Zant, after recieving a few calls from Paul_Klint and Martyr, decided to take a night off of work to really find out what was going on. He walked down the street with caution. He kept casually looking inside each alley he passed and only saw the usual thugs and gangsters preparing to extort some businesses. He went into a speak-easy run by some friends, and bought couple cases of scotch. After paying for the liquor with cash, he walked out of the hidden bar.

Upon exiting, he looked around and saw a person wearing a trench coat, looking at him. Zant started walking, watching the person in the trench coat, and darted into an alleyway. The man followed Zant into the dark alley, and dug into his trench coat. Zant immediately took a left in the alleyway and stumbled across a homeless person. Zant ended up tripping, but caught his fall. During the process he wound up dropping the scotch. No glass was heard breaking, and Zant, before turning around, took out a self defense gun.

The man in a trench coat reached the turn, but was quickly ambushed. Zant pushed his gun into the man's face. "Who are you?! Why are you following me? Who sent you?" Upon seeing the man's face, Zant lowered his gun and put it away. It was one of his club workers that he personally hired. The man quickly regained confidence. "I just wanted to give ya what you wanted me to get." He took out a packet and quickly turned it over to Zant. Zant openned the packet and saw papers, what he wanted.

"Th.. thanks, I'm just being really edgy right now, don't sneak up on me again." Zant replied with recovering bravado. The man quickly departed back where he came and Zant looked around. He hid the packet inside his coat and picked up the 2 cases. He took out a bottle of scotch and handed it to the person he tripped on. He darted off to his safe house in an unmarked alleyway. He looked around where the alley met the road again and saw nobody. He unlocked the door and quickly closed it. The outer world didn't need to see what would happen now.

He placed the 2 cases onto a couch in the unlit room. It was still dusk, the sun still gave late to the dark room. Zant immediately grabbed a bottle of scotch and began to drank, the passages of time starting to become a blur. He quickly took out the packet while he was still able to read. He kept mumbling each word he said. "The package's brother.." His words started to become ramblings. "Warehouse workers.." He took another drink from the scotch bottle, his ramblings got worse. "No, that alley doesn't go there.."

After a while of rambling, Zant managed to find a paper and an old pen he bought from an antique store, the pen looking very old. His hand writing was just a bunch of chicken scratch, and eventually, he managed to write. "The brother of the package.. Warehouse worker.. Break in alley, saw dumping, noticed. Got suspicious, called cops.. Dug body from ocean.. Captain of the police.. Evidence.. Connected.. Connected to who?" Zant quickly finished off the scotch bottle and finished another. He had began to laugh uncontrollably, but eventually stopped and continued to write, the grandfather clock completely blurry. "Connected.. Police chiefs all over city... Several families.. Blackmail.. Assaulters... Paul, Klint and Melody assaulted.." His ramblings became mere mumbles. "Assaulters mafioso.. Which family.. Which family?!"

After a long while of shouting which family, Zant picked up the packet of info and began to try to read the smudges of blurs. He stopped reading and began drawing a line on a piece of paper. He drew the starting point labelled as "Assaulters.." and began drawing a line tree. To him, it started making sense, being completely smashed and having left his sanity at the door. His dire ramblings ceased, as he saw that he started making a small pool of empty scotch bottles. His insides were on fire, his mind was numb, and quite a few people would believe that Zant had completely lost it. Zant tossed the paper and tried walking to the door, everything starting to go black. His head met the door knob as he fell to the ground.

A day had passed before Zant regained his conciousness. He noticed his nose was bleeding. "Hell of a night.." Zant managed to get his bearing straight before letting go of the door. He quickly left the safety of the door to a cabinet and rummaged through it. He had found a large bottle of penicilin. Zant stumbled, holding the medicine in hand and found an empty shot glass. He tried picking it up, but stumbled again, the liquor took a massive toll out of him still. He managed to pick up the glass object and walked over to a working sink. He noticed the sun was really bright. "Daylight.. How long was I out?" He wondered until he filled up a glass of water, and popped a few penicilin.

Zant started to no longer feel any numbness, the liquor quickly losing pace. He walked over to where the stench of dried up scotch was, and found what he had wrote on. He noticed everything crossed out, and only saw a couple of near-illegible words. "Warehouse Nine" Zant quickly recalled, being partially sober now and sane, that Warehouse Nine was run by a bunch of Italians. Upon realizing, Zant stumbled his way to the phone and picked it up. He had it, the location of all the issues that the packages made. He managed to dial up Martyr, she being the one of the few people he knew the phone number to.

Martyr was still trying to clean up her house that laid in shambles as she was startled by a phone call. She threw a towel down on the ground she was using to clean the pieces of brain that had a spalttered her walls and then picked up the phone. It was the first call she had since that day and as she picked up the phone she remembered the image of the man pointing the gun to her telling her to talk.

She shook the thought from her head as she heard a familar voice on the other side of the phone. "Martyr... Hello.. Will you speak for gods sake.."

"Ohhh Zant. Sorry. What's....." Her voiced haulted as she heard him simply say Warehouse Nine. She looked down at the card she had thrown on the ground and the at the phone. She shrugged a bit as she realized the dumb thug she shot wasn't lying.

"9:00 be there. I'm sure that this is one I can't do on my own." He didn't quite seem compeltely ok at that moment and she wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but she quickly agreed to help. All of this wasn't going to stop till everyone stepped in and took whatever they found at this warehouse out.

She looked over at the clock and had quite a bit of time left. She picked the bloody towel back up and began cleaning the walls again. She cussed ever time she had to scrub and then finally she gave up after about another hour and simply called in the cleaners.

Looking at the time again she paused and then thought for a moment.. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I made a few more calls and had some people meet me here and us all go to the warehouse after all the more we have the better off." She picked up the phone and dialed the first number she could think of and awaited the voice on the other end to answer.

Revolt laid on his couch, staring up at the ceiling as he often did. Lost in his own mind, he didn't hear the phone begin to ring. As soon as he did, it startled him enough that he slid off the couch in shock. "Godsdammit..." he said as he picked himself up off the floor. This was one of those times he had decided on the shag carpeting; softer fall. He made his way over to the phone, and picked it up.

"Hello...what?...Oh yeah, how could I have forgotten. Must be the booze...Yeah I'll be right over...See ya sweets." He hung up the phone and began the hunt for his pants. Revolt tended to lounge around his house pantsless, seeing little need in them when he was alone. He put on his jeans, and fastened the belt into place. He picked his gun up off the table, and tucked it in the back of his jeans. His gun was never far from his person.

He slipped on his shoes, and made his way to the door. He was to meet Martyr at her place, and await the others. He lived about a block from her, so it was going to be an easy journey. He stepped out the door, and took a deep breath of the fresh Louisiana air. With a sigh, he began making his way down the stairs.

He decided to turn the walk to Martyr's into an exercise. He began to jog down the street in the direction of her apartment. He got there quicker than usual, so decided to light a cigarette as he made his way to the door. He exhaled a cloud of smoke before walking into the door, without a knock, as he always did. He plopped onto the couch next to Martyr and put his feet up.

"What's up buttercup?" He asked as he relaxed to await the others.

After calling Martyr, Zant had to prepare for what would be a suicide run into a massive operation. Zant sat down, the penicilin kicking in. He was ever glad that he got that prescription from a doctor that owed him favors. He looked about, thinking of what was needed. He needed something reliable to drive, some fire power, and something that'll clean up all the bodies in one go. He thought of how the dock was made, and where the warehouse was. He never got close, but had bribed a couple of workers to scout out the docks months ago. Warehouse Nine was on the far end of the docks, Warehouse Ten being on another dock completely. He sat, now looking around.

Zant saw the empty scotch bottles from his venture last night, and started thinking. After a minute of thought, he picked up all eight of the bottles and put them in one case. He now needed to think of where to get firepower and a reliable vehicle. He realized how easy it was, he owned a gun modification shop, and he just recieved a shipment a couple weeks ago, he had plenty of guns to use. During this "Depression", it'd be damnably easy to acquire a heavy truck. He sat thinking of which type. He realized the perfect person. One of the police chiefs..

Zant got up and rushed to the phone, he dialed up the one person who had what he needed. He got through a couple of secretaries before getting the warden, George Ransom on phone. Being cautious, Zant didn't blurt out what he needed, he didn't trust phones. "I'm comming to pick up something, and I'll leave you one of my friend's well baked pies.. Yes, I need to move some things.. I need some help with a certain truck.." After a few minutes of talk, he finished. "Yes, send your boys here to pick up the pie. Have them bring the truck in. Alright Warden, have a nice day." After a hefty talk of bribe money, He looked into the kitchen and saw a pie on the table. Cursing that he had to use his cash, he unlocked a safe under the couch and dallied over $500. He acquired the now emptied info packet he recieved the day before. He jammed the money into the packet and placed it inside the pie box.

Sighing, Zant placed the pie inside his car, along with the empty scotch bottles, and drove to his gun modification shop. He spoke to one of his workers and quickly got a large package placed into the trunk of his vehicle. He loved how smoothly preparing all this was. While the workers finished tieing down the package into the car, Zant took his scotch bottles and ran into the shop, which was closed until further notice, and ran into the back. He fills each bottle with gasoline. He looks around and found a few clean rags, which was weird, every rag had to have some stain, but he didn't question his luck. He made a few essential party favors, stuffing and damping each cloth with gasoline and sealed the bottles with said cloths. He places each one very carefully in a new crate and carries it all off to his car. He saw the Warden's boys dropping off the guard's armored truck in front of the store. "Perfect.." Zant went outside of the store and began dealing with the Warden's chosen guards. After a couple of under-handed dealings of $50 each, he handed the pie over to the guards and they started walking off to the prison. Zant felt a little sorry for the blokes, the prison's a few miles away, but decided to let them walk. After ordering his workers and a few packages moved, Zant got into the truck, looked inside, saw the large crate in the back, and the party favor crate in the side seat, Zant drove off to Martyr's. He didn't want to miss the party.

Klint slowly got up from the kitchen table, his large assorted gun collection laid out before him as he glanced over to the phone watching as it rang loudly off the hook sending echoes down the hallway of his otherwise vacant apartment.  Sauntering over and picking up the receiver, Klint nodded his head instinctively and smiled as he heard a familiar voice on the other end.

Martyr! How nice of you to call. I was just getting some of my party favors ready for another rainy day like last night at the docks.  Just in case, if you get my drift.  He nodded a bit more as he listened closely while whiping the sweat from his brow. 

Sure! I'll meet you there. 

Hanging up the phone, Klint wrapped up his collection promptly in a duffle bag as he headed out the door, throwing it in the backseat as he sped off into the distance. 

Arriving at Martyr's he opened the door, throwing the duffle bag on the couch as he took off his coat.  You called, here I am.  Having yet to be filled in on the details of the operation, Klint had a seat on the couch only to watch moments later as Revolt took a seat directly beside him, smoke lit and ashing on the floor. 

Stepping off the stage of the small jazz lounge, Mel sat back down at the bar, leaning her guitar against the bar. She lit up her ciagrette and ordered her beer. She suaully came here to perform with her acoustic to get rid of some unwanted stress. She didn't mind that only a few locals littered the lounge but she could care less. It was out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the city. As the bartender placed her beer before her, Mel did not let another second pass as she put the bottle to her mouth. She began to lose herself again as she closed her eyes.

Excuse me, Melody. Phone call.

Opening her eyes slowing and letting them focus on the dim light, she looked at the bartender and smiled. Taking the phone and placing it against her ear she heard a familiar voice.

Hey Martyr, surprised you found me...yup...alright. I'll be right over. See you in a few.

Giving the phone back to the bartender she took another drink of the still full beer and tossed her cigarette inside the bottle. Hopped off her stool and bent down to her guitar case. Opening it up and placing the acoustic inside, she clasped it shut and grabbed her leather jacket from the next stool. Zipping up her jacket she picked up the case and headed out to her car. Tossed the case into the backseat and jumped behind the wheel. Not long after Mel had arrived at Martyr's. Popping the trunk, Mel made quick to her trunk and got her facourite paor of pistols. Walked inside and saw that the crowd was almost a party.

Here and ready to go.

After what seemed like a few hours, Zant finally arrives at Martyr's home. He noticed all the cars parked across the street. "Must've called friends over.. Looks like we're seriously going to do this." Zant parks the truck in front of the house and makes sure all the doors are locked. He turns off the truck after and pockets the keys. He exits the vehicle and slams the driver's door shut. He didn't want anyone stealing his party favors. He walked up and entered the house, and noticed everyone preparing. "I'm the last to show up I believe, hi everyone. We'll need to plan this thoroughly."

Martyr looks up at Zant and nods as he walks in. "Welcome to the party.." Seeing his van parked outside instead of his normal car she looked at him a bit puzzled.

"I am assuming we defiantly have everything we need? Ohh.. Revolt don't...." She shook her head as she watched him place his hand on the wall that she hadn't managed to clean up and she hung her head. "Sorry guys.. Place still kinda looks like the city morgue around here." She shook her head and then tried to think of somewhere else to sleep. Brains and guts splattering everything just isn't ok to sleep with.

"So Zant. What's the plan?" She pulled up a seat as she began to listen to what he had planned out. Looking over at Klint she couldn't help but snicker as he stood almost looking like he was going to get sick from the gore that laid around her floors and walls.

"Yes I now live in a haunted house. Zant.. Who's riding with who?" She stared hard ready to get this all over with so that she could go back to a semi-peaceful life.

Opening his duffel bag hastily, Paul spilled the contents out on the coffee table in front of him as he lit a smoke with his free hand.  Taking a long drag off his smoke, he proceeded to arrange the weapons for a few moments bringing some organization to the mass of metal before him as he ashed his smoke gingerly in an empty beer bottle on the floor.

I don't mind the decor one bit, reminds me of my last family reunion strangely enough.  It was a blast for sure, but I don't think we'll be having another one in the near future, unfortunately.

As he drew puzzled expressions from everyone around the room, Paul started passing clips as he dutifully stashed away his favorite pair of handguns underneath his vest for safekeeping. 

Always bring a back up. He winked at Melody as he tossed her a few Tommy Gun drums.

Standing up, he buttoned his jacket as he motioned his head towards the door.

Times a wasting everyone, let's get this show on the road.  I'll drive with Martyr.  I'd offer to drive but I have yet to hose out the trunk from last night's little get together.  Would you mind doing the honors? 

Smiling at Klint's wink, she winked back at him. Catching the ammo that Klint tossed to her, Mel held them until she could go back to her car and grab her bag. Watching as he was slowly making his way towards the door, she moved back a little to let him and his duffle bag full of mayhem pass. She looked back at everyone else and shrugged her shoulders.

I'm taking my car if Revolt wants to come? Or you can ride with Zant. Don't matter to me. Let me know what's up and I'll be outside.

Smiling, she made a quick turn out and went outside. Popping the trunk and throwing a few items and clothes out of the way to a duffle bag of her own. Putting one drum down, she unzipped the bag and placed the fresh ammo into her bag. With that she gave the bag a second look and with that zipped it up and slammed the trunk down. Leaned against her car as everyone else began to slowly make their way outside. Reaching into her pocket, Mel pulled out a cigarette and lit it. She zipped up her sweater and threw on her hood and zipped her jacket up.