[center][h1]Perfect Posse ([color=DDA0DD]Sasha[/color], [color=FAEBD7] Khroshid[/color], and [color=BDB76B]Lupe[/color])[/h1][/center]

[center][h2]Heading towards Centre Point . Public Party . Friday evening [/h2][/center]

The white Rolls Royce Phantom Limousine bounded towards centre point, its opulence in stark contrast to the slowly eroding roads its traversed. It was not surprising as infrastructure was considered a low priority government investment; Sol City would be better off if it sold or leased of infrastructure to the private sector. Sasha scoffed as he managed to tune out the work jargon bouncing around in his head, it was just further proof that the few days of office dwelling was adversely affecting his mental well-being.  He of all people should be above such petty concerns. The petite Russian focused on what his two associates were conversing about.

[color=BDB76B] “Ah, man. She was totally asking for it. Just look at those eyes homeboy.”[/color] Lupe pontificates this point by jabbing a meaty finger at a polaroid cradled on the arm rest between himself and Khorshid. [color=BDB76B] “Dem the eyes of one thirsty prude my dude.  Marry Poppins was practically begging for you to sweep the cobwebs out of her chim chimney if ya catch my drift.”[/color]

[color=FAEBD7] “Oh, this coming from Mister Ladies’ Man himself. Hmm. Remind me when was the last time you had sex without paying?” Khorshid nudged his friends shoulder.[/color]

[color=BDB76B] “Not cool. Yo, I ain’t even mad that your bitch got me thrown in slammer for a few hours for violating the terms of my supervised release. I knew that once that piece of garbage whom I had the shit kicked out of accepted a settlement offer the state would drop the charges against me and I’d be off the hook… another notch on my championship belt. But you got to be hella pissed my brother as she’s got the whole pigsty after your boy Bob.”[/color]

[color=FAEBD7] “As you Cuban’s say ‘Ese tipa no sirve’, but as I told you guys earlier today I got the whole Bob situation under control…”[/color]

[color=DDA0DD] “Bullshit darling”[/color], chimed in Sasha between snorting lines of cocaine. [color=DDA0DD] “Your dumb ass cannot even handle a fart let alone a city-wide man hunt. However, I’d assume that whatever pie in the sky hope you have being reunited with your boytoy hinges on those…erm…noble savages we had the pleasure of meeting this morning. Security was not happy that our entourage for the evening includes about 50ish bikers…ecuse me I am mistaken I meant to say 50ish armed bikers. Care to enlighten us how those Cro-Magnon spawn are tied to your masterplan.”[/color] 

Sasha sniffles a bit as he admires his reflection in the shard of mirror he snorted the blow off of before peering out the window of the limo. In addition to the normal security SUVs that escorted the trio on any of their excursions he made out the distinct shapes of bikers trailing along a ways head, their leather vests emblazoned with colorful paths were hard to miss. Even at this distance he could see that the motley lot were already behaving badly, heckling traffic and so on.. Great. Had his beloved Uncle not put him under surveillance perhaps he could have averted this clusterfuck in the making instead of focusing how he could attend the celebration tonight.  Needless to say his pseudo-ward was needed else where in the company this weekend and he managed to avoid going to the office.

[color=FAEBD7] “Righto, as I mentioned earlier as I waited for my attorneys to escort me out of the integration room Tuesday night. I wracked me brains on what went wrong with the whole record store deal and nothing came to mind. It was not until teatime with my drug dealer that I came to my epiphany. We as a collective were being aligning ourselves a little too much towards order and we should focus on adding some chaos to balance things out.  Only then would the commonfolk learn to respect our intrinsic authority. My drug dealer suggested contacting the Visagoths to provide extra security tonight and I thought it was a good idea at the time, but upon further reflection I now consider one of…if not the best idea I ever had. I met with Bubba the rural biker gang’s representative on Thursday and things just like clicked. Not only was Bubba extremely passionate about history for some reason, he also really drove home the point he and his cohorts were one percenters; that had to be good as one percent is an indicator of quality. These guys are in upper echelons for sure. To top it all off the gang also offered competitive pricing as all it took to hire their services was $50,000, some beer kegs, and the promise that could fight someone. Great deal. Oh, yeah they are also going to smuggle Bob out of the country at some point this coming week. Take him on a drug route up to Canada and then sweet Bobby will be flown to India where my father ensures me the government won’t extricate him back to the USA.”[/color]

[color=BDB76B] “Bless up dude, let see those filthy degenerate scum mess with us now.” [/color] The trio share a hearty chuckle.