*Lewnatik rushes down the alleyway gripping the 5-inch blood-covered flick-blade firmer than ever. His eyes full of years of anger and pain. His coat torn and wet from the rain. He slows and leans against a wall, catching his breath. Snapping the blade back into itself, he places it into his coat pocket, takes a deep breath and faces the direction from which he just came. He turns up the collar of his long, dark coat, grits his teeth and mutters quietly* I got you, you sonofabitch. *He takes a few minutes to calm himself down. As time passes, his hands stop shaking, he loses the glaze of his eyes. He returns his hands to their relaxed state in his coat pockets. But then he hears the voice of a man shouting.*

"Help! Somebody!"

The mans voice rings out in the nearby vicinity. He's standing close to the body of a downed man, with a blood soaked shirt. The body on the ground lays crooked, his eyes open, yet without life. The man standing darts his eyes around, looking at people who begin to crowd the body. His shouting now heard and purpose fulfilled.

The crowd chatters amongst themselves, all the while crowding and looking down upon the recently deceased, who's distraught facial expression is plastered for all to see. Obviously not a natural death, and his shirt gets more and more soaked as the blood continues to spill from his wounds.

Scarfo was nearby and upon hearing the screams also made his way over. He pushes through the crowd to get a better look, and bodies part for him. Some get nudged, and some turn and move as their group instinct shoots their subconscious a reason to look back and step aside. Maybe it's the fact he's elegantly dressed, a little sharper than most, and indeed in the guise of the days well known criminals.

As Scarfo reaches the front he glances down upon the body. The site not unfamiliar. He's had his fair share of lifeless eyes looking back at him, with estranged looks and mangled body postures. Some due to his own aggressive tendencies, and others from orders set forth, with his witnessing both a personal satisfaction and a business obligation.

After taking in the scene, Scarfo turns and walks back through the crowd. He thinks about what he might have for dinner as he swims through civilians trying to catch a glimpse of what will soon be on the front of papers across the country. A nice bloody steak may just hit the spot, he thinks, as police sirens sound off in the background.