"I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel. I focused on the pain, the only thing that's real." - Johnny Cash, Hurt

Husky stood outside the majestic entrance as he thought of the plan he had in mind. The church stood close to the headquarters of The Broadway Mob in Chicago, but somehow he had never walked through the doors. Walking on consecrated grounds after selling his soul to the devil like he had to search for piety would be a cruel joke indeed. Yet he stood there, unflinching as the cold wind , blowing against his untucked shirt sent a shiver down his spine. All other avenues had been exhausted, and he was now left with nowhere to turn. If he wished to stop this downward spiral that he was succumbing to, perhaps this was the only port he would find as the storm raged around him. 

His mind made up , Husky pushed the door open and stepped inside. The wind howled like a beast in pain as it moved in to fill the warm chamber with its unearthly chill. The place was deserted, a fortunate sight for he would not have to worry about who saw him in here. As he walked along the aisle his steps echoed loudly causing a few birds to flutter about near the roof , surprised by this disturbance to their slumber. As he ground to a halt at the front and looked up , the candles flickered around him casting a hellish glow on the cross. 

With a determined expression on his face, Husky walked into the confessional and sat down. He loosened his tie and buried his unshaven face in his hands, immediately regretting it as he felt a twinge of pain erupt from the bruise on his chin. His detour through Detroit had turned out to be rather unpleasant. The bruise was a souvenir from his drunken argument with the owner of one of the local bars. When he realized he had turned to picking fights with strangers in a place that was no longer his home, just so he could feel something, anything, apart from this emptiness inside him.

Was this hollowness a result of losing his soul? If so the Devil was truly cruel for having tricked him so. Or was the reason much more mundane? Could it be that everyone he had come back for, scratched and clawed his way out of death for, had already moved on? Fate sure was ironical , for when he had fought for a new life he was forced into his old one and now that he had accepted the foundations of his past, the ground fell from beneath him. His confidantes had left him, rumours circled about his promotion and whether he actually deserved it. 

His life was now just collateral damage left as the two sides of him constantly engaged in a brutal war for control of his being. Perhaps that was his destiny, live a life of constant internal struggle , his solitary existence trapped forever in purgatory. It may very well be, but he would not find out today for fate had robbed him of this simple mercy as well. The priest was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing to himself, Husky stood up. It seems his path would remain a mystery for a little while longer. He would be left to his own devices yet again. If that is what was meant to be all he could do was follow the plan he had in mind when he originally stepped in here. Walking outside he felt the cool breeze envelope him again and numb his doubts to a dull thud in his subconscious. He handed a few young thugs nearby the letters of invitation and addresses they were to be delivered at along with a hefty tip. 

If fate was determined to leave him alone , he would call the bluff. He would tempt fate into action by doing something incredibly foolhardy. He would rob Alexis Gregory, the widow of a prominent Russian Oligarch, now settled in Chicago. Husky smiled as he hoped he had chosen the right men to support him on this heist, for this may just turn out to be the most prominent heist in recent history.