[center][h3]Chapter 1[/h3][/center]
[center][h3][i]King Of The Hill[/i][/h3][/center]
[hr]

	It was cold as shit. 

	At least those were the words that went through the man's head as he stood against a brick wall, arms folded, chin pulled in, and shivering like he wasn't wearing a tightly fitting trench coat. Moonlight illuminated the buildings around him and frigid breath rose into the air above the brightly lit city. Regalia was another known metropolis that never slept and the cars on the road after midnight proved that saying. Pedestrians dressed in appropriate cold weather clothing lined the sidewalks on either side of the four lane highway and everyone seemed determined to get to some actual destination or another. In fact, they were so caught up with what they were doing that no one seemed to notice when two men escaped the herds by turning into an alleyway and around the corner into a square opening of sorts. One of them was the frozen man hugging his wall and also standing next to a rather large dumpster. The other was a dark-haired fellow in a tailored black suit. 
	
	He adjusted his suit jacket as he stood over a whimpering man in a heap on the cold concrete. Brandishing a smartphone, the suited man tapped the screen a couple times and put the receiver to his ear. A few tense moments of silence passed before his call was seemingly answered. "It's done," A deep, yet oddly smooth voice said into the phone. He listened for a bit then spoke once more. "I already know what you think, but sometimes one must move things forward himself. Don't worry, we're doing exactly as ordered after all. Just moving up the timetable a little." He looked down at the whimpering man as if he was admiring his handiwork. The whimpering man was clearly injured and bleeding profusely as blood stained the dress clothes he wore. He was older with wrinkled skin and thin white hair. His body seemed to be on the larger side and his eyes remained closed. The suited man redirected his gaze forward and listened once more. 

	"Can we hurry this shit up, Cyrus? Fuck, it's cold as hell," The brick wall hugging man complained. Cyrus did not move. 

	"Yes. With this done, we'll be ahead of schedule. Yes. Yes. Well, you know what they say about cutting off the head. Good, keep me informed then." Cyrus tapped the screen and pocketed his phone before cupping his bare hands over his mouth and blowing into them. 

	“See? You feel that shit too, right? What did she say?" 

	"She said nothing of particular importance. We're finished here in any case." Cyrus slowly pulled a handgun from a space inside his suit jacket and began screwing on a silencer. He meticulously tightened the attachment, looked it over, cocked the hammer, and pointed the now silenced barrel at the head of his whimpering target. "The only thing that matters now is this moment. This is what will change everything, my friend," He said before firing two shots. The whimpering stopped immediately and the older man froze in place on the ground. Cyrus returned his weapon to the space inside his suit jacket and pulled out a small pin in tandem. He dropped the tiny ornament on the ground near the dead man's body and turned towards the path that would lead out of the alley. 

	"So what happens now?" The frozen man asked almost leaping off the wall and following Cyrus out of the alley and back onto the bustling streets. Cyrus maintained a perfect stride through the throngs of bodies. It was almost like people were moving out of his way so he didn't have to navigate around anyone--he walked a straight line down the sidewalk with his shivering companion at his side. 

	"Now we wait, of course," He replied with a small smirk. 

[center]#[/center]

	Thin streams of smoke danced into the air followed by what looked like the type of emission you see from car exhaust. Quinn took one more long drag from his dying cigarette butt and gazed over the city. The view from the top of Millennium Tower was always a beautiful one and for Quinn, it was a calming sort of experience as well. He would come up there to think or soothe his frustrations or just enjoy the silence. One constant always remained however; the view always gave him a sense a perspective. It reminded him of where he was and how he had gotten there. All the struggles along the way seemed worth it whenever he would venture to the summit of the tallest building in Regalia and stare out over the horizon. It was almost as if he could see his past, present, and future right there in front of him. That was the power of the view and it was a power that he enjoyed indeed. He suddenly remembered that all good things had to come to an end when a familiar ringing and vibration filled the pocket of his tailored dress pants. 
	
	"Gyles," He answered. He listened for a bit while attempting to take a last puff from a clearly drained cigarette butt. "Yeah, I know. I'm getting ready to tell them now. Don't worry, we'll find the fuckers who've been selling that shit in our city." Quinn dropped his cigarette butt, mashing it in with his wingtip dress shoes before returning attention to his large slate of a smartphone. He initiated a group text message and sent out the following: 

[i]The job is on. We have find the little shits who've been pushing that whiplash throughout the city. We've been ordered to fan out and gather information for the time being, but not to take any rash actions. My best bet would be going through the prostitutes, they mess with some of the most fucked up johns sometimes. I ain't telling you what to do, and you can find information you're own way, but I'm gonna hit up the rings. In any case, we'll meet back up in six hours and share anything we've found. We gotta put a lid on this shit quick.[/i]

Whiplash was the new drug of choice circulating around Regalia. As odd as it sounded for a criminal organization to be against drugs, that's how the Ariella Syndicate--the crime organization that currently controls Regalia behind the scenes--operated. It was the older members who had come to the realization that running drugs was more trouble than it was worth and also found out that stamping out the gangs who peddled the more serious ones garnered them praise from the average citizens. Ever since then the Ariella Syndicate had been firmly against the sale of widespread, hardcore drugs like this and had done everything in their power to quash them. Quinn sent out the text and pocketed his phone. He turned towards the roof access and casually strolled towards the door. The view was beautiful indeed, but it was time to get down to business. 

Once back at street level, Quinn's only thought was to gather information and there was only one place he figured he'd need to go. If anyone could point him in the direction of prostitutes, it was a certain gay club owned by a certain member of the Syndicate. That's who Quinn had resolved to go see as he slipped into the driver's seat of a 2010 Chevrolet Camaro and zoomed off into the busy traffic under the midnight sky.