M.J. rolled violently until friction ground him to a halt, and he found himself gasping for air as his blurry vision slowly re-focused itself again.
"(cough) Oh, man... what the (coughcough)..." M.J. continued coughing as he raised himself on his knees.
A figure was suddenly standing in front of him as if it had appeared out of the shadows, its arms folded across its chest in a very cocky way. "So, yer da one who's been doin' all the killin' the past few months. I gotta say, I expected ya to be taller."
M.J. couldn't make out much of his attacker, only that he sounded male, was on the shorter side and seemed to be wearing some sort of a backpack on his back. Two long daggers were on his belt, and a weird red-looking bandana was tied around his bald head, hiding his eyes behind a white slit. He seemed to be wearing some kind of tight, dark green clothes.
"But after seein' yer eyes," the figure continued, as if unaware of his scrutiny. "I can see yer the one alright."
Who the..?
M.J. got to his feet as fast as he could and drew back his right arm to throw a punch, but the figure suddenly became a blur and kneed him in the stomach. M.J. bent over abruptly, his breath knocked out of him again as an elbow came out of nowhere and hit him in the face. M.J. could feel warm blood spray out of his nose, before a kick to the back sent him to the ground once more.
M.J. felt something metal press hard against his ribs and suddenly remembered the SMG he had on him. Getting back up again as fast as he could, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the automatic. Turning swiftly towards where he thought the attacker was, all he saw was an old wooden bird cage of some kind.
A spark of light appeared to M.J.'s right and he spun around, raising the rifle. The moon's glow had reflected off the two daggers the attacker was now holding in his hands as he began to advance. The attacker raised his hands to strike, and without thinking M.J. raised the SMG up to block the daggers. Whatever the blades were made of, they were sharp, for they penetrated the SMG right before the attacker yanked his hands in separate directions, ripping the automatic into two pieces. M.J. blinked dumbly at the pieces he was now holding, but a split second later his feet were kicked out from under him so hard that for a moment he saw the world upside down.
A sharp pain erupted in his side as he suddenly went flying, straight through the wooden shack and skidding across the rooftop until he hit the wall that separated the roof from a long fall. Opening his eyes in pain, he spotted several broken wood planks from the bird shack near him. Lying amongst them was a familiar length of metal, probably the shotgun.
He went to reach for it, when a foot came out of nowhere and nearly broke his arm by slamming it to the ground. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from screaming, M.J. was about to turn and look at the attacker that was now standing over him, but the moon's glow brightened things a bit more and made M.J. see something that he hadn't noticed before.
The foot was not dressed in some dark green pants; the foot was dark green, and it only had two toes. He slowly traced the muscled foot to its owner as the moon's glow illuminated the attacker, who had a cocky grin on his face. A dark green face that didn't seem to have a nose.
Probably because it wasn't human.
"W-wh-what the fuck?" M.J. stuttered, not believing his own eyes.
The thing's grin only widened. "Yeah, I kinda have dat effect on people. But I ain't here to amuse you, just to ask ya why ya been goin' around an' killin' all dose Dragons. Sure, I probably hate 'em more den you, but dese days most of 'em ain't nothin' but a bunch of kids. What are ya gonna do when you aim a gun at some kid? Just kill 'im an' move on?"
M.J. couldn't help but blink at hearing what sounded like a lecture, but once the thing's words sank in his anger made him ignore that he wasn't talking to a human being. "Hey! The Dragons have killed their share of kids, you know! I know 'cause I've seen it with my own eyes, damnit!"
"An' dat guy you just tossed through da window? Did he deserve dat?"
"That little shit deserved a heck of a lot more pain then I managed to give him. An' yet he was nothing compared to other Dragons that are running around in this city right now," M.J. hissed, somehow not liking having someone question him about what he had been doing.
"Oh yeah? Who are you to decide who gets ta live an' who doesn't?" The thing's smirk turned into a snarl as he spoke, and M.J. suddenly realized that he was dealing with a hothead. And pissing off hotheads was always easy.
"HEY! Just who the hell do you think you are? Kermit's evil brother or sumthin'!"
"Kermit?" the thing's eyes blinked in surprise, "...who..?" And then the words dawned on it and an angry snarl appeared. When it bent down closer to M.J., its long daggers shone in the moon glow again, and M.J. feared for a moment his words might have been too much. "I'm a TURTLE! C'mon, say it with me: turtle! T-U-R-"
But it didn't get any farther in showing it knew how to spell. In its anger it had probably forgotten that M.J.'s right foot was between its legs, which he quickly kicked up as hard as he could and hoped that it had balls on the same place as a human. Judging by the high-pitched squealing, it did.
It staggered backwards, its foot slipping off M.J.'s arm. He quickly reached towards the wooden pile, but instead of feeling the familiar metal, all he managed to grab was a wooden plank.
No time, gotta act now!
Raising himself up, he swung the plank towards the thing. It was struck across the head, and the blow must have caught it by surprise, for the force made it stumble right over the wall. A surprised yell was heard just moments before a loud crash echoed from the alley below.
M.J. dropped the wood and breathed heavily, still somewhat traumatized by the thing attacking and seeing it standing over him.
Gotta... gotta calm down and... and... see if it survived.
……………………………………
Calming down his nerves, finding the shotgun and then climbing down the stairs took nearly 20 minutes. When M.J. stepped into the alley, he half expected to the thing lying dead on the street, but instead saw where it had landed.
An open dumpster. Great.
Some garbage was scattered along the street, leading deeper into the alley like a trail. Walking slowly and ignoring the voice in his head telling him how stupid he was, M.J. reached the alley's end and the trash trail, which ended in a half-closed manhole. A bit of red liquid decorated around the edges; probably the thing's blood.
"That can't be good."
……………………………………
Author: Just so you know it, I got nothing against Raph, it's just that I thought him to be the best choise in beeing the first one bumping into M.J., that's all. Sorry if I offended any Raph fans.