Mr Barkston needed to escape. The putrid air of the Corsair Collective headquarters was getting to him. His body ached, his vision was blurred, and he was beginning to think that he'd never get Dead Man's Chest out of his head--seriously, why was that even being sung? So, he waited by the front door for his chance. It wasn't long before one of the associates left to run an errand and Mr Barkston was hot on his heels! As soon as he was outside, he took in a refreshing breath of air, and decided to go for a walk. Normally, the dog was opposed to any form of exercise, but if he sat outside the headquarters building, it wouldn't take long before That Guy He Knew dragged him back indoors under the pretense of caring about his safety. What bullshit that was.

So, Mr Barkston found himself down at the docks. He found a nice tree to relax beneath, and plopped down for the nap of the century. He was soon awoken, however, by some unknown clamor coming from one of the piers. His eyes adjusted to the daylight in just enough time to observe a young man, carrying a heavy bag, disembarking from a ship. Around him, a swarm of men and women had collected. They shouted at the man, competing for his attention. Some even thrust keys at him. Confused, the man accepted one of the keys and he was led away. Another man began to exit the boat and the group repeated the routine again. Mr Barkston watched this occur until the ship was empty.

The dog, being a dog, didn't understand many intricacies of the world. Still, he found it funny that these people were so willing to devote their lives to the first person to get their attention. Didn't they want to establish themselves first? Make a bit of money? He didn't realize that these people, who were joining families of course, were being granted invitations to those families because they were commodities and nothing else. Despite having two, full days to make a decision on the matter, these people accept. They were going to make money for their crew, and if they didn't, then they'd make a perfect target for their hit squads. The families didn't have any expectations for these new associates.

He didn't know that once upon a time, newcomers would seek out a family and request to join it by proving themselves worthy. True, not everyone could gain membership, but not everyone belonged in the Mafia. Simply filling your family with targets was once looked down upon by the heads of great families and punished severely. Families were expected to make appearances and be of significance, or they were destroyed. Mr Barkston didn't understand all of this, but he often wondered who these leaders were. Granted, he had a lot of free time to think. It's not like he actually did anything of use--that is, unless there's a use for gnawing on chair legs. If so, he was incredibly productive.

Mr Barkston stood and stretched. It was probably time to head back to the headquarters, as That Girl From The Boat would be looking for him. In a few, short minutes, he was back at the building. He took a last breath of fresh air and scratched at the door until someone let him inside.