[center] [img]http://i.imgur.com/uRFBukv.jpg[/img] [/center]

The large manor house sat just outside the verges of Santa Somabra, away from all the noise and heat of the big city. It was joined onto something that had once, many lifetimes ago, been a farm, but had since fallen into a state of disrepair.  Way back when, the old building had belonged to the Hanged Men, but nowadays the Reapers used it as a safe house, amongst other –darker- things. 

Madeline Holinghurst sat at the end of the long wooden table that stretched out across the spacious attic. A plain white cloth covered the table, and a gentle night-time breeze drifted in through an open window. 

“Three dead, and their Runez taken.” Sklazz was saying in his cold, calculating voice. He undid a button on his simple blue shirt, revealing a tuff of brown chest hair. “Ran it over with the mooks downstairs; all fingers point at the Rats.” 

“Bullshit.” Rekland spat in a cold sneer “Our name means something. No body fucks with us, ‘specially not some mangy creeps who spend their time lurkin’ about in sewer water and dog crap.” Rekland had worked his way up from bottom of the pyramid, and his body was adorned with the necrotic tattoos that the lower-level Reapers covered themselves in. Skeletal limbs had been inked over his exposed forearms, and a pale white skull covered his face. 

“It’s possible that this might be one of the families trying to push the blame off onto some of the street-levels.” Grog said plainly, the Ogre leaning back in his massive chair. 

“Unlikely,” said Maddie, her rough voice cracking like an icy whip “the families have no reason to hide moving in on our turf. They’re bigger than us. The little mouse might quiver in his burrow at the sight of the fox, but wolves sure as shit don’t.” 

“It’s the Rotfaces, then!” piped up Rekland, slamming his fist into the table “those zombie freaks are gonna rue the day they-“ 

“That’s it then is it?” Sklazz cut in, clearly unimpressed. “It must be the Rotfaces, must it? You gonna head over there right now and sort ‘em out, is that right?” 

“Damn –fuckin’- right I am!” bellowed Rekland, pushing back his chair and springing to his feet. 

“Sit down, boy. You’re embarrassing yourself.” Grog said with a heavy sigh, propping up his giant head with one great meaty hand. 

“The bad blood between us and the Rotfaces isn’t exactly a secret, kid. They’d revel in the idea of fucking up our deals. If they were the ones who’d turned our guys into chowder then Diego would be outside right now with a megaphone, singing ‘fuck the Reapers’ to the high heavens.” Madeline wove a lock of her jet black hair around her finger as she spoke, forming an elegant little loop “the Rotfaces didn’t do this.” 

Madeline leaned forwards, delicately scooping a long silver fork up off of the table, which she used to pick at the dirt beneath her pale finger nails. “Make a scene like that again in one of my meetings and I’ll make an amuse-bouche out of your liver.” She said, as though she were discussing the weather. 

Rekland sat down. 

“What makes your people think it’s the Rats, then?” asked Grog, after a pause that was uncomfortable to everyone other than Madeline; who was quite content to stare down Rekland with her unsettling maroon eyes. 

“Tip off from one of my guys in the SSPD,” said Sklazz “Some punk kids managed to pull off a bank robbery in Martovanni territory. Walked right through the vault door, then vanished like it was nobody’s business.” 

“Think it was our Runez?” asked Grog 

“Seems mighty coincidental if it weren’t.” grunted Sklazz. 

“Do we know who any of them are?” asked Maddie, reluctantly tearing her withering gaze away from Rekland, who was shifting about uncomfortably in his chair. 

“Fuck-witts waltzed right into the bank unmasked, probably high as all hell. The fuzz tagged ‘em straight away. Had my guys make sure none of that stuff made it into the police report. Figured you’d want to pay them a visit.” Sklazz replied with something vaguely akin to a smile, out of place on his sombre visage. 

“Sklazz, you’re my very own fallen angel.” Maddie beamed with glee, showing off vicious fangs, the corners of her mouth twitching like a fly in a spider’s web. 

“Couple of deadbeats; James, Aaron, and Michael Barrison. Brothers.” Sklazz said, reciting the names from memory. “Got the address of the shitty little apartment they’re renting, and everything.” 

Rekland was on his feet in a flash “Let’s get over there right now, and show-“

A flash of steel, then a lean switchblade was protruding from his trachea, and blood was bubbling and frothing in his mouth. Wide-eyed, Rekland crumpled into a heap on the floor, the switchblade sticking out of his throat like a great steel icicle.   

Madeline stood over him, yanking the blade out of the boy’s throat, delicately cleaning the blood off on Sklazz’s sleeve. 

“In retrospect,” Maddie said, blushing slightly “that may have been a bit hasty.” 

[center]*[/center]

Madeline tasted the air. There was a vivid electricity pulsing through the night, awakening her most primal senses. 

The door burst open, falling from its hinges, and in an instant she was leaping over the wreckage; machete gripped tightly in one hand, harpy knife tucked discretely into the pocket of her red blazer. A dopey-looking teenager in tracksuits sat hunched over on the stairs, crack pipe falling from his fingers as the vampress came hurtling forwards. 

“Jimmy!” He screeched, and then he was a dark red stain on the wall. 

The next brother came bolting out into the hallway, scrambling through the doorway, before an inhumanly strong kick sent him hurtling backwards into the living room. James Barrison tumbled into the armchair his now deceased brother had scavenged off of the curb a week ago, smashing into its armrest and collapsing on to the carpeted floor. 

Michael Barrison had been watching TV on the apartment's brand new flat screen, but promptly turned it off when his brother James came flying into the lounge. 

Maddie stepped delicately into the living room, swinging her machete rhythmically around in one hand. 

“I think you have something that belongs to me.” 

Michael was up in a flash, darting for the Glock which was lying on a nearby coffee table, but Maddie was faster, and pretty soon he was looking down the barrel of his own gun. 

“I only need one of you alive,” Madeline announced “so feel free to fuck me off, I’m in the mood to break some spines.” 

Maddie winked at the petrified Michael, cocking the Glock’s hammer. 

“A-aron, is he..?” James Barrison stammered from his heap on the floor. 

“Figure that out all by yourself?” Maddie said with a shrill laugh.
 
“Jimmy, man…” James sobbed, curling up in a ball. 

Rolling her eyes, Madeline turned her attention back to Michael. 

“My boys wanted me to send the muscle down here, but I thought I’d stretch my legs.” She said with a smile “That’s what I call my lieutenants,” she explained “[i]My Boys[/i]…kind’ve endearing, isn’t it? Sounds totally casual. I liked to run a relaxed work environment.” 

“Totally…” Michael managed, more than a little lost for words. 

“I want to know how the Rats, probably the lousiest fucking excuse for a gang ever to smear this city with their crap-scented presence, got the balls to stage a robbery in Martovanni turf, with goods stolen from the Reapers.” Maddie scooped James Barrison up off of the floor, before forcing him to his knees in front his brother, his face still streaming with tears, and wedging the Glock into his open mouth. “Start talking.” 

“We had in-insurance!” Michael stammered, struggling to be heard over his brother’s muffled yelps.

“Insurance from who?” 

“If I tell you then you won’t kill Jimmy?” 

“If you tell me I won’t kill Jimmy.” 

“Your promise?” 

“Brownie’s honour.” 

“We ain’t been Rats for a while now,” Michael confessed “we’ve been rolling with a different crew.” 

Maddie’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What crew?” 

“The Forlorn Disciples.”  

[b]BANG! [/b]

The Glock blew a whole straight through James’ head. Maddie loosed her grip, letting his limp body drop to the floor, staining the carpet red. 

“You promised you wouldn’t fuckin’ kill him!” wailed Michael in dismay. 

“In my defence,” Maddie reasoned “The Greeks promised the Trojan’s that there most definitely weren’t any soldiers hidden inside the wooden horse, no sir no soldiers in here, so can you really be mad at me and not the Greeks?”