Author: Another chapter. Special thanks to Dierdre for beta-ing it. On a side note, I'll be going to London for couple of weeks, and at the beginning of June I'll be working full time at our family's bussiness and a little bit in July too, so I honestly can't say when I'll get the time to write. It may be a while untill the next time I update. Emphasize on may.
PLEASE REVIEW!
WARNING: Swearing and violance.
Floating inside orange goo is strangely relaxing. A part of you knows that you are half-asleep, and another small part wonders why you haven't drowned yet. Maybe the goo is similar to that pink stuff from that movie Abyss? Man, that was a good film. Looks like crap today, but at the time it came out it was at its finest. Whatever the stuff is, after riding on top of a train, the rest is most welcoming.
Wonder how Splinter is doing. Hope his leg healed okay.
Nothing much to do, really. In fact, it's kinda boring. Should have asked for a magazine before stepping into this thing.
Aw, screw it. Being stuck between waking and sleeping sucks. Think I'm gonna catch some z's. Wake me up when Monty is finished with me.
"Hello? Anyone here?" A boy that looked no older than fourteen slowly walked behind the mechanic garage, nervously pulling his duffel bag up on his shoulder. A couple of cars were in the shop waiting to get fixed, and somewhere a radio was playing old country music. As the boy walked between the two cars, he suddenly stumbled and almost fell when he tripped over a leg that was stretched out on the floor.
"Ow!" The owner of the leg rolled out from under the car he had been working on, revealing an African American in his late fifties wearing dirty mechanic overalls. He slowly looked at the boy from top to bottom, as if measuring him up, before finally speaking, "So, you must be that kid I was told to expect. M.J., right?"
"A-actually, sir, my real name is-"
"Save it, kid. Once you get a street name, you're stuck with it for life, so you'd just better get used to it." The old man grunted slightly as he got up, and as he pulled out a dirty handkerchief to clean his filthy hands, he slowly shook his head in disbelief as he gazed down at the boy once more. "Jesus, you kids get younger and younger every damn time. I know Grove has been going through some tough times lately, but I sure as hell didn't suspect it was bad enough to recruit kids who haven't hit puberty yet. Or who are of the lighter skin tone," he mumbled half to himself as he turned, walking to the car's open hood and beginning to tinker with the interior.
The kid fidgeted a bit, unsure what to do. "Umm, M-Mr. Hankson-"
"Emet, kid, call me Emet. You calling me Mr. makes me feel more older than I already am."
"Emet... w-where will I be sleeping?"
"There's a small room behind the garage office that has a bed. I sometimes use it when working late, but since your stay here is supposed to be only temporary, you can use it. Now, there are only two things I expect from you while you're staying here. One, if I ask you to do something, you do it. And second," Emet pulled away from the hood and looked squarely into the kid's eyes, "there are stairs in the office that lead to the basement. Never go down there. Understand?"
"Y-yes, Emet."
"Good boy. Hand me the screwdriver that's on the floor beside you," Emet said as he bent over the hood again. M.J. picked it up wordlessly and handed it to Emet. "Thanks. Now, is it true what I heard? That you got kicked out of an orphanage?" Emet's voice has changed to a conversational tone, and the kid relaxed a bit.
"Yeah, the sisters went nuts when they heard I had a gang tattoo. They all but splashed me with holy water when they threw me out." Considering the boy's age and how he told the tale, he seemed to be alarmingly undisturbed by the experience.
"Well, kid," Emet said absentmindedly as he tweaked the engine, "look on the bright side. At least you got out before one of them priests got a hold of ya."
"...what?"
Emet froze when he realized what he had just said. "Umm, n-nothing, kid, nothing. Say, wanna learn how to drive?"
"You sure you're ready for this?"
"Hey, man, chill! I been waitin' for dis day my whole fuckin' life! Ain't no way I'm gonna mess it up, B.B.!"
"Hey!" The big guy turned in his seat and glared at the passenger. "I don't go by that name," he growled, "and the sorry son of a bitch that has it is such a fuckup, you callin' me dat is da worst kind of insult. I've beaten up fuckheads for less, but since you're young an' stupid, I'll let it slide. This time. Got it, punk?"
The kid looked almost petrified. "H-hey man, chill! I-I didn't mean anythin' by it, I'm sorry, Big Bear!"
Big Bear gave the kid one last glare before turning back in his seat. Even though many were easily intimidated by his size, Big Bear's face usually showed warmth and a good sense of humor, but this time his expression was hard.
"Tell me what yer supposed to do," Big Bear said as he scanned the street for any signs of trouble.
"Dat's easy, man. We gonna wait 'ere 'till dat fat foo' shows up, an' 'den I'm gonna ice that motherfucker. Easy as fuck, man," said the teenager with the dreadlocks, stroking the gun like it was his manhood.
"Glad your attention span is a bit longer then five minutes," said Big Bear, a slight frown marring his face as he eyed the target's building.
The teenager just snorted. "I just got one question, Big Bear."
"Yeah?"
"What in 'da fuck is that white boy doin' 'ere?"
"Hey, the white boy's gotta name, an' it's M.J.," snapped the fifteen-year-old teenager, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly.
The hotheaded teenager in the back of the car looked like he had a nasty retort ready to spout, but Big Bear beat him to it. "You ain't the only one that's goin' through initiation, Dennis. If both of you don't fuck this up, it will mean dat 'da Grove will know dey can count on ya when needed. Now shut the fuck up, both of ya, an' wait."
The silence lasted for nearly five minutes.
"Big Bear..." M.J. slowly said.
"Mmm?" rumbled the big man, not exactly pleased that the white boy had broken the silence, although he wasn't going to ignore him, either.
"...what did he do? The guy Dennis over 'dere is gonna whack?"
"Whack?" Dennis snorted. "Jesus, man, you sure you on 'da right side 'ere? I think 'da mafia is just 'round the corner 'ere," he said mockingly, sniggering at his own joke.
"Shut. The fuck. Up," growled Big Bear. Dennis just shrugged and looked out the window. For a moment Big Bear said nothing, until he answered without looking at M.J.. "You heard about the crackdown at that high school near here, where some drugs were found in dat kid's locker?"
"Kinda hard not to. It's been all over the news."
"Yeah, well, turns out that the fatass we're waitin' for was da one who sold 'da stinkin' base to them kids, an' we gotta get 'im before the Five-o does. If dat happens, he might start squealin' an' sayin' dat he was just doin' what the Head Families of 'da Grove told him to do. We can't take dat kind of heat right now."
"You mean... the guy's a Grover?"
"Bingo. Why, you havin' some second thoughts?"
"No, no, just… surprised, dat's all. That the guy?"
"Hell, yeah. Dennis, you ready?"
"I was born ready!"
And for several months afterwards, the thunderous sounds of gunshots would echo in his ears.
"Is this some kind of fucking joke?"
Nearly everyone in the warehouse was snickering. "Why, M.J., what makes you think that?" More snickers.
"Oh, I dunno. Maybe 'cause dat thing looks like it'll fall apart if I breathe too hard on it?"
"Dat thing happens to be yer gang gun, M.J.. It symbolizes yer full acceptance into our gang, an' should anyone mess with you, they'll be messin' with all of us. Now go on an' take yer new gun."
"Nothing new about this thing," M.J. mumbled loudly as he carefully lifted the antique gun off the table. As if to emphasize his point, a small screw fell off it and hit the floor.
The entire warehouse rumbled in laughter.
"Man, I still can't believe those assholes did this to us! We did nuthin' 'cept just stand near that fucking shop!"
"Yeah, well, I sure as hell believe it, Patch. 'least they didn't keep us 'dere overnight."
"An' dats gonna make it all better, how exactly?"
"Man, fuck this! Ain't no way that clerk asshole is gonna get away with this! I say we head over 'dere an' smash his store up good!"
"Hell, yeah!
"I'm in!"
"What 'bout you, M.J.? Feelin' like lettin' off some steam?"
The white teenager looked at Dennis 'da Menace like he had just grown an extra head. "Did you forget yer nose in 'dat cell or sumthin'? I don't give a fuck what you guys are gonna do. Me, I'm gonna head home, take a long shower an' burn these damn clothes!"
"Man, watching 'dat bum puke all over M.J. as he slept was funny as hell! A true Kodak moment if I ever saw one!" The three punks laughed hard as M.J. yelled at them to shut the hell up, all the while trying to wipe the stinking puke off his clothes without actually touching it.
"Whatever, man! You guys do whatever the hell you wanna do! Me, I'm headin' home. Later, dogs," M.J. said as he parted from the group and walked towards the park to take a shortcut home.
"Man, that guy better not have AIDS," growled M.J. as he threw his stinking jacket into the big lake. No one was around so late at night, so it bothered him little. But just as he was about to walk away, something near the shore caught his eye.
"The hell?" It was too dark to properly make it out, but from what he could see, it looked like some kind of bone. Still not really thinking, he bent down and picked it up. The thing turned out not to be a bone, but an egg that was strangely white.
"How long has it been 'dere?"
"Couple of weeks."
"Ain't it dead or sumthin'?"
"These things take time, dog."
The group was huddled around a small table in Emet's garage, staring at a small box filled with grass and a large, pearlescent egg. Above it hung a red heating lamp.
"That's an odd lookin' egg, M.J.. What do you think is inside?" one of them finally asked.
"Those big birds with those long, yellow beaks. The type that delivers babies an' stuff," replied M.J. without taking his eyes off the egg.
"The stork? Here? In New York?"
"Hey, either that or a mutant-chicken."
"Ain't it possible it got out of a zoo or sumthin'?"
"Could be."
More minutes passed where no one said anything, including Emet. They all just stared wide-eyed at the egg.
"Man, I'm hungry. Should I order some-"
"Yo! Did ya'll see that?"
"The egg just moved!"
The group leaned in closer as the egg shifted slightly, and a zigzagging crack began to form.
Then the occupant's head burst through the thin shell, and several of Grove's toughest members squealed in sheer fright as they jumped away from the egg, some falling to the floor while others automatically reached for their weapons. Even Emet took a step backwards, although that might have been mostly due to how the others reacted.
As for M.J. himself, the only things that moved were his eyebrows, which went all the way up as the young gangster and the crocodile hatchling looked into each other's eyes.
"Well... that was unexpected."
"I heard today that the Riverbank Boyz just got whipped by this new gang, the Purple Dragons. That's the fifth gang in this month alone. The streets are filled with tension, everyone's all on edge and for good reason, too. Up until now, those Dragons had left the big gangs alone and worked on the smaller ones instead, and even though the Riverbank Boyz couldn't be described as a very big gang, they sure as hell didn't qualify as small time, either. Rumor on the street is that the Dragons are stepping up their expansion. With the Boyz's turf now under their control, they can launch an attack from the Chainheads' turf to the El Diablos. An' if they do that and win, they'll be just a couple of blocks away from us," M.J. said softly as he gazed up at the stars. He was at his secret place, though it really wasn't that much of a secret, since it was on the roof of the apartment building he lived in. At the moment, no one else was with him as he lay back in his old sun bed, a cooler with beer on his right, and a stereo playing country music on low volume.
It was a perfect place to momentarily escape the 'hood's madness and just relax, although this time his secret spot did little to calm him. "I'm... well, scared. More so than usual. You'd think I wouldn't be, since up until now everything about my life was uncertain; whether I was gonna get whacked by another gang or some overzealous cop, or if I screwed up a job so bad the Head Families decided to get rid of me. Before, these kind of thoughts never left me alone for one stinkin' minute, but now, since the big fight between Grove and the Dragons has all but happened, is an event that will happen, you'd think I'd feel relieved to finally know something that ain't just speculation. But... I'm not relieved. I'm scared. Terrified. More than once I've thought about leaving, but... where would I go? I've been in New York all my life, I ain't got some scholarship or whatever, and the only thing I'm good at is driving and pissing people off, so... where would I go? What would I do? Being a gangster is all I know. And losing that is... what terrifies me so much."
For good few minutes after his confession, M.J. remained silent and just looked up at the stars. Then, as a police helicopter passed nearby, he looked down at his chest, where Leatherhead had coiled around himself, an unmistakable chirr coming from the small hatchling as M.J. gently traced his finger over the croc's head and down on his back.
"Some listener you are."
As M.J. walked around the corner and saw his apartment building, he silently cursed Dennis and broke into a jog. The party seemed to be at its peek, for heavy rock music poured from nearly all the windows. As he neared the place he could see Dennis just outside the front doors, speaking to two other Grovers. From the looks of things, he was rather upset.
"Hey, Dennis!" M.J. yelled when he got close enough for his voice to reach Dennis, who in turn looked momentarily startled, although maybe not just by surprise.
"Oh, uh, M.J., umm, yer here early. What, uh, wassap?" Dennis stammered with a nervous grin, while the other two Grovers stepped away a bit. They were all acting weird, but M.J. just ignored it since he had more important things bothering him.
"Goddamnit, Dennis, you should have told me you were havin' a party! Leatherhead must be scared shitless now!" He had some other nasty things in his head to call Dennis, but the thought of the poor little hatchling terrified because of all the music pushed all that away. As he was about to make his way inside, however, Dennis reached out and stopped him.
Dennis and M.J. might have gotten off to a rough start, but as time passed the two had quickly become friends, even though they couldn't have been more different. Dennis 'da Menace; black, a Soldier in Grove, a horrible driver and the resident hothead. M.J.; white, a driver who had never fired a weapon save at bottles and cans. Both had been through some nasty shit together, but M.J. had never seen Dennis look so uncomfortable and... guilt-stricken?
"Ah, M.J., dere's... dere's sumthin' you should know. Somethin'... sumthin' happened, man, couple of hours ago at the party. I'm... I'm sorry."
"What happened?"
"Look, n-no one realized what happened 'till it was too late. I locked yer room with ol' Leatherhead in it before the party started, I swear, but..." Dennis just closed and opened his mouth as he tried to continue, but when he had mentioned Leatherhead, a near bottomless pit of dread opened up in M.J.'s stomach.
He took a step forward and got up in Dennis's face. "What. Happened."
"Goddamnit, man, think 'dis through! Ain't no way yer gonna get away with 'dis!" M.J. continued ignoring Dennis as he marched down the street, prompting his friend to continue with his pleas, "Look, B.B. is a pussy, a wannabe pimp, a coward, a fuckin' addict, doesn't know jack from anythin' at all, an' 'dere's not a man alive that hasn't met the little bastard an' wanted him dead! But 'dere's a reason why dat hasn't happened an' dats 'cause he's connected! He knows which asses to kiss! An' da last thing we need now is Grove killin' Grove! We gonna need everyone when 'da Dragons attack! Will you just-"
Without looking, M.J. elbowed Dennis in the stomach, nearly causing him to collapse to the pavement. M.J. continued walking without a backward glance.
Some of the party guests had heard what happened and what M.J. seemed to be planning on doing, and felt like that would be more interesting than the party. They decided to follow a couple of meters behind them, keeping a safe distance from M.J..
Reaching a corner, he saw his target, hanging outside the local bar.
"-an' then 'da bitch said; "But-but-but, master! I need this money for my sick momma! If I don't pay the hospital, they'll kick her out!" Fuckin' whore, tryin' to scam out in givin' me my cut."
"What did you, Mr. B.B.?" asked Jarhead, the tall, muscled brute who acted as B.B.'s bodyguard and all but licked his shoes on a regular basis. He was also as stupid as his nickname suggested. Him thinking that having B.B. as a friend was actually a good thing was proof enough of that.
"What did you think I did, foo'? I slapped 'da dumb bitch so silly, her eyelashes fell off! No one tries to get away with givin' me my cut! Especially not some two-bit stinkin' tramp like dat!" Some other people were also outside the bar, who seemed to be planning on going inside to avoid B.B., just shook their heads when they heard his boast about slapping one of his girls. No doubt he'd had someone else do it, since the first woman he ever tried to push around had pepper-sprayed him.
B.B. was about to say something else, but was brought to a halt when M.J. smashed the stock of his old pistol into his face. He fell to the ground with a girlish squeal of fright and pain.
"H-hey! You leave Mr. B.B. alone!" roared Jarhead, charging at M.J., but a kick to his groin brought him down as well.
"What-what-what-what the-" B.B. stammered as he shakily turned around to see who had struck him. When he saw M.J. he looked momentarily surprised, "Y-you..." He paused, and his face twisted into sneer. "Yer dead, white boy! Fuckin' dead! No one messes with me an'-"
He was cut short when M.J. hit him in the face again. He started wailing for Jarhead to help him, but the brute was still on the ground clutching his groin. B.B.'s screaming was abruptly muffled when M.J. shoved the gun barrel into his mouth.
"M.J.! No! Don't-" Dennis screamed as he came running towards them, but it was too late.
CRUNCH
The sound of teeth breaking was heard when M.J.'s fist hit B.B.'s jaw, forcing immense pressure onto the teeth forced against the gun. Dennis stopped dead in his tracks and blinked stupidly at what he had just seen and heard, as M.J. hit B.B. again, twisting the gun in his mouth in the process. Other people outside the bar shared Dennis' expression at what they were seeing, yet no one made a move to stop it.
Only after the fourth or fifth hit did Dennis snap out of it. "Separate 'em! Separate 'em!" he shouted. He leapt at M.J. and tried to drag him away from the screaming B.B., but M.J.'s fury had given him extra strength, and he proceeded to deliver the next blow.
In the end, it took five guys to drag him away from B.B., who was forced to eat baby food for nearly six months before finally scraping up the money to get false teeth.
"Leatherhead? You in there?" called M.J. as he peered into the small sewer pipe. The beam from his flashlight didn't reveal anything, and he soon moved on, keeping to the footpath that ran along the interior of the sewer pipe. He kept this up for hours, walking around and calling out his pal's name with the smallest hope he'd find him, until hunger and fatigue forced him to climb back to the surface.
"God-damn! You stink!" exclaimed Dennis as M.J. climbed out of the manhole that was on the same street as his apartment, his clothes reeking from sewer stench and... other stuff. M.J. said nothing as he sat on the edge of the manhole, his feet dangling idly. After a few seconds had passed in silence, Dennis spoke again, "Did... did you find anythin'?"
"No."
"Well, I dunno if you actually will fin' 'im again. I mean, it's been over two weeks already. I don't think he's, well..." Dennis made a gesture with his hands, but M.J. didn't see it, apparently too busy looking at his flashlight. Dennis seemed to be thinking about something, then somewhat hesitantly spoke again, "I dunno, maybe... maybe its all for da best, y'know? I mean," he quickly added, "I loved da little guy an' everythin', but what 'bout when he grew up, y'know? How would you feed him an' stuff, know what I mean?"
Dennis looked at M.J. with slight nervousness, who said nothing for several long seconds. "...yeah...maybe," he slowly said, though he didn't believe it. M.J. then chose to finally look up at Dennis. "Are you here to kill me?"
"What?" Dennis blinked, and then realized what M.J. had just said. A hurt expression appeared on his face. "Aw, hell no, man! You know I'd never do dat! We're buddies! Why da the hell would ya think somethin' like dat?"
M.J. just shrugged. "You said it yourself. B.B. is connected and since I smashed his teeth, well..."
"Yeah, dat you did. An' yeah, B.B.'s been screamin' bloody murder to 'da head families 'bout killin' you for what you did to him, but even though dat foo' got connections, they ain't dat good. In fact, yo stupid act has people thinkin' that maybe yer not such a harmless, whimpy white boy like everyone always thought you were. Anyway, we gonna need everyone we can get when 'ose damn Purple motherfuckin' Dragons attack. Killin' our own ain't exactly gonna increase our winnin' chances, know what I mean?"
"Yeah," replied M.J., with an indifference that worried Dennis even more, "...has anythin' happened yet? With the Dragons, I mean?"
"Naw, man, nuthin'. They been expanding like crazy ever since dey showed up 'ere, an' now they suddenly stopped? A lot of people are edgy, man, lot of bickering between 'da families an' shit. I'm worried, dog; it's never been 'dis bad before. Ever."
Despite the rare worry in Dennis' voice, M.J. only nodded as his gaze fell to the ladder leading back down to the sewers. "Is that the only reason why you're here?"
"I wish. It's Big Bear."
At hearing the name, M.J. looked sharply up at Dennis. "What happened?" he asked, although the tone of his voice suggested he had an idea or two.
"Seems like he's disappeared again, man. 'Da guys at the rehab center haven't seen or heard from him for over a week now."
M.J. sighed deeply, his thoughts confirmed, and wearily ran a hand through his hair. "...alright, just gotta change clothes and maybe a shower or two, then I'll meet up with you."
"A'ight, we'll be waitin' for you at Reeces'. See you 'dere, dog," Dennis said, turning to walk away. M.J. sat motionless for a few seconds before he slowly got up and started heading for his apartment. After taking a few steps, he stopped and turned around to look at the manhole, as if hoping to hear or see something. But nothing came out of the sewer access, and after waiting a bit, he slowly turned away and headed to his home.
The club was in an uproar.
Everyone was shouting at each other. A lot of angry faces were in the crowd, and just as many fearful, too. All of them were packing heat. A nineteen-year-old M.J. pushed through the crowd as he tried to reach the bar where Dennis was.
"Hey, Dennis!" M.J. shouted as he stood next to him, trying to make sure his voice would reach. Dennis just nodded, looking like he hadn't slept for over a week.
"M.J., I see you got 'da call, too," he responded in a raised voice, just loud enough for M.J. to hear.
"Yeah, but I wasn't told what it was all 'bout. You know anythin'?"
"Naw, man, just 'dat it looks like Web has called just 'bout everyone 'ere in 'da street. Must be sumthin' big since yer here, too." Dennis didn't mean anything bad with his words, because it was the truth. Since M.J. wasn't a Soldier, the only time he was called was to sit behind the wheels and drive. Looking around the crowd now, the majority were Soldiers, true, but there were also others who weren't. Dennis was right; something big was being planned. Desperate, but big.
Dennis said something, but M.J. didn't hear it. "What?"
"I said, have ya heard what happened last night?"
"The Dragons struck again?"
"Dey did more then dat, foo', dey attacked where Sledge, Balls, Eyebrow an' Riley lived."
"They're... dead?" M.J. asked, utter disbelief written on his face.
"Fuck, yeah. Gunned down Sledge an' Riley in their own beds, for Christ's sake." Dennis shook his head and drank his beer, while M.J. just stared at Dennis slack-jawed, and then slowly looked around the club, now knowing why everyone was so damn upset.
"Yo! Everybody shut the fuck up!"
Everyone quickly fell silent and all eyes went to the stage, where Web stood with a microphone in his hand. "'Dose stinkin' motherfuckin' Dragons have finally decided to strike against 'da Grove, but instead of comin' face to face with us they instead sneak behind us and slit our throats!"
A roar went through the crowd. No one needed to be reminded of that. But Web kept on talking, "An' you know why? 'cause dey are afraid, dats why!" the roar became mixed with cheers, "'da Grove been aroun' for nearly thirty fuckin' years, an' anyone dat's been stupid enough to try an' challenge us, we rolled 'em over!"
The cheer strengthened slightly, but someone could be heard shouting, "But dey got fuckin' state-of-the-art automatics!"
"Not anymore!" shouted Web, and the entire club fell in an almost stunned silence. "I just got a call from Brian a couple of hours ago, an' he an' his homies hit one of 'da Dragons' suppliers! We gonna use their own weapons against 'dose stinkin' motherfuckers! We gonna strike back at 'em, take back our streets an' avenge 'dose 'dat were killed in their own stinkin' homes!"
The cheer threatened to bring down the house.
Everyone was leaving the club and heading to their cars, all of them in high spirits at the thought of finally matching the Purple Dragons' firepower. M.J. and Dennis were also going to M.J.'s car, when someone called from behind, "Yo, Dennis!"
Both turning, they saw Web walking up to them.
"Dennis, I want yer stinkin' ass ridin' with me. M.J., you drive. Let's go." And with that, Web, one of the head families' Lieutenants, walked to his car, leaving Dennis and M.J. looking at each other in utter disbelief. And then both remembered who had told them to tag along, and they hurried to Web's car.
"An' make sure we're da first ones to arrive," Web said as M.J. started the car.
"Okay," replied M.J., not really sure what else he could say.
As he skillfully drove passed parked cars and moving ones, Dennis was heard asking, "S-so, Web, how many did Brian lose when 'dey stormed da place?"
"B.B. didn't say."
"B.B.?" asked M.J., glancing momentarily at Web before looking back at the road. "I thought Brian had called you?"
"Naw, 'da bitch B.B. was da one callin'. No surprise since Brian is 'da one B.B. answers to. Anyway, he told me Brian was too busy unloading dose guns in our warehouse, an' he told him to make the call. Now step on it, I wanna get my hands on dose fancy assault rifles."
"Where is everyone?" M.J. asked no one in particular as they drove inside the old warehouse, the rest of Web's crew following behind him M.J. stopped the car deep inside the warehouse and the others parker theirs behind.
"The hell?" said Web as he exited the car. The warehouse was empty; no Brian, no weapons. "The fuck is goin' on here?" Web yelled at the other guys, who only shrugged.
"I got a bad feelin' 'bout this," M.J. mumbled to Dennis as they got out of the car. Dennis only nodded grimly, keeping a grip on his gun, although he didn't pull it out.
"What 'da hell is goin' on, Web? Where are dose weapons you promised us, huh?" barked Zero, who made it no secret that he'd had his eyes on Web's position for years. Behind Zero, some of his own gang stood with him, and in a record time the warehouse was filled with tension and anger.
"Zero, you dumb-motherfucker, now is not 'da time! Can't yo see 'dat we're in a middle of a fuckin' war?. !" snapped Web, although he was smart enough not to reach for his weapon. Some people slowly made their way to Web's side, silently stating which one they followed. Even though Zero and his gang were outnumbered nearly two to one, it didn't seem to stop him from challenging Web.
"All I see is a losin' battle dat is led by fuckheads like you. You promise us weapons an' a chance to get back at 'da Dragons, but yer words are 'bout as full as 'dis warehouse." The tone of his voice, his stance and the look in his eyes told everyone that he had chosen this moment to pull a coup. Without a doubt, everyone would have started shooting at each other, if a familiar shrieky voice hadn't sounded from up above.
"Up here, shitheads!" Everyone looked up automatically, and there he was. B.B., standing on the warehouse's second floor, looking down at all the Grovers with a punchable smirk on his lips, as if he knew something the others didn't.
"B.B.?" Web said, looking momentarily surprised, but the expression was quickly replaced by a scowl. "'Da fuck is goin' on, B.B.? You told me Brian had got some weapons! Where 'da fuck are dose heaters an' where 'da fuck is Brian!"
"Brian's dead, foo'," B.B. said, the smirk intensifying as if he was about to drop the punch line, "an' as for 'dose weapons, they're right here." As if on cue, twenty fully armed Dragons appeared behind the railing above them, all taking aim at the Grovers. Utter surprise and disbelief couldn't begin to describe the expressions on the betrayed gang members' faces, and the only one that said anything was B.B., who was laughing in that squeaky voice of his.
"Say hello to my new friends!"