[h3][color=ed1c24]Nick Kostashe[/color][/h3]
September 5th, 1969
1102 HRs


Before the blackout, Nick only remembered connecting a punch to that old man's jaw, but something gnarly caused the both of them to hit the floor. Heavy burn marks over his chest and minus one gold chain left Nick pretty pissed, and in pain. If Jackson hadn't radioed for a replacement patrol the two deputies wouldn't have responded so quickly. Deputy Yang and Jaber responded, by putting handcuffs on the two of them and separating them. Yang was a skinny, Asian - stick of a cop but Jaber was one of the biggest cops in town. All white, all American and straight from the suburbs of Dearborn - right outside of Detroit. The town sure had its characters, but these two never fucked around. The sounds of an ambulance siren broke the silence in the distance.

[i]"You have the right to remain silent anything you say..."[/i]

The Miranda caution drilled into the twos ears as Nick squirmed with pain, hot gold burned and settled into his chest as he eyed the vice-principal Jones. It was fucked, they were both so fucked. Jones maybe more than Nick, the army needed Nick - and no one needed the old fart. People were coming outside, some familiar faces were popping up. Byrant, Rodgriuez - they were all watching, judging. It sucked but that's how it was, the tightening of handcuffs buzzed into Nick's ear as the cuffs that now laid on this wrists were firm. The two found themselves in a tight mess.

The ambulance came and Nick was loaded up first, the cops might drive Jones to the ER if he needed the aid for his jaw. It was unlikely but yet to be unseen. The teen didn't say anything to the VP, but he knew other people would talk, they would give him the thrashing Nick was reserving his energy for. This only escalated the already delicate situation, but what could he do?

Complaining was never his thing anyway.