Alright Jake, you've done this last week. No need to freak out over nothing.
As he prepared to board his velocity blue Ford Fusion, 18 year old Jacob Andersen glanced between his car as well as three other fellows as they prepared to board their own vehicles for the latest run. When the greasy-haired man who wore a purple suit reminiscent of what a pimp would wear, flanked by two thug-like bruisers that served as his bodyguards, approached him to take the job, Jacob was dumbfounded and a bit dubious. Who wouldn't be if they were accosted by a shady-looking racketeer and two greaser broads? It took some convincing and handsome bribes for the high school senior to accept the position. Since that encounter, Jake was now ferrying contraband items for the Mob with three different dudes.
"Yo Andersen, let's move our asses. I really don't want the capos all over us."
"Yeah, I know, I'm technically ready," the teen with the golden brown hair replied to the driver of a silver Chevy Silverado, a Van Dyke-bearded guy called Pancho.
"Then let's go!" Pancho called out as he boarded his vehicle. " Leon and Dwayne have been waiting for you to step on it!"
As the cars each left the parking lot with their illicit cargo, Jake, not for the first time, began to wonder if his life would be different should he have turned down the purple-suited hoodman's offer. He might have lacked the money that was being wired to his bank account to be used for college and whatever leisure activity the lad chose, such purchasing a new video game console or buying new E-Cigs for him and his pals without his parents being any wiser. It could have ended like this or worse for that matter. The racketeer could have whacked him there and disposed of his body to avoid having anyone rat him out. Thoughts like that brought chills down Jake's spine so he concentrated instead on driving through the traffic on Parker Way, taking a breather.
I will do this until I gain enough dough to pay my way through the University of Gannin and then I'll quit before I'm in too deep.
As he completed a right turn up Spiner Boulevard, he noticed a maroon Dodge Challenger with its tinted windows going the opposite direction he was. He immediately recognized it as Leon's since no other Challenger had tinted windows and license place that read LEON4U.
Gee, I wonder if his route intersects with mine. Why don't they spread us out to cover more ground in the city? Ah, what the hell. Not my issue. I am in it for the cash.
Waving his hand at his cohort, Jake wondered if Leon could see him through the tint, but brushed it aside as the gesture was only symbolic. Suddenly, his heart leapt into his throat as he noticed Leon's vehicle veer off-road and into the back of a nearby warehouse. The smoke from the crumpled hood trailed up into the afternoon sky as Jake pulled a U-turn at the next intersection and surveyed the cause of his cohort's accident. He peered closer and he felt anxiety and terror claw from his chest as he spotted the hole the size of a large tack on the driver's window. Gulping, he suspected the worst.
Holy Toledo, someone just wacked Leon! Is it a rival mob, a contract killer, or even the cops?
Not wanting to stand around to find out in case the killer was nearby, Jacob Andersen started to shift the wheel to the left to drive off only to learn that the vehicle wasn't responding. Fearing the worst, he checked the engine lights to see that they weren't on so no problems there.
What was the issue?
Jake stepped outside his blue Fusion and took a critical glance over his vehicle until his eyes fell upon the source of his car's refusal to budge. It looked like his car's tires out of commission. Cursing, the teen tried to ascertain how to remedy the issue, but multiple tires were blown out. It didn't appear like an accident to him. A look of fear crossed through his face.
Someone deliberately slashed my tires! Could a rival criminal organization be wacking the runners of other syndicates?
A dark shadow enveloped him like a solar eclipse, causing him to whirl around in terror. The sight of the knife-wielding militarized hulk standing between him and the cream-colored warehouse was too much for him to bear.
"P-please don't kill me," he desperately pleaded with the assassin for his life. "I am too young to die."
"Bull!" the gas-masked combatant barked. "Children younger than you are dying of starvation around the world in developing countries, that's not to mention those that are the victims of wanton violence instigated by groups like the one you are serving. Tell you what, kid. You leave the Syndicate's services and you won't join your buddies in Hell, capiche?"
"W-wait? So you aren't gonna ice me?"
"Nah, you are only a young man who didn't know any better unlike those blokes you ferried contraband with. Tell me how a nipper like you with his whole life ahead of him got involved in organized crime?"
Jake gulped, worried that the wrong answer would cost him his life. "I was approached by some greasy-looking dude with two bruisers and if I refused, I'd end up at the bottom of Oakville Lake. Besides, I needed the cash for college."
"A capo approached you personally, huh?" The glowing green eyes of the gas-mask seemed to bore into his soul. "No worries, I'll personally take care of him. In the meantime, there are other ways to make cash without getting involved in organized crime. Now beat it!"
"Thanks, man!"
With that, Jake turned and ran, all the while wondering why the hitman chose to spare him. Perhaps he'd kept him alive to serve as a message to all the other contenders for organized crime turf. That didn't matter to the boy as he left, his goal of getting as far as possible from the mess he had gotten himself into getting closer with each step.
---
Agony was reading a message from one of his beneficiaries on his silver Mac when there was a knock on the door.
"Go on and let our guest know he can come on in," the crime sponsor ordered. Two armed men in plainclothes and combat jackets + boots opened the bronze doors of Agony's temporary quarters. In walked a local street punk with a Mohawk dyed purple, a vibrant neon green Fear Street Avengers Hoodie, and plenty of piercings and tattoos. What caught the crime investor's attention was that the laddie's otherwise lethargic eyes were wide with terror. Once the doors were shut, the delinquent hurried over to the Syndicate benefactor's desk and got onto his knees as Reaper and Ghoul stood behind him while Sam and Celeste remained at Agony's sides.
The bespectacled sponsor of interstate crime glanced over at the simpering vandal as he crouched before his desk on the mahogany carpet like an abused dog. Having very little patience in dealing with bottom feeders like this punk, Agony motioned for him to stand.
"Rise lad." As soon as the gangster rose shakily to his feet, Agony continued to address him. "What brings you all the way here? Hurry up with it as I don't want to waste anymore precious minutes devoted to a master plan that will wipe out a thorn at my side. Something that is way above your pay ground, Avenger dreg."
Stuttering, the humbled thug began to inform Agony of the carnage he had witnessed.
"W-we were m-minding our o-own business w-when h-he appeared. M-my boys c-confronted him, b-but he slaughtered them. P-please help m-me."
Agony's fist clenched as he listened to the punk's story.
"You assume I was there with you when it all went down. Who butchered your lads like sheep, boy?"
"H-he wore a l-large military-grade coat and b-bore a sawed-off s-shotgun. H-hi face was c-concealed behind a g-gas mask like something f-from S-Stalker."
At that piece of information, Agony's ears perked.
"Hold it right there. You say a gas-masked man walked up to you guys and massacred you with a shotgun?"
The hooligan nodded. "And cut through us with some samurai sword."
The criminal mastermind only nodded in amusement. "Sounds about right. He is our guy." He then glanced at one of the guards and motioned him over. "You there! Give this young man a drink and have him on his way. "
As soon as the guard led the troubled youth away, Agony turned his attention to Celeste. He motioned for one of his personal attendants to come closer before handing her what looked like a ceremonial dagger. She took the device with the shiny silver blade and a crimson handle that had some sort of Celtic rune inscribed in it.
"You know what to do."
---
"And that's a wrap!"
Finishing up their band rehearsal for the school's Battle of the Bands competition, Sandro and the boys stopped to catch their break. The boys, ironically the name of their band, put away their instruments, which consisted of guitars, drums, harmonica, and even a keyboard, before relaxing inside the humid garage of Sandro's home.
"Anyone want a Coke or Red Bull?"
Sandro took out a can of Monster energy drink from the mini-fridge, humming Megadeth's Symphony of Destruction ,and cracked open the top before taking a swig. Anthony, Joe, and Nick hurried over to the fridge and took out Red Bull, Monster, or Coke cans to join their pal. As soon as they were seated on the dirty Tuscan-colored couch, the boys began chattering about their upcoming contest.
"You really think we got this? We will be up against Rashad's MC crew as well as Jessie and her Tyga Claus group. They won the previous Battle of the Band tournaments," Anthony said.
Nick just chuckled and snorted, nearly choking on his Coke. "Relax, dude. We been practicing non-stop now, putting in more hours than all the contestants combined. We sure got this in the bag."
Joe sighed before sipping his beverage. "We shall see. What do you think, Sandy?"
Sandro was too busy streaming a newsflash on his phone to answer his buddy's question before glancing up.
"Fellas, you gotta see this."
The three other chaps peered over at the boy's phone to see what the fuss was about and saw the newsfeed running a story on the latest development. It featured Poison Gas taking out several drug runners earlier in the day and even had indistinct footage from a warehouse of Oakville's vigilante burning crates and boxes which held cocaine, opium, and meth, according to the news report.
"Wa-oh!" Anthony's eyes went as wide as saucers. "He really smolders the Mob's drug business."
Sandro smiled. "That's right. At least he is tackling the problem, unlike our local police force."
"Maybe they are on the Mob's payroll?" Nick suggested.
"I bet about half of those suckers at OPD get their bills paid for by the Syndicate." Sandro stated as he sipped his Monster. "It's quite sad that it has fallen to a gas-masked Punisher to clean out our city, a job that those lazy bums at the police department should have undertaken. Speaking of which, anyone onboard to see PG in action and snap a few photos or so to document our encounter? Come on, it would be a thrill."212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4jPEQDEqTY
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Anthony looked dubious. "Mmmm, not sure if that's a good idea. I really don't think this dude wants to have witnesses."
"Precisely," Joe agreed. "Besides, isn't it dangerous to get within close proximity to a shady figure like him, especially when he is taking on criminals? All it takes is one stray bullet or a witness-"
"Screw that, I'm in!"
Sandro smiled at Nick. "There we have it! You two can skip out on the fun, but Nicky boy and I will be up close to the action."
Anthony had to make a jibe.
"Gee, you both should be reporters then. Have fun getting killed."
---
"Excuse me, miss, but may I ask what business do you have here?"
Startled, Gwen turned to see a female police detective and a patrol officer face her, the latter having his arms crossed. Inside the lobby of Oakville's police station, the freelance journalist, now on Agony's payroll, was observing the interior and the composition under her new employer's orders when these two meddling law enforcement personnel accosted her. They didn't seem to thrilled too see a random reporter for hire poking her nose around the station. Perhaps it elicited some suspicion from the coppers, but Gwen had to play it cool to make sure the exhibition would proceed smoothly.
"Oh! Nothing sinister, I assure you. I am only here to write an article about Oakville PD, detailing all your exploits in the past five years which was partly responsible for the large drop in the city's crime rate. "
The detective raised a dark eyebrow as she inspected the young journalist before her. "Oh, is that so? What's your name, presshound? Who do you work for? Furthermore, who gave you the permission to enter the station and pry around like some dressup detective?"
Feeling uncomfortable from the sleuth's interrogation, Gwen started to answer while hiding her discomfort.
"I am Gwen O'Shay and I am a freelance journalist. I work for whoever-"
Her reply was cut short when a plainclothes officer waltzed over and addressed the two police/security force staffers.
"Detective Tan, Lt. Hughes, you've got to see this! Lieutenant Okoye and Sgt. Cunningham have stumbled upon a new lead in your case."
As Tan and Hughes were occupied by the officer, the freelance correspondent did one last sweep of the city's infamous police department, snapping a few pictures here and there for logistical purposes, before hurrying past a couple officers lugging a youth with facial tattoos and a green hoodie, possibly a drug dealer or a member of the notorious Fear Street Avengers, and out the door. She stopped beside a lamppost situated near the northside of the nearly empty parking lot and sent the images to her boss.
"Excuse me, miss?"
Gwen looked up to see a police guard, in blue attire appearing black in the half-light of the waxing evening, walk over to her from across the street lamp, his shoes clicking on the pavement. The writer wondered if she had done anything to draw suspicion to herself or whether the police officer only wanted to check on her, a lonely young woman in an empty parking lot after dark. Perhaps he'd seen her leave too hastily or maybe he had other sinister plans. Didn't Agony have some of the city's police force under his thumb?
However, the lone officer didn't make it past the light for her to find out his intentions. With a yelp, he could only stare down in horror as a blade erupted from his abdomen. Gasping in pain or shock, the dying cop fell to his knees, blood seeping out of his mouth, and glanced over at the journalist with a glassy look before toppling over. Behind him stood a masked man donning a menacing purple mask, a black suit, and a dagger now dripping with blood. She immediately knew him as Agony's right hand, Reaper.
"Are we late for the party?" He asked in his usual dark and snarly tone. Behind him, two more shapes slunk out of the shadows. Gwen recognized them as Shifty and Ghoul, two equally terrifying enforcers.
She smiled at them. "Not at all. Here is the layout and the positions of everyone inside the station."
Reaper took the pictures and glanced over them as the ghastly Ghoul and beady-eyed Shifty looked over his shoulder. Once he was satisfied, he turned to Shifty and nodded. In response, the dark-eyed man, his dirty blonde hair held up by his black headband, stepped into the dim orange street light and started to transform. In a matter of seconds, Gwen stared in awe as a gas-masked behemoth clad in his trademark trenchcoat and military fatigues stood before her. If she hadn't witnessed Shifty shapeshift, she would have believed that Oakville's infamous vigilante was standing before her. As she marveled at Shifty's quirk, Ghoul stepped toward her and handed her Reaper's bloody dagger.
"You know what to do."
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