A/N- I decided to post chapter two right away because chapter one seemed kind of flimsy on its own. R&R please, I'd even appreciate tips and criticism!

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own Saints Row or any of its characters. The content of this story was not meant to insult anyone in any way, shape or form. Rated T for violence and coarse language.

Chapter Two: Making an Entrance

"Matt, are you even listening?"

I look up from my cellphone, which I'd been messing with under the table, and try to focus on the conversation.

"What?"

"You're not, are you?" my girlfriend demands and snatches the phone away from me before I can stop her. Tiffany's eyes widen as she looks down at the screen or, more specifically, the person I'd been watching on it.

"What's this?" she says, her voice shrill. I let out a weary sigh and take the phone back from her.

"It's my job, Tiff." I explain, "She's my target and I need her under constant surveillance."

The Saints boss has been a thorn in my side for more than a week now and I'm hardly any closer to catching up with her than I was when I'd started. Every action she performs is unprecedented and seemingly spontaneous; how can I possibly get ahead of someone who never plans anything out?

"Why's the Saints Queen your business?" Tiffany refers to the boss using her celebrity title, "Why can't Loren handle her? Or Killbane, he's all tough isn't he?"

I exit out of the various videos I'd been playing through, all taken from hidden cameras I'd had set up all around the ex-Morningstar now Saints penthouse and attempt to piece together what I'd just seen. The boss and her two remaining lieutenants had been packing some heavy artillery in preparation for something, and they'd headed out pretty quickly. I'll have to get someone to install microphones in the walls, otherwise all this surveillance is useless.

"Loren says my talents are better suited for dealing with her." I mutter. Maybe I should call him. The Saints looked like they were planning something big.

Tiffany takes one of my hands in hers and rubs a thumb over my black nail polish. My girlfriend has always been an open-minded person and my position as the leader of the Deckers is something she seems to take pride in. She flips her dyed hair over one shoulder and squeezes my fingers.

"Look, you're really thinking about it too much. Why don't you just send some of your guys to ambush her?"

I like Tiff a lot, but she's never been the sharpest tool in the shed. One time I'd quoted Romeo and Juliet at her and she'd thought I made it up myself.

"She's too powerful for that," I say quietly, trying to keep my tone even, "She's destroyed everything Loren's thrown at her like it was nothing."

I admire the Saints Queen more than I should.

"Then have them attack her mentally or something."

Some days I feel like I admire Tiff much less than I should.

"I'm working on it." I say. Tiffany smiles at this and goes back to talking about her favorite TV show (which is not Nyte Blayde, unfortunately) like the last few minutes had never happened. What must it feel like to be that airheaded?

I run my forefinger over the screen of my phone, resisting the urge to tap into the Steelport Police Department's camera surveillance system and find a sign of the Saints boss somewhere, anywhere. I'm sitting in Tiff's house, right across the table from her, and we're supposed to be on a date. She deserves more than what I'm giving her.

"Maybe we should go out somewhere," I suggest, effectively cutting her off, "To the cinema, perhaps?"

She looks at me as if she's gauging me for something.

"If you're talking about seeing Nyte Fall again, I'm not interested."

Good God, how could anyone not want to see Nyte Fall over and over again? The actors, the premise, the cinematography! Oh, what I wouldn't do to meet Josh Birk in person. Maybe I can hack into his day planner and arrange something without anyone-

My phone rings then, cutting through my thoughts better than Tiffany's rambling ever could. When I check the caller ID, I'm a bit surprised to see that Viola is the one calling me. She's not unfriendly towards me per say, but I've always had the feeling that she and her sister see me as something less than them. I shrug apologetically at my girlfriend and lift the phone to my ear.

"Viola?"

"Matt. You've got to get down to Morningstar HQ, now."

Viola sounds scared and stressed in a way I've never heard her sound before. I'm out of my chair and grabbing my jacket off the coat rack down the hall in milliseconds.

"What's going on?" I ask, trying to make sense of the situation. I hear what sounds like screaming in the background, and then a dial tone. Dropped call. I reach for the doorknob and yank the door open only to be met with the sight of some sort of explosion set off in downtown. It's too far away for me to hear anything, but I manage to put together that the screams and the lost phone connection must have something to do with the Morningstar Headquarters being blown up.

"No…" I mutter, clutching at one of the columns around Tiffany's porch, "No. This is not happening."

"Oh my God, what is that?!" Tiffany demands as she appears in the doorway behind me. I don't answer her. Telling her will make all of this more real.

"I have to go." I say instead. Before Tiff can stop me I stumble down the driveway and to the door of my black and blue Decker designed Raycaster. On any other day I'd care about this car more than I care about most people. Today I'd crash it into a wall if it meant I'd get to Morningstar HQ any faster.

I race through the streets recklessly, more focused on trying to remember which of my specialists had been at HQ today than on driving. My haste doesn't change anything. The skyscraper I'd spent so much of my time in has been reduced to nothing more than a foundation and smoldering ashes. Police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks surround the wreckage and people rush in and out of it in what looks like military-grade protective gear. I don't recognize most of the people there but, after a few minutes of frantic searching, I run into my right-hand man (or woman, more accurately) Kirsten, and the DeWynter twins.

"Who did this?!" I exclaim furiously, grabbing Kirsten by the shoulder. She spins around to face me and throws her arms around my neck. She's got tears running down her face.

"Isn't it obvious?" Kiki DeWynter says to me, "God, Matt, you're supposed to be the smart one."

"It was the Saints." Viola clarifies hurriedly. My heart plummets down to my stomach at her words. If I wasn't so frazzled, I might have figured out sooner that it was her fault. For God's sake, I'd watched the Saints Queen arming herself and her lieutenants for battle over a camera feed. How could I not have realized?

"Mark w-was in there!" Kirsten blubbers into my shoulder, "And A-Amy! Jeff! Th-they're all dead!"

I pat the inconsolable girl on the back, not sure what else to do at this point. Three out of my five officers are dead. The Deckers are crumbling and the Morningstar are probably gone entirely.

"Loren?" I ask the twins. They shake their heads somberly.

"Gone." Kiki mutters, and she actually seems sad about it. We have no leader. The Saints, who'd seemed so powerless when they'd landed in Steelport two weeks ago, have successfully cut the metaphorical head off of our organization.

"Shit, what are we supposed to do now?" Viola asks her sister. Kiki fixes me with an angry glare.

"If Matt had just done his fucking job, we wouldn't have to do anything."

Kirsten whips her head up at this and rounds on my adversary.

"Don't you dare talk to him like that!"

"I'll talk to him however I want."

"If you think you could've done better, why didn't you just take the Saints Queen out yourself?!" I cut in. I'm furious, which is an unusual thing for me, but I won't let Kiki get away with blaming this on me. Not this one.

"Shut up, all of you!" Viola steps in between us, "We don't have any time for this, Eddie's already at the fifth Morningstar safehouse waiting for us. We've got to move before the Saints come back for seconds."

"Not you," Kiki stops Kirsten as she turns for my car, "Loren's officers only."

"Lay off her, Kiki," I hiss, putting a restraining hand on my advisor's shoulder, "Kirsten, she's right. You can't come along."

The dark-haired girl narrows her eyes at me as if testing my resolve. I don't budge. Kirsten then lets out an angry breath and wipes at the tears on her face.

"Fine." she says shakily, "Fine. I'll just go mourn our friends on my own."

She storms away from us, her hands jammed into her jean pockets, her Bleak Line jacket drawn tight around her body. I'll have hell to pay when I talk to her later on.

"Looks like trouble in Decker paradise." Kiki comments. I ignore her.

"Let's just get going," the kinder twin remarks. The DeWynter sisters turn around in unison and speed-walk away from the crowd around our destroyed Headquarters.

"Right." I say. And I follow them.

Ouch. I can't believe that madman actually hit me with a chair. I mean, I knew Eddie "Killbane" Pryor was crazy but I never thought he'd come at me with furniture just for suggesting that Viola and Kiki would be decent leaders of the Syndicate. This combination of fear and hatred I feel for him is entirely foreign to me.

"Stop whining," Kiki says, holding a bag of ice against my face, "This can't be the first time you've been hit."

"It's the first time I've been hit with a chair." I point out, leaning back against the couch we're sitting on, "I'm just glad he didn't mark my face."

Kiki runs her free hand through her high ponytail nervously and I can tell she's scared of Killbane too. At least he's not here at the moment. He'd spouted something about wrecking a funeral before blowing out of here with more than twenty Luchadores in tow.

"We've got to do something about him." Kiki pipes up as Viola enters the room. The latter flops down on an armchair to the left of us.

"What can we do?" I ask weakly. At this point I'd rather just roll over and let Killbane do what he wants.

"I need time to think," Kiki hands the bag of ice over to me, "Where exactly did Eddie say he was going?"

"Johnny Gat's funeral, in Stilwater." Viola says, "Not sure why they're having one at all, they never found his body. Speaking of which, we didn't either. Don't you think that's a little weird?"

"That doesn't matter right now. Why's he going to the funeral?"

"He's going to fuck it up somehow, Kiki, what else?!"

"Don't get all bitchy with me just 'cause you couldn't stand up to some drugged up macho-wrestling freak!"

I tune out their argument, thinking hard about the information Viola had just passed on to us. I'd done extensive research on the Saints leader before her attack on HQ and I know how important Johnny Gat is to her. Her police records state that she'd gotten arrested for him at least two times (she'd busted out in less than a day in both cases, but that's beside the point) and his hospital records said he'd taken more than a few bullets for her. To say the least, she'll be very unhappy when the Luchadores interrupt his funeral.

I pull my cellphone out of my jacket and run hesitant fingers over its keyboard. Maybe I should tell her. I do have her number since I'd finally managed to hack into Pierce's contact list a few days back, and she'd never find out it was me texting her. I can make my caller ID untraceable if I need to.

Viola lets out a particularly high pitched screech then, snapping me out of my traitorous reverie. The Saints Queen is my enemy; she just killed my boss, for goodness's sake! This feels just like when the Bloody Canoness turned her back on NyteBlayde and attacked him along with the rest of the Cyprian Order. I need to hate the Saints boss. Even if I don't feel it, I need to fake it until I do. I shove my phone back into its hiding place and promise myself that no matter how badly I may want to take it out and contact her, I won't.

This is my last gift to Phillipe Loren. I hope he appreciates it, because it's one of the most difficult things I've ever done.