Hopping off the train with a kick in his boot and a chip on his shoulder, Chocco (ChocolateKnife), takes a large inhale as he smells the fumes of Detroit, overpowering his senses. As he indulges in the new air, Chocco gets knocked by a bystander which Chocco trails, like dark chocolate - the man didn't see what was coming as Chocco grins as he brandishes a knife, lunging towards the knocking suspect,

"Freeze!" all is heard is whistles and boots charging towards him, as a deer in headlights - putting his hands up - Chocco lays down his knife as he looks at the man terrified enough to instantly start running for his life.

A few hours later within the confines of the precinct, a constant ring of a phone is heard as it's picked up by the Chief, "Hello, this is Frank-" Before he could finish his usual mundane dialogue, he nods and puts the phone down - taking out the keys to the cell, "Your let go, i expect double the usual amount," Pausing as he gives Chocco his knife back, "-relay that to whoever you've aligned yourself with."

With a grin and a skip in his step, Chocco makes his way out of the precinct as a car in dark blue approaches, "This is a GREAT city, can't do this Mexico!" Chocco expresses his elation as he gets into the backseat.

As the car drifts off into the busy streets of detriot - Chocco wipes himself from shoulder to shoulder from the jails stank, beginning to monologue in the back of the car, "So I was thinking," Chocco continues to talk as he pulls out a cigarette from his flatcap, "I've drank a hell amount of ice cream," Putting the cigarette on his lips as the saliva catches it, the cigarette flailing like a muppet, continuing to talk with a muffled tone, "Like, drank. But the surveys out there say that, what? sixty to seventy percent of the country is lactose intolerant," Patting himself down, he hears the click near the driver - with the lighter, he moves his head in close as the cigarette, "Thanks," Inhaling, "Anyway, where was I?" 

As the car comes to a stop, the driver gets out of his seat, walking towards Chocco's car door as muffled sounds can be heard from outside the car - Chocco still talking, "Oh. We stopped. Wait where was we going?" blurting out in confusion as the passanger door opens. 

Stepping out with his eyes adjusting, he approaches a very fancy bar - with polished wood and velvet seats, marbled floor and bar - Chocco didn't notice any of it - taking out his wallet, "Milk, Milk with a sea salt taffy - and a vodka shot, with a lime - and a mini umbrella," with eyes wide, the barman seemed to be confused, yet before he could get his order - Chocco's left ear seemed to be grabbed by the goon who drove him - throwing him onto one of the soft seats;

"You don't get to talk to anyone here - not dressed like that, think of this like segregation, alright pal - this is the bum with connections corner. Wait till you get a suit and that god awful name you've chose for yourself. Stay." 

Inhaling hard - the ash seems to fall onto his lap, as every breath that escapes seem to make a typhoon of smoke, as he starts to play with the salt and pepper shakers on the table.

Anxiously waiting - Chocco brings himself to the point of putting the salt and pepper on the table, pouring out each one as he tries to smell both - with a winced face, he seems to have taken the mixed concoction and coated his nose. With his thumb placed firmly on his nose, an continuous explicit amount of nasal blowing is let out - trying new tactics of vigourisly rubbing his nose, yet seemlessly getting some of the pepper in his eye. Flailing backwards, grunting and swiping at thin air - he hears foot steps and a piece of paper slide through;

"Jesus christ," The blurred vision of Chocco gives off a figure speaking towards him, "What the fuck are you doing, and who the fuck wo-" pauses with a sigh, the figure seemingly puts his hand on his brow and drags downwards. As this is happening, Chocco is throwing water on his face and digging into his eyes with his left hand, while fingering his nose with his right - stripping himself of any dignity;

"If you understand basic english, just listen," The figure stops as he looks in disgust, "Read the paper, hopefully you can read, go to where it says - don't fuck with anyone, stay quiet, and take care of business," With that, all Chocco can hear is foot steps as he blindly puts his hands in front of him - as the patrons inside of the restaurant look in horror.

A noticable amount of time later, tickets and note in hand - he seems to have packed light. Exiting the men's bathroom with a leather jacket and a flat cap - his only cargo seems to be a couple units of cocaine and a packet of cigarettes. Walking down to Platform 13, Chocco takes his seat and moves forwards as he grabs a magazine that's on the table - flicking through most of the pages about women's beauty and how cigarettes cure cancer, as two armed, built security guards walk up to him;

"Sir, may you come with us?" One of them ask as Chocco puts down the magazine as he opens his mouth

"I mean, the way you say it - it almost sounds rhetorical, am i close? Let me read one more article - you know knowledge is power, and if we want to hit the 5th dimension-" Chocco is halted as he is pulled from the collar and dragged through the public, into a Interview room 4 - thrown inside. As he stumbles inside, any surveillance equipment is turned off - filling his quota of dramatic entrances. 

Before speaking, Chocco begins to chuckle, "What is it with the theatre with you two?" Chocco wipes his forehead, adjusting his jacket before grabbing out his two units - wrapped and secure,

"I think we pay for what you in your hands right now, not questions," The main honcho speaks, extending his hand. Chocco passing over the goods - the second guard kneels down, grabbing a paper bag, throwing it towards Chocco. With a high temptation to reach for his knife - the now dawn flight was boarding - not looking to miss out on his opportunity, Chocco with grated teeth, smiles towards them and starts to count the money as the two grin and exit the room. 

A few minutes go by as Chocco peaks out and exits, stumbling towards his seat - see's a man sitting in his seat - reading the same magazine. Feeling quite vindictive - Chocco walks up to the man, unzips his jacket and shows him his knife - with blood shot eyes, salivating lips, all Chocco does is motion his head to the left. With excessive speed, the man finds his footing in total sweat as he gets up and starts to run in a random direction as Chocco grabs his collar as he tailspins into Chocco's direction.

Face to face, silently and gently - Chocco takes the magazine from the mans left hand, letting go of his grasp and finally blinks. Sitting down with his cigarette packet and his ticket, grabbing a match from his flatcap and lighting one for the road as all he hears in the background is fleeting footsteps.