[CENTER][img]http://www.outlookskates.com/DKtextLogoMain1dark.jpg[/img][/CENTER] [B][I]Six months ago[/I][/B] Behind him lingered the copper-tinged scent of blood, the faint groans and pleas of mercy of what little remained of the men who’d survived his onslaught. For a moment, Jackie heard the scuttling of a tiny creature with oily black skin and a gremlin-like appearance and disinterestedly glanced away as it gnawed on the finger of a dead man. Death walked in the halls of House Franchetti today. He should’ve known - he was death, but something far worse lingered deep inside of him; a terrible force with an age that extended past the universe itself. It too sensed the death around it and revelled in the chaos, its cold disembodied voice letting out the closest thing it ever had ever known to laughter. Drawing past the door, a familiar voice with a stereotypical mobster-type accent that made Jackie want to pulverise a thousand faces called out from above, heavy footsteps clanking against the grating spiral that was the lighthouse stairwell. [b]“You think you made a difference here, Estacado? Nothing’s changed, you fuckin’ piker!”[/b] His fingers tightened around the grip of the remaining pistol he still owned, the faint smell of half a dozen magazines dispensed into a dozen bodies still lingering close to the barrel. He kept on climbing, following the footsteps. Again, the voice called out. [b]“You brought this on yourself Jackie, I didn’t do shit that you didn’t do yourself!”[/b] Clambering his way up a ladder, he felt the footsteps growing nearer - yet evermore frantic. Fear was in the air. He smelled it. The Darkness smelled it, and it was simple telling how it was excited to be present as its host claimed one final soul. Reaching the top, he could hear that mobster-voice screaming down to him again. [b]“The problem with you is, you never learned to listen! You always wanted to be me, but it doesn’t work that way, Jackie!”[/b] The door was still ajar, leading out onto another set of steps which led to the final point atop the lighthouse. Outside, the sky was a pitch black; the only source of light being the faint rim of sun which had been eclipsed by the moon. Convenient timing, perhaps? Or maybe the Darkness had some hand in an ancient prophecy. It didn’t matter, soon he’d reach the end of his journey. Drawing back the door to the lantern room, he heard that same frantic voice scream out a final threat. [b]“You’re a dead man, you hear me?! A dead man!”[/b] Gunshots followed and Jackie felt specks of blood seep down his coat from where one of the rounds had slammed into his shoulder, but it didn’t bother him; instead he fired off another two rounds and left the middle aged crime boss sprawled across the floor, grunting in pain as he clutched at his stomach. That same disembodied voice that was the Darkness spoke out to him yet again, yearning for the kill more than it ever had before. [i]”Finish him...”[/i] Jackie took several steps towards his Uncle Paulie, remaining silent and monotone as he observed Don Paulie Franchetti - once a powerful man, feared by half of New York City and begrudgingly respected by the other - beg for his life. [b]“Listen, Jackie. I been thinkin’, I know this worked out bad for the both of us but there’s no need to be rash here...”[/b] The last word sounded like a half-restrained sob. [b]“Why don’t you fuckin’ listen to me, you piece of shit!”[/b] [i]”Take his life...”[/i] The Darkness wanted this one so badly. He could feel it inside him, that urge to unleash a black hell and tear Uncle Paulie asunder, that hunger which yearned to taste the man’s oily heart. But Jackie wasn’t killing for the family, or for the business, or for the darkness. This one was for himself. For Jenny. [b]“Jackie, I-”[/b] Wordlessly, he unloaded what remained of his pistol clip into Uncle Paulie, yet even that allowed the man to spit a few final words as he choked through layers of blood, phleghm and whatever else the bastard had inside of him. [b]“Estacado, you... fuckin’ piece of shit... I hope you rot in hell forever..” [/b] ‘I already am’, Jackie thought. And that was the end of the line. --- [b]"I've news for you, Jackie."[/b] A familiar, gravelly voice stirred him from the memory, prompting Jackie to glance up towards its source. Standing before him was a stocky man with huge, barrel-like arms with a bushy black beard, lacking a single hair across the dome of his head. Butcher Joyce, known best for being a veteran cleaner who never took sides. Despite this however, the man had seen fit to provide Jackie with vital snippets of information on the late Paulie Franchetti's operation and had been a good friend to him, all the same. Stood beside him was a much older man aged into his mid-late sixties, wearing a neat business seat with a bowl hat atop his wrinkly old head - Jimmy the Grape, one of the few made men among the families to have respect for the 'old ways'. The man had also been a close friend and associate of Jackie's before, and had known his dear old Aunt Sarah for years. Speaking up, he spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent. [b]"That's right kid, you've shown the guys time and time again that you've got balls, brains and respect - and we've been saying that someone like you, who honours the old ways, that's who we need right now. So we had a little word with our old friends in Chicago and they've agreed that we all want you to come in and take over the family, just for a little while."[/b] Jackie glanced up towards both men, still unsure on how to answer. Of course, maybe once upon a time he might've dreamed of becoming the Head of the Family. Being the Don. But everything that he'd been through, all the pain and loss he'd endured, the loss of [i]her[/i] - was it worth it? Before he could ponder on it anymore, Jimmy spoke up once again. [b]"C'mon, kid. Everybody's got your back here, and we need someone to bring order to the chaos with all these wannabe wiseguys trying to muscle in on each others' territory. You're the guy who can do that, and you've proven that already - you topped that rat bastard motherfuckin' Paulie Franchetti [i]and[/i] that fucking lap dog of his, Eddie Shrote. You protected those who needed protecting, like when they sent hitmen to your Aunt Sarah's place - you were there when everything else went to shit. We all know you won't fuck things up, you won't go around kicking down some poor kid's doors just cos' he looked at you wrong or bomb a fucking orphanage to make a point. You'll change things for the better kid."[/b] The mention of the orphanage was a painful reminder of what he'd brought upon himself when he took a stand against Uncle Paulie. All those kids had died because Paulie wanted to hurt him, and so had Jenny when they'd taken her there. So much blood on his hands, and doubtless there'd be more if he stepped in as the new Don - but who's? Dwelling on the thought, Jackie made a decision. [b]"Sure... as long as it doesn't interfere with my day job."[/b]