[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/Yyur7uT.jpg[/img][/center] [i]Thud! Thud! Thud![/i] Swan opened her crusty eyes, only to shut them again when the soft morning light coming in from her bedroom’s open window felt like they had fried her retinas. She groaned in annoyance at the stinging ache that started to pulse in her skull, then frowned at the foul taste of old leftover booze on her dry tongue. [i]Thud! Thud! Thud![/i] She rubbed at her eyes and looked over to the cheap digital clock that sat atop her bedside table. The display read 06:57 upon its scarlet surface, and Swan cursed, not only at being woken up so early but also because of the fact that she only slept two hours. It seems that once again sleep for her proved to be an ever elusive and vindictive bitch. [i]Thud! Thud! Thud![/i] “Fuck, yes! Yes, I’m up! I’m up!” Swan shouted towards her front door. Her bed springs squeaked as she climbed out of it, her foot bumping into an empty whiskey bottle that had been lying on the floor next to it. She stood and almost promptly fell back onto the bed, her head swimming from the previous night’s attempt to fall asleep through creative use of alcoholic beverages. The Tale then walk-stumbled out of her room, almost tripping over several more liquor bottles lying haphazardly on the floor. She managed to make it through her living room and to the front door without incident. After undoing the locks, Swan flung open the door and directed what was most likely a bloodshot glare at the man standing outside. [i]“What?”[/i] she all but snarled at him. “Uh,” Raul was one of the gang’s many human members, and he like the others knew of Tales and what they were capable of. Needless to say, he looked a bit nervous at the murderous look Swan was giving him. “The boss wants to see you.” The angry gaze vanished from her face, though the annoyed frown was still there. “Fine,” she told him. “I’ll be right up.” She then slammed the door unceremoniously in his face. Not wanting to keep her employer waiting, Swan went into her suite’s bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. The chilled liquid did much to wake her up somewhat more, whereupon she quickly realized that all she had been wearing to bed was her underwear. “Dammit,” she muttered, “I gave that little punk Raul a free show.” Swan made a mental note to put him on latrine duty later, then stomped over to her bedroom to get dressed. Twelve minutes later, the Tale was dressed in a clean black suit, headed up the elevator to meet her employer in the penthouse suite. While waiting, Swan took a moment to straighten her tie and look at her reflection in the elevator’s shiny metal walls. She noted that she looked pale(well, paler than usual) and that there were heavy bags under her eyes. Oh well, nothing she could do about those. When the elevator door opened she was met by two large gorillas in suits. Not literal gorillas though, more the big, dumb and ugly kind of mook, the members of the Breadwinners who were kept around just for their muscle. The two thugs nodded to her respectfully as she strode past. The Gingerbread Man was, like usual, in his office. The office itself was furnished much like the rest of the penthouse was, in traditional wood with antique furniture and expensive paintings. Overall it looked more like a 19th Century abode instead of the extravagant and gaudy modern stylings of today. (i.e. no pink refrigerators, no white carpeting, and definitely not a hot tub in the middle of the living room.) The only item that seemed to clash with the rest of the furnishings was a two-foot tall jade statue of a fox which was seated on a shelf right behind the desk. “Swan,” The Gingerbread Man said, looking up from reading some papers atop his desk as she entered. “Finally. I need you to-” he stopped talking, and the eyebrows on his human form’s face tilted slightly upwards. “Jesus Titfucking Christ! What the hell happened to you?” Swan frowned. She didn’t look that bad, did she? “Long night,” she said simply. “Whatever,” her employer turned back to the notes on his desk. “We got a problem to deal with.” “Oh?” Swan took a seat in one of the chairs set in front of the crime boss’s desk. “Yeah, last night some stupid fuckhead got himself killed over in the Hundred Acres,” her boss answered. “Normally I wouldn’t give two shits, but according to some of my boys this dead fuckhead was mutilated to hell. This was some real sick serial killer shit, but what pisses me off most is that whoever the fuck did this had the balls to write, and I fuckin’ quote, ‘A God Am I.’” “I see.” Swan stated. She really didn’t, though. Why should they care about some dead idiot found in the middle of that slum? “Yeah. Well, as you know that shithole motel is in [i]my[/i] territory. When some horror movie shit starts up in my place of business, I take that personally. What’s more is the fuckhead who did this seems to think he’s hot shit. I need you and the boys to find out who the fuck is stupid enough to pull this shit in my neighborhood. Bring him to me, alive! I wanna take care of this ‘God’ personally.” “Consider it done.”