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Tuesday, May 23rd




Location: Blaine County desert → Bolingbroke Penitentiary
Characters: Ryan, Eloïse, Charlie, Zoey, & Jeff





He hated the stupid masks, really. They impaired vision, made it hard to communicate, and — on occasion — were fucking stuffy, Christ. So, in quiet protest, he wore the dopiest fucking masks he could get his damn hands on. The product today? A cheesy Darth Vader mask, which he didn’t even really think covered his defining traits, but hey. Whatever. Before clicking the FOB and unlocking the Insurgent (why it had a FOB, he wasn’t sure), Ryan turned to look over at Judah and shot his friend a wink. ”Don’t worry, my guy. This’ll put some hair on your chest.” Then he turned and headed over to the truck.

It sure was a shame that this thing had to go down with the ship, y’know. It was a nice piece of machinery, with the turret modified to be literally a rocket launcher (another brain child of Ryan), and a giant metal slab attached to the front to act as a spearhead. Boom. There wasn’t a gate to storm, so they’d make their own. This plan owned. He owned. He’s the best around, nothing’s ever gonna bring him down. Ryan jumped into the driver’s seat of the ride and fired it up, revving the engine a bit, hearing it roar. Noice.

Now for the next important part.

Ryan reached into his left hand pocket and withdrew an auxiliary cord, stabbing it into the port on the newly added stereo system. What? He wasn’t gonna work with no music. He plugged the other end into his phone and flipped through his music, eventually cranking the tune of the day. Then, he reached into his personal pack, which was sitting on the passenger’s seat, and with drew his Darth Vader mask, which he pulled over his head.

Kay, murder time funtime. Rifles in the back, boutta pop the trunk and ruin a few people’s days.

Why was she teamed up with the ape? Ryan sat in front of her in the truck, already fed up with the man’s way of speaking from before he entered too. Was it luck or did she piss someone off? Maybe she shouldn’t have let it slip she wanted to rise a little in the Syndicate. Mr. Helmsley could have caught wind of it. No matter, here she was sitting, behind a man who probably thought the stench of his sweat would work as some sort of aphrodisiac. Of course, the ape had to prove his boyishness once more by revving the engine. Eloïse rolled her eyes almost out of her skull. Could it start even worse? Then Ryan plugged in the cord and Eloïse realized she just jinxed herself. The music was very much like Ryan.

But on the upside it gave Eloïse pretty much the go for her own guilty pleasures. From her leather jacket’s inside pocket she drew a pack of cigarettes bound with a lighter. “Tell me if you mind.” Said Eloïse, as she blew out her first breath of smoke right next to Ryan. Though it was pretty clear she wouldn’t care if he did. Eloïse did feel a bit out of her element. Instead of wearing her suit she sat here in a worn out jeans, a leather jacket and a white top that exposed to draw attention and hid enough to keep them guessing. For a mask she chose something dramatic. And what could be more dramatic than a Greek theatre tragedy mask?

All in all some fools might have guessed the girl was harmless. Until you took a closer look. With her left hand she might have held her cig but the right one held a Vom Feuer Carbine Rifle on her lap. In the door side she held 3 wine bottles with some cloth in them.

You know who else was perfectly ‘harmless’? Charlie or what she preferred to be called while out on a mission: Black Rabbit. Her green eyes were covered by grey contacts and her animal ski mask hid her expression from her comrades. Even though the sun was blinding and the heat was like an eternal tanning machine, the petite girl was covered from head to toe. A black hoodie, dark denim jeans, and classic converse sneakers. In her hoodie pouch hid her brass knuckles taser and strapped on her belt were twin uzi pistols. Her twin pistols. She even had a dagger for extra incentive! Can never be too prepared on missions like this. Or any mission really. But her prized possession was in her backpack. Yes… she just needed an opportunity to use it.

A motherfucking sticky bomb.

What? She had needs, wants, desires. Ryan already gave her a piece of cake by letting her be the one to control the ROCKET LAUNCHER but y’know, she was greedy and wanted the whole cake. How did someone like her get involved with the Syndicate? That really doesn’t fucking matter because she had a wall to shoot at. Before she entered the car through the side that Eloïse didn’t enter in, Charlie scanned the area and at the silver T20 driving off. There was a glint of admiration in her stare. Swipe. Wait no, that was just the fire on the match she just lit. Another second past and the match was out of her fingers and flicked toward the desert sand. After stuffing the match box in her ass pocket, she climbed her tiny self into the Insurgent and went to the middle back. For reasons. Rocket launcher reasons.

Still having not spoken a word, she snatched the cigarette out of her sisterly bud’s hand, lifted her mask up, and took a long needed drag for herself. Once she was satisfied with the intoxicating poison, she offered the cigarette back and teasingly smiled, ”Like you give a damn about him.”

Insurgents like this one they were in right now typically smelled like musky metal on the inside, not terribly unlike a used car. After all, what use did Merryweather have for actually putting in those scented Christmas trees in their hardcore military transport vehicles? Fortunately, the group was saved from unpleasantries in their nostrils, due to the foresight of one Jeff Johnson in bringing with him to the Insurgent a box of large cheesy Liberty City-style pizza. The vehicle was thus filled with the exquisite aroma of freshly baked pizza from the oven.

The man himself was clad in a cover-all blue boiler suit, fit for a mechanic or a janitor or a man about to invade a high security prison. At his back was an American flag, used as a short cape for some reason. Probably for a patriotic aesthetic as he would later have on his head a hyper-realistic bald eagle head mask, feathers and all. Jeff looked more like a wrestling face than a criminal, certainly not the silliest thing he’s put himself in. All in all, compared to his teammates, the senior hustler was aesthetically very out of place. The only thing that indicated he was in this was the light machine gun sitting vertically next to him like it was a genuine member of the heist.

Maybe he’s getting sentimental, but Jeff thought this ride needed a bit more chatter and spirit! These Syndicate tools were all business, no play, that was no way to hustle! He decided to address the girl with the prissy bunny mask sitting across him. “Eh, Bunnyhop. What do you think about this plan?” he asked her, his voice friendly and upbeat and muffled from chewing pizza “Nothing wrong with loud and reckless, I say, but we could do this thing a bit smarter, know what I’m saying?” Realizing that the cheese pizza has been consumed by one, Jeff corrected his fatal lack of manners and soon addressed everyone.

“Yo, what kind of lifeless monsters are you guys? Here’s some pizza, have a slice or something, will ya?” He held the box in front of him, the slices free for the taking.

Bunnyhop. With dull eyes, Charlise blinked at the older man, who was a jolly good fellow trying to keep things light hearted but still being the responsible adult, sorta. She didn’t argue with his offering of pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza? She kept her beady eyes on him while he told the rest of the crew to have a slice. When the old man was finally done talking and after she took a well deserved bite out of some cheesy (god, she loved cheese) pizza, Charlie shrugged, ”Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the plan. We go in, get the job done loudly, try not to die or die, they don’t really care, and bounce the fuck out with people. I try not to think about the failed outcomes and the ‘what if we did it this way’ because y’know fear and doubt leads to failure… or like, death.” She took a moment to take a bigger bite into her slice of pie, ”In other news, this pizza is the shit. Yum. Thanks, old man.”

As the local driver, Zoey always knew what exactly she needed to do. It was simple, haul ass there, and haul ass home. Once in a while she had to point a gun and pull the trigger, but it was never anything more complicated than that. As dumb as The Syndicate could be sometimes, they were smart for knowing everyone’s strengths, and putting Zoey as the primary driver when it came to these sorts of operations. As soon as she received the slip of paper, she looked at the coordinates and actually did know where she was going to be.

A gut instinct told her that there were going to be half as many wheels on the getaway vehicles, but that wasn’t something she couldn’t handle. The Syndicate employed her for a reason, and she was going to give them the best bang for their buck. Now, Zoey was close to leaving and darting off in her custom Sultan RS, but hearing thumping coming from what the the others dubbed the “Funvee”, it enticed the Asian getaway driver.

She took one look at her car, then back at the thumping coming and sighed. Might as well check it out, the location wouldn’t take much time at all to get to. The getaway driver approached the former-Merryweather owned vehicle and knocked on the door twice, making sure people knew that she was about to barge in. She opened the door and was immediately met with the smell of fresh pizza.

“You guys having a party in here?” Zoey asked curiously, before her eyes shifted down to the pizza, which was still steaming - the aroma making its way to her nose. She glanced at Charlie, trying to make some eye contact before shrugging. “Y’all are whack, man...” Zoey grabbed a slice of pizza and put it in her mouth, taking a bite and chewing before making her closing statement. You know where to find me if you need me.”

With that, Zoey disembarked from the vehicle and got into her own personal vehicle. Zoey’s Sultan RS wasn’t known for being the most incognito of vehicles either. As soon as the pistons started to fire, everyone within a close radius knew that she was doing something with it. And based on the sound and the wonderful effects of the doppler effect, she had left and made her way to the staging area.

The prince shook his head as he reached over to the box of pizza, grabbing a slice of it and stuffing it into his mouth under the mask. Hey, he could get use to this. Lunch at work? Awesome. ”Okay, Jeff. First of all, this is a brilliant plan, there’s no way we get them out without attracting attention otherwise. Secondly, you’re now my best friend. Thank you for the donation of pizza and welcome to the Funvee.” Ryan said, polishing off the last of the pizza and pushing in the clutch, ”Here we go, dudes. Murder time funtime. Get ready to do what you do best and make things go boooom.” He said, glancing over his shoulder at Charlie before dumping the clutch and gunning the ignition. This would work. Right? Probably.

Ryan didn’t have to tell her twice. Taking a moment to lick the grease off her fingers, Charlie gave her friend a nod. The boom part would be the best part of this mission, for her at least. A frown did fall on her face when she realized her slice was gone… how unfortunate. Eh, she’d just get more from the old man later.

Serious mode. Mask on. Goal set. It’s go time.

Lifting herself up, she unlatched the hatch to the insurgent and poked her head out of the hole (ha, like a wabbit). Her gaze met with the RPG and for a second, her heart leaped out of her chest. She would remember this moment for the rest of her life (along with other moments that involved chemical energy, pressurized gas, fire...etc). Aesthetically, it reminded her of the RPG-7, which may look rugged, simple, low-cost, but was the most widely used anti-armor weapon in the world. Wanna know why? Because it was effective. Destructive. The splash damage would be real. She didn’t even need to have accurate aim for it to still hit the target. Not like she would miss on purpose. Black Rabbit would hit on target, at the right time and at the area that would matter the most. The weak spot. There was no point in thinking of the chances of her royally fucking up - nah, she’d do it right.

One shot was all she needed in the past. If there was one thing she seemed to have a natural talent for, it was finding the zones that caused as much damage as possible. Imagine an area being like a human body and it having a handful of pressure points. Her intuition tells her, hey, aim there and then suddenly a building collapses to the ground or there’s a bunch of casualties. For someone like her, who was addicted to a great amount of potential energy that went ka-boom (for concerning reasons), she wasn’t completely reckless with explosive material. You shouldn’t be, no matter how mentally consumed you were (or are) with the act of blowing shit up.

Getting herself situated behind her precious weapon (for as long as she was in the Insurgent), which was already loaded and lined up with the trigger mechanism, her left hand gripped the trigger handle (yes, she was a lefty), the heat shield rested on her shoulder, and her focused glare was inches away from the optical sight. Yeah, she was so ready.

With Bunnyhop manning the RPG (it was so cliche, cutesy girl with hidden badass), Jeff made some personal preparations himself, straightening his boiler suit and putting on the eagle mask. Hey, if he was gonna get caught on camera, it better be with style. And for a plan as crazy as this one, style translated to charming narm, something to make the wrestling scene proud. Hence the comical mask and the American flag cape. He could see the headlines already. ‘Eagle Patriot Man Infiltrates Prison, 7 Dead’.

“Get ready to rock and roll, people,” Jeff declared to his accomplices as he locked and loaded his machine gun. “A plan this crazy badass can’t afford to be run with a stick up your ass. Let loose and give the media one hell of a show. Aside from our incarcerated lads, priority number one is maximum chaos!” That was the reason he brought a machine gun instead of an assault rifle or a shotgun. It made the most noise and spread bullets literally everywhere. Tactically, Jeff’s duty would be ‘suppressing fire’, but he preferred to call it ‘shoot so many bullets the guards will shit themselves dodging them’.

Through the optical sight, Charlie noticed an officer getting sniped from the tower closest to them. Not so much the shot but his body falling in front of her view down, down, down to the ground. There was no longer minutes. In a matter of seconds, they would hit their target. Uncertainty would not harbor in her mind, only the thoughts of making a decision and pulling the trigger. A building exhilaration made her focus in on the border that separated them from retrieving the other members of the Syndicate.

Closer… closer... just a little bit closer...

Absorbed in the moment, there was a sudden jolt. A stunning blast with a loud crack slammed into the wall with indescribable amount of force. The taste of dirt and pavement could be felt in the air. There was a lingering ring in her ears from the roaring boom. Her heart was hammering its way out of her chest and yet she was addicted to this feeling.

Knock ‘em dead, Ry.

That was kinda cool. Ryan made a mental note to buy himself one of these things as he gunned the throttle and shifted again. Honestly, if it wasn’t for shit like this, he’d probably be like his sister and sit at home all day and make money off of something mom hooked him up with. But hey, Ryan was pretty good at this criminal shit, and he knew where his life was headed. Jail.

No, really. He was about to let himself into jail.

He cracked himself up.

Just like he was cracking the wall.

Now with a stupid smirk on his face (it only took Ryan a split second to amuse himself), Ryan punched the throttle one last time and the engine roared loudly, and the closed the final gap between the truck and the wall. The huge metal spear hit the wall with a cacophonous noise, the wall shattering around them and crumbling after they pushed through. Suck it, Christopher. Told you that shit would work. Now on the playing field, Ryan slammed on the brakes and the Insurgent came to a halt (rather loudly), pulling the door open, Ryan let himself out of the vehicle, reaching under his seat and pulling out a road flare. He cracked it open and tossed it on the ground beside the vehicle, clicking his ear piece on.

”Ground team to Air Jew, we are stand by for drop.” He said, turning it off before the Jewmeister could get a response in (this was how Ryan won). Shortly after, the cargo crates fell out of the sky, hitting the ground with a thud. Alright, now to go about the hard part: collecting the homies.



Thursday, May 11th





Bang!

The sudden slap on the wooden table caused Christopher to look up — though he should have known the source of it before he even checked. Of course it was Ryan. Christopher looked up and folded his hands together, resting his chin atop them as he looked across the long, oak table down to his adopted son. “...yes, Ryan? He asked softly, wondering what his son’s reason for being so suddenly loud was.

Ryan jumped out of his seat — really, he was out of place in the boardroom, where the Bishops met. Not dressed in a three piece suit like the rest of them, Ryan wore a black t-shirt that said ‘welcome to LS’ on the front and on the back ‘WE HATE YOU’ in big bold white letters, had a pair of bluetooth headphones wrapped around his neck, a pair of loose fitting jeans, and expensive sneakers. “I got it, man.” Ryan said, nodding as he thought about it in his head. Yeah, this plan could totally work. Motioning with his hand, Ryan pointed at the model of the prison that had been set up in the middle of the desk. Blitz play. Check it out. What you do is you give me and that pyromaniac, Charlie, one of those insurgents — you know, those big ass trucks Merryweather uses? And, well, I mean… The prison has to have a place for prisoners to like… be outside, right? So we take the insurgent, and we strap a rocket launcher on it… can you get one of those?” Ryan said, turning his attention to Grant.

The youngest of the Bishops shrugged his shoulders. “I might know a guy that has something like that… This plan doesn’t make any sense though.”

“That’s because it’s fucking stupid. What is the point of running a hole through the wall of the prison? What good does that do us? That just lets everyone out.” Christopher said, looking at his son with a disappointed glare in his eyes.

Haruma also looked displeased with such a ridiculous proposal. The suited male crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in the conference room chair, drawing attention to himself. Harry was thoughtful for a moment, and then backed up Christopher’s doubt with some of his own. “You want to… drive a truck, that will be armed with explosives, through the wall of the prison that my daughter is in. Am I understanding you correctly?” There was a measure of overprotective fatherliness in his tone, something that was usually well-hidden in his activities with The Syndicate.

“It’s not ‘armed’ like ‘armed’ to go boom, it’s ‘armed to shoot the wall’ armed.’” Ryan said, glancing over at Harry, before turning his attention back to his father. He had more explaining to do, as they obviously didn’t fucking get it...

“You see, that’s the beauty of the plan! We have our guys on the inside start a riot during playtime, and you get me a few snipers — long, long range at the points here, here and here,” Ryan said, placing coins down on the table to represent his snipers, then tapped the five guard towers on the prison model, “to take out the watch towers here, here, here, here, and here while I’m flying up to it, we unload the explosive and let ourselves into the playpen where the prisoners are all out and about. We’ll have to have someone airdrop in a cargo box, weapons, you know. And the masks of the people we’re in there to get. Now, you’re probably still asking yourself: ‘why break everyone out instead of just snagging our guys?’ Because, if we let everyone out, then they won’t focus on us! Because they’ll have to deal with everyone, right? So, we start a riot, break a hole in the wall, and arm the prisoners. Boom. The cops have more problems to deal with than they could have ever dreamed of, and I’ll get our guys out alive and in one piece, and bring them to the meeting point in Blaine County. I haven’t got that far yet, but I got a few days to think about it, and I’ll come up with an equally brilliant escape plan.”

Christopher looked down at his lap and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Haruma was staring at the boy, stone-faced. Grant had a bemused look on his face. Ryan, however, was dead serious:

“It’s goddamn fucking brilliant, dammit!”

Well, someone had to drive this forward, and Grant figured it might as well be him. “Okay, but you know explosives wouldn’t break through the prison wall, right? A crew tried that a few years back. Cracked it and didn’t even make a hole big enough. So, we could crack it, but then what? If you can’t get inside, this whole plan is fucking stupid.” Christopher shot the Bishop a look, but Grant just shrugged. Not like any of them had a better plan.

Ryan nodded and tapped his head. Oh, yeah, he’d covered that base. “Yeah, I thought about that. We’re gonna put a big ass spear head — you know, like a diamond? — on the front of the truck, and Cody over there is gonna rip the engine it comes with out and put a 1200 horsepower Coquette engine in it. Then we’re gonna crack the wall with the missile launchers, and spear right through it. Weaken it, end it. Doesn’t have to be a clean hole, we just gotta get through it.”

Christopher glanced over at Cody as he sipped at the glass of water. If this would work, Cody would know. Cody stroked his chin for a moment and leaned back in his chair. “That could work. I think with a big enough plow and 1200 horse, it could break through the wall. We can test it, maybe, but I’m confident. I can get it done.”

“You can’t have the plow and the rocket launcher.”

“Right, that’s why you’re handing Charlie the rocket launcher. Strapping it on wouldn’t work, I didn't think about that. But she could blast a hole while we’re driving, I trust her.”

“What about getting out? You know, you have to leave after arriving, right?” Christopher said coolly, looking over at Pyotr. His old friend shrugged his shoulders and adjusted himself in his chair. Truly, this plan was — while not quite as ingenious as Ryan seemed to think — was rather solid. Breaking everyone out of the prison rather than just their people was a good move. It’d keep the attention off of the Syndicate for a bit, and maybe they could make moves on a bigger set.

“If we are doing this, and this is a pretty sizable if, we need to have everything planned out perfectly beforehand. I can get you the firearms that are required in less than a day’s time, that is not the problem. What is a problem is that this is extremely public, uncomfortably so. How many men will we need? Who is going to fly the plane? And the getaway drivers?” Haruma spoke up again, he was calmer than before and took on his usual ‘strictly business’ tone - cold, calculating, and logical.

“Me, Charlie, the three snipers, a dude in a plane. I’m thinking Judah in the plane—”

“That kid you do coke with at the strip club…?”

“One and the same. He’s got a lot of flight experience. He can handle a plane.” What? Microsoft flight simulator counted, dammit. He just wouldn’t specify. Plus, how hard could it possibly be!? You started the plane, flipped a few switches, pulled up, pushed down as needed and flew. Easy, the Jewmeister could handle that. Probably. “He’s cool, dude. Yes, I know a plane is rather hard to lose attention with, which is why he’ll be bailing out of the plane and straight into the lake. No guts, no glory. As for the escape plan, I’m gonna put the crazy Chinese bitch — Zoey or whatever — here, with a Sanchez for each of us.” Ryan explained, putting another coin on the table, roughly a half mile away from the prison.

“We make it there on foot, with the distraction of the armed riot, and she’ll lead us out. She’s good at coming up with good hiding places and shit, trust me. She can lead us to safety. So, thirteen people total. Think you can get thirteen bikes?” He said, looking over at Grant, who gave a nod. Thirteen bikes? Please, that was child’s play. Ryan clapped his hands together and looked over at his father, “That’s the plan. It’s perfect.”

Christopher paused before turning his attention to Pyotr. Speaking in Russian, Christopher engaged his old friend in conversation: “It is a stupid plan.” He said bluntly, but Pyotr shook his head.

“It is a dangerous plan. It is a risky plan. It is a loud plan, different from what we normally do. But it is not stupid, and you shouldn’t dismiss it as such because it comes from Ryan. He’s right, stirring up trouble like that would be nothing but a good thing for our organization. The question comes down to whether you think it is worth the risk of losing him.” Pyotr responded, and Christopher shook his head.

He didn’t care about losing Ryan, or really any of the people in the pen. Haruma would be a bit of an issue if his daughter was in prison for a long time, but did Christopher care? Not really. But, this… was right. With Pyotr’s approval, the plan already was starting to sound better in his head. “No, the boy is better dead than dull. We’ll move forward with it.”

“I don’t speak fucking commie dammit!”

Christopher turned his attention back to his son. “We’ll do it. Well, leader. Go and lead. Everyone else… He’s basically told you what’s needed. Get it together.”

Meeting adjourned.



Tuesday, May 23rd




With dark shades on, Julian glanced down at his wrist watch while all his subordinates stood before him, waiting for their instructions, in the heat of Blaine County desert. For once, he wasn't completely decked out in an extortionate suit. He wore a leather jacket, a white collared long-sleeved shirt, and rugged jeans. Julian was a man with many obligations. Not all of them required him to look like he was going to a cocktail party and keeping an eye on an influential socialite that his employer would kill for.

Their current location was flat and barren. Satan's solarium. His eyes gazed up from his watch, as he slowly began to turn his sigil ring on his finger. The only sounds that could be heard were the breaths coming out of everyone’s mouths.

That is, until he spoke.

"You know why you're here. To retrieve those that failed. The plan itself is excessive, but it should work. Don't come back empty-handed, and keep your tracks clean. You know the drill." His toneless, yet modulated voice echoed through the desolate desert, "Let's get straight to business."

Julian approached the first group of people (Ryan, Charlie, Zoey, Jeff, and Eloise), but continued to address the entire team.

"At 1430 a riot will happen. It is currently 1412. The county jail never fails to stay on schedule, one slip and they will notice. Ryan is captain of this mission. When he says jump, you jump. Those of the same rank as him included. You five."

Julian continued to twist his ring while scanning the faces that stood before him. His eyes resting on the explosive enthusiast, Charlie, who wore a rabbit ski mask, hiding most of her features, "Will ride the Insurgent. Your objective: Break through the walls, retrieve your comrades in the masses, and get out of there." Julian gestured toward the vehicle, which held all the items that Ryan had requested during the conference.

"Zoey. Here." Julian handed her a small paper with coordinates: 43.7742° N, 114.1421° W. "You've been there before. Your job is to lead every man, and woman, after everything is all said and done, from point A to point B. Go past the lake and toward the mountains. Your rides will be waiting."

Stepping away from group 1, he strided toward the next group (Hugo, Eugene, Joey), who were all given sniper rifles prior to this, "The prison is broken into six blocks. A to F. There is a watchtower for each. Hugo will get A & B, the towers closer to the fields. Eugene, take C & D, and Joey, prove to me you can handle the rest. Your objective, make sure the Insurgent reaches the prison without someone dying. Take 'em out or be taken out." That group was predominantly Knights, so Julian would give them the benefit of the doubt and have faith they would go without a hitch.

Ah.

He stopped in front of the last group. The Pawns (Judah and Camille). He stood closer to them than he had with the others, so they could hear his voice loud and clear.

"Here's your chance to show us what you're made of. You two will be taking the air. While the truck is on the move and the snipers are doing what they do best. Sniping. You'll be transporting cargo into the fields. That cargo holds a mass amount of... bare essentials. Judah pilots. Camille pulls the leverage right when the plane hits the center of the riot. From there, dispose your vehicle. Dive it into the lake. Jump out. Meet up with the rest of your team and get your asses movin’. Got it? I don't care. Good."

Stepping back, Julian gave the Syndicate members a quick smirk before bringing his dark gaze back to his watch, "You have one minute and 27 seconds to get the show on the road or you'll be running out of time. Remember, Chess Pieces, failure is not an option. If it was, you'd all be dead by now."

"Alright, great, now if you'll excuse me." The King's Hand dismissed himself and walked away from the scene. He whistled his way to his silver T20 and before anyone could respond to him in anyway, he was gone.
@lovely complex ya i totally told her okay
@BrutalBxNo problem, I'm here to help with whatever!
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