[img]http://i.imgur.com/awzuRbb.jpg [/img]

[3 & 1/2 hours pre-incident]

Sloth's house was always a weird place to be for Sam. It was sort of a contrast to what he'd experienced in other gang situations but at the same time, it was ideal for the sinners. The space was compact and only a single floor was occupied by six people whenever they visited. It was a floor filled with computers and guns and all sorts of other things that a budding criminal organisation might need, it just lacked the man power to use it all. As far as Sam knew, none of his fellow sins were particularly tech savvy. He could probably figure it out, given enough time: but Sloth hadn't asked him to yet. The boss wasn't depending on him for this task, which meant that she likely had something in mind.

Despite how lazy she was, Sloth generally had a plan.

While waiting for the boss to show herself from the computer room, Sam had occupied a corner of the room and was mucking around with a handheld games console. He was plinking away at the piece of technology absentmindedly, with his attention only half focused on the inevitable victory of the current level. He’d mentally taken apart his opponent and now it was just a case of tying the victory in a neat little bow. [i]”Typical of Sloth to take her sweet ass time.”[/i] 

He started to queue up for another match when Sloth came in from the computer room and slumped onto her little leather chair. She insisted on calling it a throne but Sam hadn’t ever referred to it as anything less than a leather chair. Despite that, she was dressed in not much at all. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t admiring it a little: she was easy on the eyes, to say the least. Not that he’d be dumb enough to try and fuck his boss: don’t eat where you shit, and all that.

She announced that the 7 sins would be leaving in two and a half hours. It annoyed him slightly that he could have spent his time much more productively if Sloth had just bothered to tell him the plan before hand, but she probably thought he’d have gone to a prize fight if he hadn’t been told.

She’d probably have been right.

Sam picked up his backpack as Sloth drifted off to sleep. He’d found it pretty weird calling the girl Sloth, but since she’d not given another name to call her, he had to live with it. So far, he’d not gotten used to people referring to him by his given moniker. Pride was not a name he imagined himself listening too, but he’d started to get used to being called it: if only out of necessity. “I’m going to chill in the arcade for a couple hours then. No point in me taking a beauty nap.”

[1 hour 7 minutes pre-incident]

Sam walked back into Sloth’s apartment with a boxed video games console and a teddy bear as big as himself. Apparently, he’d done well in the arcade. Sloth was gone from her seat, no doubt getting ready, so Sam just dumped his prizes in the corner somewhere. Now all he needed was to win a TV…

Sloth entered the room again a few minutes later, more dressed up than last time and ready to fight, it seemed. Sam was a little surprised to see her with the Nightstick, as he always pictured that he’d be doing the bulk of the fighting. None of the group seemed close to his peer when it came to stepping in the arena: although Sloth had surprised him on a number of occasions, so her with a weapon wasn’t a huge shock. Sam just reached into his bag and pulled out a few things: there was a pair of worn, fingerless rider gloves; a packet of cigarettes, with the lighter inside and a curved knife.

Sloth led the group towards the fight’s location and Sam couldn’t help but notice how…out of place some of the other Sins were. A few of the people were wearing formal attire: shirts and waistcoats and shit like that, while others still looked scrawny and like they’d get in the way. He’d just have to make sure none of the fuckers got past him, it seems. Sam wouldn’t want Sloth to have to find any new crew members this early; far too much effort for her.

Sloth laid out their part in the plan: Don’t break any members of the Damned and don’t let any other fuckers enter or leave. In honesty, Sam was a little disappointed. The job seemed…beneath him. He wasn’t really content with picking up some other gang’s sloppy seconds, but what Sloth was doing made sense: even if it sucked.

Sloth managed to take out the first fucker. These events always managed to get a few chicken shits who couldn’t stomach the violence and either ran or called in back up. Fifteen fuckers stood, and that meant that fifteen fuckers needed to drop to the floor. Sam was feeling less bored now, as the primal pride started to awaken. He had so much to be proud of: his skill and his strength and his speed and his stamina and the way in which he could break a man’s body in more ways than most people had clothes. Sloth may have had the first take down, but Sam was determined to have the most. He surged towards the group with fist raised. He bee-lined for the biggest man there and planted a quick knee into his jaw: knocking him out instantly. Turning to the thirteen remaining fuckers, he wore a savage grin on his face as they looked shocked at Sam. He seemed almost like a different man. Normally so calm and cool, he was suddenly a smiling battle hungry juggernaut. “Come on then, Dickheads. Let’s see who can put a scratch on Pride.” At least three more of the boys dived on Sam, and the fighting really began then and there.

In the chaos of the fighting and the adrenaline and the excitement, Sam lost track of time. There were no landmarks to recognise the passage of time, he only remembered the brief highlights of the fight: A guy whose nose he broke with a thrust of his palm, another guy’s dislocated knee from a quick stamp, the punch to Sam’s jaw that had him tasting blood. All the landmarks were there and Sam was left unaware of how many of the fighters had abandoned the fight with Pride to pursue the other sins. Soon though, the battle was cut short as an explosion caught everyone’s attention. Sam used the opportunity to knock out the last of his opponents with a brutal headbutt: and Sloth knocked took out the last fucker standing. [i]”She got the first and the last. At least she’s someone worth fighting for, it seems.[/i]

Sloth hurried them towards the source of the explosion, and Sam didn’t have time to count the bodies he’d taken out or that anyone else had taken out. He prided himself on the assumption that he had the highest body count though; the fighting shtick was Sam’s forte, for god sake. If some other upstart had knocked out more people than him…

Sam was directly behind Sloth, wanting to lead the way in case the fighting got thicker. Inside the complex was far too quiet for a gang-war though. No one was shouting, no one was fighting, no one was making much noise at all: That was until the explosion of black gas sent people onto their ass. Sam took a heavy blow and was blown backwards towards the wall. He wrapped an arm around his head to stop himself from taking a major blow and when he hit the concrete, he heard an audible ‘snap.’ The pain kept him wide awake, and he saw the black gas creeping in closer. He couldn’t hold his breath as he inhaled sharply from the pain. Black gas filled his lungs and he wanted to choke. His eyes were growing darker.

“Sh…it…”
[center] [Present time][/center]

[i]’Wake up.’[/i] The voice was familiar, but equally not-so. It wasn’t his, wasn’t Sloth’s, wasn’t any of the other Sins either. [i]’Wake up!’[/i] The voice was getting angrier now. Annoyed at being ignored it seemed. Waking up was harder than it looked: his body felt so heavy. [i] ‘Don’t you have any pride, whelp? Wake the fuck up!’[/i] God he felt hungry. [i]’At this rate, the others are going to wake up before you.’[/i]

“Nnng…” Sam grunted slowly as he stirred from unconsciousness. He wasn’t going to be some undependable schmuck. Fuck that. 

The familiar voice of doubt seemed more approving as it grew quieter. Sloth seemed to have heard the grunt of Pride, as she shook him awake next. She told him to wake up while she woke everyone up, Sam touched his should-be-broken right arm: only to feel it as strong as the start of the day. Stronger even, perhaps. 

“…The fuck?”

Sloth led the group outside of the complex and somehow, they were back at the base. No one said any major words until Sloth said what everyone was thinking. The fuck, indeed.

“I think…we got set up or some shit. That black shit in the complex…Must have been a hallucinogenic or some crap. I thought I broke my arm in the explosion, but it’s perfect…better than perfect, even.” Looking at his right arm, he noticed something off. The old scar on his knuckle, the one he got when Little C first mugged him, was also gone. He couldn’t find a single old scar on his body.

…The fuck, indeed.