^{Early Morning, January 2 – South Philly County Jail}

The local South Philly jail was wretched. People were sent here before sentencing and it wasn’t the best place to hole up by any means. It smelt like piss and the stench lingered with you longer than the sentence itself. Cold. Dark. Vile. Just the place for the degenerates that made their way here. Murderers. Bank robbers. Thieves. The scum of South Philly, at least in the laws eyes. And for the past twenty four hours, an arsonist and his caught in the middle brother joined the status of inmates before they would be dealt with.

In the wake of the war, Surtr had set Al’s Barbershop alight. He didn’t mean it. No more than a thief means to steal. It was just in his nature. A necessity to express and be noticed, so thought Scriba. His little brother wasn’t his most prized company yet he loved him none the less. He didn’t show it as much as he wanted, or knew how, yet he felt a sense of responsibility for the fatherless kid. They both came from the same mother yet their parenting was a little different. Scriba had a fatherly figure to guide him whilst Surtr didn’t.

Scriba leant back against the cold brick wall, knees bent upwards as he hugged them against his chest, slowly rocking back and forth as his mind ticked over. He thought about the recent war. He pondered not seeing Adz again, the man who had put him to work in the barbershop. His thought pattern was interrupted as the smell of a cigar caught his attention.

A man sat away in a corner where smoke could be seen arising from a shadowy figure. Scriba glanced around a little more, taking in the environment whilst Surtr sat a few meters away.

Surtr was sitting on the floor leaning up against the wall, with his legs spread out wide in front of him. His head was back and he was staring at the ceiling. The cell was mouldy and it had cracks all throughout, but it calmed him down. The lights didn't even work right - there was just one lone bulb in the middle of the cell and it continuously flickered. When it was actually working, the room was just barely bright enough to see more than five feet in front of you.

Surtr would occasionally drift out of consciousness, but it never lasted. At most he would be out for ten minutes at a time. He kept getting startled by other inmates shouting nonsense. It was near impossible to sleep in this place. Surtr glanced over to his right and saw Scriba cradling himself. This made him chuckle, but not loud enough for anyone else to notice.

For the fourth time in an hour, Surtr woke up, this time to the smell of cigar smoke. He looked around but he didn't see anyone openly smoking. He did, however, see smoke drifting up in the air in the corner of the room. He could just barely make out a dark figure underneath the smoke. He appeared tall, but thin. Not the kind of guy Surtr would be afraid of.

After jealousy had kicked in, Surtr got up slowly and dusted himself off. He had a load of crap stuck to him from the floors. He limped over to Scriba with one leg still asleep and pointed over at the figure in the corner. He kicked Scriba in the shin to get his attention.

"Hey, bro, you see that? Looks like we could have some fun in here!"

Scriba's hands slipped from around his knees and he slumped forward. He glared at Surtr and stretched his arms back then rolled his shoulders forward a few times, loosening the muscles of his upper torso and neck. He despised being in this situation and wasn't too keen on his brothers antics in general, let alone now. If he had a nickel for the amount of times his brother had been in trouble, well, he'd have a fuck load of nickels.

"Seriously? Why don't you just leave the guy alone?"

He already knew where this was going and he really wasn't in the mood. Scriba lifted his gaze toward the shadowy figure and sniffed at the wafting cigar smoke. It reminded him of the barbershop when the older guys would play cards after hours. He would always look for a chance to be amongst them between message runs here and there. The memories crashed him back to reality with the smell of nearby piss. He spread his legs out a little, still leaning up against the wall, and crossed his arms.

"You can try him, but I aint in the mood."

He generally sympathized with his brother. He knew the life they had grown up around and his destructive personality made for an explosive concoction at times. Hell, if he didn't have the help of Adz he may just have turned out similar. But he knew better. He was taught to keep a cool head and only act if there were solid enough reason to. Surtr on the other hand, saw things a little different.

Suddenly the shadowy figure began to move forward into the light as Surtr stood close by.

The dark figure grew bigger and brighter as he stepped forward. Surtr backed away from Scriba and pretended to looked disinterested, trying to pin the blame on his older brother, but he had no success. The dark figure was moving towards him and there was nowhere he could escape to. Surtr readied himself and turned his right hand into a fist as he got into a fighting stance, waiting to pounce. The figure moved closer without a word. He was trying to intimidate Surtr. It seemed like he wanted a fight.

Surtr began running directly towards the figure, fist cocked back and mouth open. It felt like he had to run several miles but it was only a few feet. Being in a disgusting prison will do that to a person. It messes with your mind. Surtr was closing in on the figure when he finally saw a face come out of the shadow. It was Big_Daddy_G. Surtr instantly swivelled his body and slammed his fist into the brick wall instead.

"Fuck!!" Surtr moaned in pain and fell to his knees, clutching at his busted up hand. At least he finally got what he deserved. He looked up and over to Scriba who had not an ounce of pity in his eyes. Surtr flipped him off and leaned back against the wall, still nursing his hand, scooting upwards against it trying to get back to his feet. The pain was excruciating, but he had to keep it together or his brother would never let him live it down.

When the pain finally began to subside and Surtr had managed himself up he gave Big_Daddy_G a glance. 

"Sorry about that. You never know who you'll run into in these damn jails!"

Surtr raised his better hand up to his forehead and wiped away several beads of sweat. As he flicked them to the ground, he heard sounds of gunshots outside the prison followed by guards rushing all about the small compound. People were screaming; it was chaos.

Something big was going down, and Surtr couldn't help but let out a huge smirk. He loved this kind of action.

It was planned well given the timeframe. A few hours of preparation was enough for Uncle Joe and the crew. They went a fair ways back and Uncle Joe tied them all together. Like a bow on your favourite Christmas present. And this late gift was for the men still inside the jail. Three men in particular.

Joe was shrewd and business savvy. He really knew his stuff when it came vice’s such as bookmaking and shy locking. This gave him a leg up and a way into organized crime. He may have started late in his age, yet his business smarts and experience made up for it. He had a crew together who would follow him anywhere. Loyalty was something that just came natural to men in his presence. He personally wasn’t the violent type, so fear wasn’t the reason for it. He was respected, and his men would take a bullet for him many times over.

In the middle of the dirt road in front of the South Philly jail were three parked cars, all lined up haphazardly and parallel to the jailhouse. Moments earlier the cars furiously screeched in before six gangsters exited with heavy artillery. They quickly took refuge the metallic boxes with the intention to use them as shields.

@Joseph_Ligambi stood behind the middle car with @Sarai3_Goodfella close by. Granny, as they affectionately called her. She was a real motherly type and was loved unconditionally by the crew. Not just for her cooking, but for her quick wits. It kept them in line, that and her trusty revolver which she carried everywhere. They looked quite relaxed given the job at hand, yet that was to be expected given their roles.

Behind the car to the left were @TonyCapazzo and @Tino_Fiumara. Tony went way back with Joe, they were basically inseparable. Tony Boy was a workhorse and managed the rackets closely with Joe. He groomed both Tony and Tino since they were young. Tino came over from Siciliy after his parents passed and Joe schooled him in English, as well as other things. Since then the two Mafioso worked the books for Uncle Joe. Both were smart, loyal, and even tempered, just as Joe moulded them to be.

Two guards exited the jail to see what the commotion was, and straight away Tony and Tino went to work. They knew their role, and they didn’t disappoint. A rain of bullets from two Tommy Guns rang out as they slowly walked to and around the front of the car, making their way toward the guards as the shell casings pumped out of the chambers and littered the road whilst the sound of machine gun fire filled the air. They had no chance. The guards dropped and the guns came to a halt. An immediate message to anyone inside and close by.

All the while two men that had been positioned behind the car to the right quickly scurried toward the jails entrance. @KingAlucard and Carlos_Marcello waited for the bullets to stop firing before they made their way over, rifles in hand. Both were solidly built guys and worked for Uncle Joe running rackets respectively, King into the numbers and Carlos had his fingers in the cement trade and loved his horses. They didn’t hesitate and they stormed the entrance, kicked in the door, and entered with guns at the ready.

Carlos hit first as he smashed the back of the rifle into the Sherriff’s face, busting his nose and sending him straight to the floor before ordering him to hand over the keys. King demanded the other guards into another room as he motioned them forward with the barrel end of the rifle, ready to let loose given the slightest disobedience. He really hoped someone would step out of line.

Meanwhile Tony and Tino took positions at either ends of the grouped up cars, ready should any unforeseen circumstances arise.

Happy with things so far, Joe took a seat in the car whilst removing a cigar from his inner jacket pocket. Noticing, Sara took out a lighter and flamed the end for a few moments as the action continued elsewhere.

Utopia was taking a backseat role in the chaos that was unfolding right in front of him. He was sitting in his Cord 812 automobile, no more than one hundred metres behind the grouped cars that were parked right in front of the jail. The truth was that Utopia had been tracking one of the cars that was being used in the bust. As owner of a car dealership in South Philly, Utopia made a significant proportion of his income taking orders from private customers on automobiles in the Philadelphia area and he had been offered a solid figure to find and acquire the Buick Century Saloon that was currently being driven by one of the six gunmen that were now inside the jail.

Initially, Utopia had thought the gunmen were about to wack him, but before he could reach for his trusty pistol under the front seat, it became clear that this wasn't his party. Utopia watched as he saw the gunmen return from the jail with what were clearly three prisoners, who's nicknames Utopia would soon discover to be Scriba, Surtr and Big Daddy. Utopia sighed as he watched the Buick Century Saloon's beautiful paintwork get stained by gunfire from a prison guard that was shooting wildly into the small crowd of gunmen and escaped prisoners, who were frantically trying to get into their vehicles. 

Utopia didn't know exactly what made him do what he did next. By this stage it was clear what was going on and Utopia perhaps felt a touch of sympathy for the party as he himself had partaken in jail breaks before. As more and more prison guards came outside to meet the firepower of the six gunmen, the tyres of all three cars parked outside the jail were blown by bullets. Utopia accelerated towards the group of gunmen, before swinging the car around and beckoning the crew and prisoners to get in. One by one, they all squeezed into the car in a fashion that would have been fairly amusing  in another context. As Utopia sped off, he glanced around to see Surtr grab Sarai3_Goodfella's gun from her hand before he began shooting wildly back towards the jail out of the back window. 

"What the hell are you doing? You won't hit shit from there" shouted Utopia into the backseat. 

The gunfire stopped. Surtr had collapsed back onto the car seat. A lucky bullet from a prison guard had found its way right into his skull. The car continued racing in the direction that would get them out of town the quickest. Nobody said a word.