Thread: Walking the Line (Razgriz and Beautiful_Disgrace)

America. Such a wonderful place. Full of opportunity for just about everything. Success, failure, prosperity, poverty, happiness and even misery. The numbers of paths that one could choose from were practically endless, and even more so were the ways one could walk said path. Some walked an honest path, leading their lives in a way that their choices didn't affect others and didn't place themselves in unnecessary danger. Others chose a less secure path, but with the elevated risk came great, great rewards. The path of a criminal, those who delve into the 'unsavory' side of the human condition, is often laced with risk everyone one might look. Capture by law enforcement was always something that loomed over even the most hardened criminal's shoulders, on top of the threat of the ultimate penalty for a mistake Death. Something that all mortals had to come to terms with, but often arriving far sooner than anticipated in the underworld. However, good and evil are very subjective and often are not as black and white as many would like to believe. And tonight, this statement would be put to the test.... Joliet, Illinois. 2004, 2355 1155 PM UTC. Unknown Warehouse Complex. Tonight was a big night for the Vice Lords and La Raza Nation the plan was to meet up and pool their resources together. Why bother fighting? If they both joined up, they'd have more bodies to patrol the turf and still make boatloads of money. And with the Lords' grip on the drug ring and La Raza's gunrunning connections, that profit would be sweet. And with Willie Lloyd out of the picture, the Lords could rise again and make their mark on this new turf. All the big names were there, and things were looking up...Until Illinois' newest 'resident' came to crash the party. Almost as if on cue, right as the clock hit 1202am, shit hit the fan and hard A phantom shadow struck from what seemed like every direction at once, and bodies started dropping. Gunshots rang out like a demented symphony, the former gangbangers falling to the floor with a dime-sized hole in their foreheads, a ring around the wound from the pressure of the barrel being forced against their skull. Exit wounds sprayed blood, brain matter and bone fragments across the floor, and the sounds of empty brass hitting the concrete just made everything more absolute Death had come, and it was taking no prisoners. It felt like an eternity...It really did. But then, fear did amazing things to the psyche. And right now, the sole living member of the Vice Lords chapter in Joliet, sat with his back pressed hard against a support column, his own gun empty and the slide shifted back to show as much. The dark brown hues of the young Latino man were dilated to an impossible degree, the thick jacket he wore doing little to warm him from the frost that coated his spine. His cap - a classic White Sox hat - glistened on its black surface in patches with the blood of his former Lords, red streaking down the front of his navy jeans and dotting the surface of his once-pristine white Nikes. Truly it was the picture of a man facing the Reaper, with no hope of escape. Even more so when he looked around and all he could see was red streaks. And the bodies, their eyes dim from lack of life and gazing towards the ceiling as if stupefied by what had happened. You think this changes anything? Once the rest of them hear of this, you're dead. The Lords will find you, and you'll get yours. he tried to say in as much of a macho tone as possible. The fear, however, laced every single syllable of his statement, his pitch varying greatly with each uttered word. Without much reason, and perhaps out of desperation, he then charged the assailant, hoping to at least stun before making a mad dash for the exit.