[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/WIA4zqR.gif[/img][/center] [center][img]https://d30y9cdsu7xlg0.cloudfront.net/png/49993-200.png [/img][/center] [center][h2]New York.[/h2][/center] Slipping the rolled-up sword bag out of his hoodie's pocket, Milo slid it over his blade and tossed the sword over his shoulder. During the past few months, Milo had gotten some well needed practice in what he was designed for, appearing innocent. Outside that uncaring and indifferent machine of massacre which had been revealed to rest beneath his innocent appearance, he needed to be able to come off as harmless in more than visage. This came to pass more effectively now that the assassin had spent more time in social venues. Hiding in plain sight was supposed to be his virtue, but had taken a backseat throughout his endeavors as a street vigilante. Recalling his roots, Milo aimed to return to the skills he had once mastered. With music blasting through the headset covering his ears, Milo traced the trash covered streets from one corner to the next, following the instructions detailing the location of his target. Gabriel 'Loco' Hernandez had acquired a name for himself recently. The streets knew him as Loco, or The LocoMotive, for reasons proven obvious by the fist he often used to get a point across. Super strength coursed through the man's veins and he had risen through the gangster ranks like a train, another reason for his nickname, or title, as it was. Ruthless, merciless and vicious were all traits one could associate with a gang banger but it was expected in this line of work. The otherwise unnatural strength he displayed had been further elevated by good old fashioned workout sessions and it was stated that he spent at least four hours a day lifting trash. "Hey, hombre!" A voice rang out, speaking over the music Milo had gotten well acquainted with over the countless times he had listened to the same song. It was no secret. He was a fan of Madonna, and would one search through the brightly pink iPod in his pocket, every suspicion would be confirmed. Whether he enjoyed the color or sought to provoke wasn't quite certain, but given his overall indifferent personality, the latter was highly unlikely. "Whaddya' doin' here, faggot?" The gangster continued, motioning to the headphones following suit Milo's pink iPod. [color=ec008c]"E-excuse me..."[/color] The assassin stammered, the fake visage of innocence coating him with a cloak of invisibility. [color=ec008c]"I...I'm looking for Mr. Loco, Sir..."[/color] He finished, avoiding eye contact as Milo spoke, rather focusing those large brown orbs on the ground. "The fuck?" The gangster stood wearing a tight tank top which hugged his frame tightly enough to show off the muscles beneath and revealed various tattoos down his arms which indicated allegiance. This entire area was run by the Hispanics, Loco to be precise. "What would he want with a little bitch like you? You're not even Latino, maricon!" [color=ec008c]"I...I have some information he'd like, Sir. I also have a gift for him..."[/color] Milo continued, his voice quiet and unsure, as it was supposed to come off. Reaching his sword out, still in the bag, he presented the blade for the gangster who could only gaze down at the boy with a raised eyebrow. Milo's apparent age was nothing new in these parts. People joined gangs before they reached a double digit. Scoffing at him, the gangster grabbed hold of Milo's shirt and pulled him along before pushing him forward. "Walk." He finished, prepared to pull his gun at a moment's notice. Though he was skeptical, it was impossible to tell exactly who Loco was expecting and Milo seemed to be anything but a threat, naturally. Dragging him along deeper into the area, the gangster eventually brought them into an old apartment building which had long since housed the current leader of their gang. Trashy like the rest of the neighborhood, the furniture was old and decrepit without anyone to keep a clean front. There were no veils to hide the filth below, but some would appreciate such honesty. Now standing face to face with this man, Loco, painted the picture clearly. He was a giant of a man, someone capable of ripping people apart. It would be a lie to claim that Milo didn't feel his heartbeat accelerating slightly in response to the image. "And what's this?" Loco spoke, narrowing his eyes at the unusual scene. The man had made himself comfortable on a couch with several gang members surrounding him, each one armed and focusing on a locally hired stripper who had taken up residence in the living room. It was however more likely to assume her job a forced occupation within the gang’s property. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Loco." The gangster excused his presence, turning his attention to Milo. "Kid says he has something to tell you, and he wants to give you this." Grabbing the blade by its scabbard, the gangster wasn't quite fast enough to see Milo's hand slide down to the handle, releasing the sword from its confines. With a graceful spin, the boy planted a deep cut to the man's throat and charged forth, dashing towards his target. Using the moment of confusion, Milo placed both hands on his sword and rammed the blade down onto another gang member and then a third before guns were finally drawn and shots rang out. Leaping behind one of the old, red sofas, Milo took cover from the bullets and heard screams of pain and fear echoing throughout the room. Seeing how the sofa was effortlessly lifted from place by Loco, Milo turned to his quick reflexes and slid between the man’s legs and jolted back to his feet. He wasn’t the target just yet. Another set of shots left the muzzle of a gun but missed their target as Milo threw himself to the floor in a fluid roll before executing an upwards slash across the remaining goon’s abdomen. “The fuck are you!?” Loco screamed out, cracking his knuckles. [color=ec008c]”Wait.”[/color] The boy spoke, reaching for his iPod to change the song, causing Loco to absolutely loose his cool. This kid had sliced up his closest men in seconds and now changed the song on his iPod which he had been listening to throughout the entire event. The lack of respect and extreme nonchalance Milo showed off didn’t go well with the man before him. “You little shit!” Loco bellowed, taking a quick step forward which nearly caused the floor to cave him. Preparing his blade, Milo slipped his foot beneath the scabbard on the floor and kicked it up to his hand. [color=ec008c]”Can’t imagine why someone wants you dead.”[/color] The boy grinned, his grip around the blade tightening as he met his opponent head on.