Hello sorry to bothering but can we get all the updates in one space?  Theres too many updates and they are in between stories and becoming quite confusing.  Or maybe a seperate place for the updates so no one misses any updates?  Right now this is very confusing.

Or maybe just put them all together below?  idk but anyway glad theres a contest thank you

Neil shakes everyones hand with great respect

*Zeitgeist walks out onto the streets, an old leather bound journal under his right arm as he hesitantly approahed the pedestal to recount his ancestral tale, he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a dented old flask with the letters TSCOSP engraved on the side, he lifted it slowly to his mouth and choked down a large helping of bourbon, he flipped the old broken journal open and began to read his great-great grandfathers story*

Hot. Every damn day was so hot, the heat stuck your skin and there was no chasing it away. I had never much cared for New Orleans in the beginning parts of my life, but in hindsight I had not really lived much of a life to that point. Every day was a struggle, growing up in the poorest part of the french quarter in New Orleans it was no place for a child to grow up. 

 

The plague had come when I was still on mom's breast, and took her away from me, or at least that's what nana told me when I was younger, she left me too young for me to have any real memories of her but nana would wrap me in her old dresses sometimes when I had the coup and her lingering scent would soothe me, I think that's probably the only time I experienced any sort of relaxation or calm in those days. Pa had left when mom was taken from us, nana had said he wasn't the sort to care or raise a child, he was originally a coal miner in Virginia and had met ma at a train station one day, not too many love stories start at train stations...

 

Nana died when I was 11, and I was on my own for the next 12 years. I grew more malnourished as I ccouldn't support myself turning to small petty crimes to keep myself alive, I don't really recall too much else from those days, and honestly it is probably for the best, it was the most miserable time of my life as I felt my desire to live dissipate into the New Orleans heat day after day. 

 

It had been some time since I'd had a meal, and the smell of jambalaya in the air was causing my stomach to scream and swirl in protest, I was so gaunt, dirty and defeated at this point in my life people had stopped even taking pity on me, what a fucking embarassment I was. I had been sleeping in an alley under some boxes when a drunkard had stumbled out into the alley to take a leak and I would wake up on what I would later decide to be the last day of my life to a steady frothing flow of beer stenched urine cascading into my air and splashing across my lips, eyes and face, I didn't even move, I just lay there. 

 

I lay there for a few moments contemplating the meaningless of my existence, before clawing myself up and with each laboured step, dragged myself closer to Lake Pontchartrain. I arrived at the still waters, the sun still beating down mercilessly and my crusty, urine stained flesh and collapsed at the bank of the lake, lowering my feet into the water. Nana was going to teach me how to swim the summer she died, and I never did end up learning how, it seemed athat throwing myself at the dark depths of the lake, and floundering hopelessly until I was dead would be a fairly apt metaphor for how I lived my life and as I started to imagine myself falling from the bank and into the water, leaving the world as I entered it, wet and largely useless I heard a deafening pop and ricochet coming from the bushes to my right. I hunkered down in the grass, hilarious now that I think about it, trying to be cautious as I was moments away from trying to kill myself, and listened to a heated exhange between what sounded like two men, but it was an accent new to my ears.

 

I crawled up the hill a bit to peek over at the direction from where the noise was coming from and as i popped my head over the ridge, I saw two

extremely well dressed men standing behind a long black saloon vehicle, one was holding a faded red wrench standing over the other man he was laying down face in the dirt. I am still not sure what possessed me to do what I did next but it would turn out to the be the most defining of my life, the lake behind me, an unkown stranger holding an ominour wrench in front of me, I forgot for a moment I was a weak piss stained nobody in the slums of New Orleans, rose to my feet and charged at the man with the shiny suit, what felt like a few blinks later, and it occured to me as I collided with him that I had not thought this far ahead and literally had no idea what I was to do next, the man and I barreled head first into the car, knocking me out cold.

 

....

 

I awoke some time later on a very plush carpet, with rich wood, whiskey and cigar smoke that I had only caught whiffs of whilst stealing from one of the fancier restaurants on the far side of town in my youth, filled the air. An extremely large man came into my field of view first, and then another equally large man, and then another, my vision was admittedly still a bit blurry so I wasn't too sure how many men there were, but as I tried to steady and focus my vision a slim man, perfectly dressed and manicured stepped between the group of what now looked like 10 burly men at his side. He proceeded to ask me questions like who I was, who sent me, what was I doing at the lake all the while seemingly very skeptical of my story, I attempted to answer as honestly and clearly as I could, and as my story got more and more pathetic he seemed to relax.

 

I would soon learn that the man I tackled had been sent to assassinate the man who was lying face down, and the man lying face down was Lia Vazzi a leader of the most prominent crime family in New Orleans at the time, and I, however unknowingly and clumsily, had saved his life. That night, he offered me a place to sleep, a place to wash, a change of clothes (the newest and softest I had felt in my life) and the first meal I'd eaten off of a plate. 

 

The next morning he came to speak to me and told me he was grateful for what I had done, and that he could use men with some balls in his organization, i was shocked. I explained to him that I was a nothing, with no skills, no family or work experience. He smiled back at me saying well kid you got some stones so I'll have Lefty here show you around and have you work a few corners for us and lets see what you can do, he handed me a business card that read simply.

 

"The woods are lovely dark and deep

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep"

 

I finally belonged to something... 

*Zeitgeist had read this story of extremely humble beginnings a number of times, but was still moved by it each time. He bundled the old leather journal up into his pocket, and moved slowly away from the podium and wandered off back down the streets*

Bulla brushed the strand of hair from her eye and tucked it under her cap that she was wearing today.
It was time people got to know her story after being in the city for a while now.

Her family was known in some higher places, but things changed with her mother. She adored her mother, and always wanted to be like her. Her mother was a strong and independent woman, who didn’t particularly like “the old ways”. Having a big mouth at sometimes, strong personality and her own opinion, but was always straightforward and very direct. Bulla had been taught this from the day she was born.

"Be honest, be precise and no matter what anybody says: If you believe you can, you will succeed."

Her father and ancestors of his side.. she had no idea. He was always out there, making a mess of things, thinking his name would do the talking for him. She was different. She followed the path of her mother, so when she heard her mother went to Detroit, she was proud of her. Her own destiny and her own chosen path. Bulla also wanted to make a name for herself, by herself.
She gritted her teeth while thinking of all the others who took the so called easy route to the top.

But just shortly after her mother arrived in Detroit, she got the bad news. The news she never expected. On her second assignment to even some old debts, she got shot.
Tears welled in the corner of her eyes.

Her mother never made it to the hospital. The moment she had received the news, she took a plane and went straight to Detroit. She would find the killer and make sure he would be put down, one way or another. After that, she would figure out what to do. One thing was for sure, she wanted to make her mother proud and live like her ancestors. In her own way. Bulla’s way.
She clenched her fists and her eyes were cold. 
She would make it to the top by herself and show the damn world what she would be capable of. It was time. Her battle against the world.

2 days in and some fantastic entries, my own personal favourite being... hmmm better not say, I have nothing to do with the scoring and judging, would want accusations of collusion. Alas, one of our entries has been eliminated due to his untimely death.

So just to recap, 12 days to go. 200 credits up for grabs and our estemed judging panel is Dagda, Toby-, Sonic, AmeliaGato, and the fabulous Dr_Satan. 

Thank you to everyone who has emptied so far, and I look forward to many more entries yet to come.

A cool biting wind picks up, the people gathered on the Manhattan Dock unconsciously turn up their collars and away from the wind.

The wind picks up magnificently gusts blowing papers and other detritus end over end down the quay side.

Some people are brave enough to look up and see the Clown has appeared amongst them, the wind dies down. It becomes deathly still and silent.

"Origins.. you are interested in? I have an Origin, as dark and bleak as this city you call home.  I have shared this ancestral origin before and for those than have not had the opportunity to dwell upon the tale I will share it again. Listen hard."

Drip, drip, drip, drip. The dank sewers putridness extruded into everything, the young girl that had been found by the outcasts that lived here was feverish and not too long of life.  Her eyelids flickered struggling with the gloom, a small gasp emitted from her dry cracked lips as the pale almost luminous faces peered down at her.

“Use your inch” one seemed to mutter… “No, its all I have left for another week. I need it for forage, use yours, you have candle tallow spare always – I’ve seen you boil down those rats I know what you do with the fat.”

“It’s mine to do with as I please – this one’s like here is over… She has fat belly though, with child and not too far away I’m guessing”

The girl’s dry lips parted… “Please,” she whispered “my child is coming soon look after it…”

“Not got time for this” another deathly pale face uttered. “Stick her now, have done with it – is good resource this and fresh, we don’t need another loud crying mouth to feed”

The girl seemed to weep, an agonal breath parted her lips as simultaneously her waters broke… The pale faces instinctively stood back, the girl seemed to spasm, a Lazarus reflex running her entire body, when reaching her hips, her back arched unnaturally a squelch and then… a cry.

One of the pale faces struck a match to an inch-long fat candle.  It’s guttering light casting shadows in the dim confines of the sewer balancing room.  Large fat encrusted stalactites hung down from the ceiling flickering silhouettes across the room’s walls.  The girl’s body relaxed and was still.

“See what’s happened now. It’s an omen this – don’t need no living long pigs down here with us” a pale face hissed.  A knife flashed; the stubby nose of the new-born baby was sliced off in an instant – the strike aimed for its throat only deflected at the last minute as another hunched bedraggled profile snatched the baby from the ground.

“No, its mine this. I’ll care for it. I’ll name it Clown”

With that the candle was blown out darkness once again entombed the room; all could be heard was the small whimpering of a baby and the slicing of cloth as the girl’s body was divided up for the tithe.

 

The Vicious Beating of HotDog

Well one day I was walking down the street in Chicago minding my OWN goddam business when suddenly I felt a man's hand go into my back pocket and steal my hard earned money from me!  Well I'm a very respectful man but I also demand respect in return as we are all members of the mafia which is a respectful organization THE LAST TIME I CHECKED!!!  Well I turned around and said to myself what in the world is going on here.  Well turns out it was a man from another mafia named HotDog.  I saw that HotDog was a Capo and I am just a gangster (just got promoted today btw) but lets just say I was "seeing red" if you know what I mean heh.

Well shortly after that I noticed there was a bunch of mobsters running around from the Tyler Durdon gang and let me tell you bullets were flyin everywhere.  Well I was still pretty mad and was taking deep breaths to keep my temper under control but I was so mad I couldn't even control myself so I beat his ass in front of everybody.  I have proof too if you don't believe me (send me a mail privately and I will show you the proof).  I took my money back from him and also like 13 gees from him too $$$$. 

Well lets just say that the beating didn't stop there.  I saw a gun in his holster and told him well I think I'll be taking this too.  "Gimme that gun" I said and took it from him.  "No Durdens for you today Hotdog."

I then walked back down the street to continue minding my own goddam business leaving HotDog lying on the goddam street all beat up looking.  Then a bird flew by and took a shit in Dr_Satan's head.  The birdshit got in his eye too.

The end

PS this is just a story for the contest no disrespect was meant.  Just a made up story for entertainment purposes (except for beating up Hotdog and taking his gun and his 13 gees that part was true)

It is so very good to see another writing competition. I am happy to see more and more of these types of events showing  up right outside our doors. I am quite confident that this event will continue to draw the attention of established speakers and newcomers alike.

Big thanks to Lincoln_Lawyer for putting this all together for us and thanks to all the judges who are taking the time to participate. I give this competition my stamp of approval. As the current CEO of 'Fairest Writing Competition Inc' I'm happy to offer an additional 50 credits to the prize pool. 

I have the utmost confidence in this competition and only expect bigger and better events to come from Lincoln_Lawyer in the future. 

Wow Dr_KennethNoisewater, that is most magnanimous of you. Very generous of you indeed. With a prize of 250 credits now up for grabs I don't know why everyone isn't entering, even Cityhall.

Causation without correlation my dear Robert_Kardashian. I can't see anything that has happened on this street corner that would merit death. Perhaps a resurgence of the deadly Spanish Flu? With so many set to gather around I will be sure to wear a mask to protect myself!

I can't wait to see what other's have to offer the competition. As a recent benefactor myself I will unfortunately be sitting out this competition, but I am sure we will see many more great entries to come. 

Dr_KennethNoisewater - I'd like to set up my own SAFE contest.  Could we discuss financing it? 

Robert_Kardashian the 'Fairest Writing Competition Inc.' would be happy to discuss a future event with you in private. Let's leave this corner for the contestants so we don't detract from the event at hand any further. 

Best of luck to the competitors! I'll be sure to stop back and check out the entries. 

Well just for the fun of it, I thought I could tell my own story. I'll not be entering the competition, although I have no influence on the judging, I would hate to put any of the judges under pressure considering the wealth of prizes that are up for grabs. Currently first place stands at 145 Credits. Second place stands at 75 credits and 3rd place stands at 30 credits. 

I was born on July 4th 1893, the son of Micael J Haller Senior, and my Mexican Mother, Gabriella, a supporting silent movie actress . Although I bear a passing resemblance to my father, my looks are certainly more south of the border than North of the border. My father was a renowned defense attorney in his own right,  defending several high powered clients. He had no compunction regarding their relative innocience or guilt,, simply ensuring that they recieved the best defence he could give them.

I have a limited memory of my father, what I do know has been gleaned from court records and from those who worked with him, he past away when I was 5. My mother, 3 sisters and I attended the funeral, along with a lot of people in suits I didn't know. What I didn't know at the time was that many of these men in suits were members of the local LA mafia families. My father had represented Meyer Cohen on numerous occasions, and had even gotten him off a murder rap, when he was accused of killing Jimmy the Nose with his custom .22 caliber Colt pistol with Mother of pearl handles. It was one of the few crimes that Cohen was actually innocient off. As a reward he presented my father with the pistol after he was acquitted. My father left the pistol to me when he passed. 

I followed my father into law, and by 1920 I was a public defender. I was a strong opponent of the death penalty, 'an enlightened society does not kill its own.' But in a juxtaposition of my role, I prefered to represent clients I knew where guilty, there is no client as scary as an innocient man. By 1925 I'd grown disallusioned with being a public defender, and set up business on my own. It was then That I started to draw the attention of some of my Father's old associates. Specifically SlimShady, long before he rose to the dizzying heights of Godfather Chairman. I quickly made a name for myself defending the members of Shady Records, managed to plead out or exonerate every single member up before the courts. It was at this time that I got the nickname of the Lincoln Lawyer, I was so busy that I never got to my office and mostly worked from the back of my Lincoln Towncar. FEverything was looking up, until I got framed for murder. I'd defended Evilclown on a murder rap, and in the process pointed the finger at a member of one of the LV cartel who was running a drug running op theough LA docks. Whilst he'd avoided prosecution himself, the reasonable doubt it had created had gotten Evilclown off.

There is, however, a certain danger involved in pointing the finger at a member of the mob and destroying his drug running business. I was pulled over for having a missing licence plate, apparently a routine stop, and low and behold I had a body in my trunk. Sam Scales, a small time con man who was a client of mine. The prosecution's case was that I had killed him as he owed me 50k in unpaid legal fees. Though good investigation I was able to prove a link between Scales, a company called BioGreene which was a front for the mob, Louis Opparizio, the Vegas Mobster I had pointed the finger at in EvilClown's defense, and the FBN. The FBN had proof of my innocience as they had been monitoring Opparizio during their investigation of BioGreene. However, as they were looking to take down the whole operation, they decided that my going to jail for a murder I didn't commit was a small price to pay for blowing open the Vegas mob. After all, I was essentially a mob lawyer myself.

With everything out in the open, the court had no choice but to find me innocient and order my release. 3 days later a vegas hitman tried to kill me, but was gunned down by the FBN who had been tailing me. I said goodbye to my friends and drove across country to New York, as far from Vegas as I could get. I joined up with CLO and his organisation, realising that my only possible defense against the mob, would be the mob,  before we both joined with SatoruGojo, but that as they say, is another story.

Ever since she was little, Charlie had big shoes to fill. She remembered the farm where she grew up, a huge ranch house out in the middle of California. Her dad and uncle often traveled up and down the state on business while her mother with her perfectly coiffed blonde curls would take her on walks and play games with her. Charlie's older brother, Peter, was nothing like his mom or dad aside from his looks. He was tall and gangly as a teenager, a face full of freckles, he looked like the poster child of every advertisement in the magazines that her mom brought home. Charlie was the spitting image of her demure mother with light blonde hair that was always done up in curls and bows. Her mother doted on her as much as her older cousin Cherry, calling them her little jewels.  

Her mother often spoke of the east coast and a business she'd given up when she'd married Honey. She spoke of the art gallery and the dome of lights that shone at night, highlighting the large telescope that sat on the roof. They were simpler times back then, full of glamor and wonder even when the country was plunged into one of the deepest depressions it had ever seen. Circumstances had forced her hand and she'd had to shutter the Observatory, choosing to go underground for a bit for things to calm down and when they had, she'd fallen in love with the owner of a tea shop and they'd decided to move to California to start a family. 

Charlie would listen in wonder at night, laying out on the warm grass, watching her mother trace invisible lines in the night sky. Star would talk about the constellations, telling her stories about how each one got their name. Charlie loved looking up and identifying one her mama had told her about. Now, everywhere she went, she'd orient herself with the stars and remind herself that no matter where her family was, they could all see the same night sky. 

At the age of 14, Charlie got herself into her first real big pickle when she came home from a schoolyard fight with one of her pigtails snipped clean off. Despite being raised by one of the most demure women on the west coast, Charlie was a scrappy ankle biter. She often got into fights at school and at home, she could wallop Petey even though she was shorter, scrawnier, and younger than he was. He was slick but he wasn't built for physical strength and so he developed ways to be sneaky and underhanded. He got in trouble often with Honey and Ham for shorting customer's tea orders in the shop. Charlie, on the other hand, the kind of child that every woman on the street would comment about.

The phrases, "She's so darling, what an angel, my goodness you've grown into such a lady!" quickly turned into comments such as "I don't know what's got into her! She's like a wild animal! Trust me on this if you don't get her under control, you're going to be sorry!" Charlie prided herself in making fussy old ladies clutch their pearls and gasp, it was way better than being some stuffy old crow who paraded about like a peacock. If only these ladies had all their secrets spilled, why, they wouldn't be half as judgmental. She'd proudly displayed the hank of her hair that was muddy and full of grass, holding it up to her dad like it was a trophy. He sighed, taking the long chunk of hair from his daughter.

"Jack Galway won't be cutting any more girls hair after this!" She'd crowed, a huge smile on her face. Such display had been met with a much cooler reception than she'd anticipated and she felt her stomach sink when her mama patted a chair and invited her to sit down. Star gently took the hair from her hand and smoothed the dirty locks, placing them on the table. Jack Galway's father, Marcus, was a mean and vindictive old man who'd had it out for anyone stepping on his turf. He and Honey had a terse truce and he let Honey do his thing since Marcus wasn't in the drug business. He was more interested in cards, gambling, and women so he let Honey have his corner of the market. With this, however, Honey was certain that Marcus would fly off the handle due to his son getting absolutely trashed and sent to the hospital by a skinny fourteen year old girl. 

"Charlotte, you know how proud I am of you and your quest to become a strong and independent young woman. You father and I are incredibly proud of you, even if your actions leave others shaking their heads. You've always stood up for yourself and I admire that. The hair will grow back but it seems as though the school we sent you to isn't what you need. As you know, both your father and I run businesses and recently, I've been offered a temporary position out in Florida. It's 6 months, maybe more, but it's too good to pass up. Your father and I have discussed it and I'll be going by myself. In the meantime, since your dad is often away at business since H...he had to take over the tea shop by himself, we think having you attend a private boarding school might help with the, ah, boy trouble. I'm not sure when Jack will recover but his family is pretty steamed and have promised some less than kind revenge as of late. It would be in everyone's best interest if we disperse and let things cool down. There's an all girls boarding school up in Monterey, Cherry will go with you and your father will check in, but it will keep you safe."

Charlie was shocked, huge tears welling up in her eyes as her mother talked ever so gently. She knew Star was a kind and gentle soul who wanted the best for her kids and always tried to do what was right, but the realization that Jack's family had vowed revenge was frightening. Over the next few days as she packed, Charlie was quiet and pensive. Cherry had tried to console her as much as possible but the overall feeling of the house was gloomy. Star left the day before Charlie did and they saw her off as her bodyguard motored her off in her dark green Packard. That night, as Honey, Cherry, and Charlie sat eating supper at a local restaurant, Cherry perked up. 

"Did you hear? Aunt Star helped me get a little apartment close to the school. She said you'll be staying with me on the weekends and boarding during the week at the school! I got new curtains and uncle says he's already had the new furnishings moved in. Auntie gave me the keys just before she left! And as a bonus, even thought you gotta wear a uniform, she gave us money for new shoes and a new dress!" 

After Cherry's cheerful words, Charlie perked up a little. Perhaps the situation would blow over and after Marcus had forgotten his vendetta against her, she could come back home. 

That dream didn't come true the way she wanted it to as Marcus Galaway chose a much more violent end to a means by waging an all out war. Ham went down protecting his younger brother who managed to escape. The news sent Cherry and Charlie into hysterics, realizing that they couldn't even attend the funeral because of the Galaways. Alone, hundreds of miles away from the home they'd always known, it was too much for Charlie. Those Galaways had to pay for what they'd done.

Shortly after Tutte was born, he wandered the streets of Detroit. It did not take long before a man came to him as his name seemed to be one that many remembered. The man he met immediately asked me to go to Speed ​​Demon's headquarters where a high-ranking member of the family would immediately take care of him and he would accompany up to the top management of the family who wanted a call. He arrived at the house he described and immediately met a man who really looked like going through fire and water at any time, he liked what he saw, he was shown up to a room at the top of the building and inside sat Sonic, he presented was polite and so did Tutte, they talked for a while and it seemed a bit like love at first sight because he immediately became a member of the family. Time passed and he did very well what it seemed because he rose the ranks quite quickly and soon stood as consigliere. He received a message from his boss and hurried to the headquarters. There he was asked if he could change family, after a quick thought he said yes and went over to Seraphyne who was very happy about his position which was quickly implemented. it was also the case that his new boss promoted him to a high-ranking member immediately when she received very good reviews from Tutte's previous boss. Everything went smoothly right now for him, he liked the sharp situation and was a respectful man who really showed his front feet now .... again.

He had so much fun with everyone and he really missed his old friends who moved to New York early and of course many missed him and him the same but as a respectful man he stayed where he was born and as always he gave the iron there and really loved the Demons in Detroit so much that he at any time gave everything for them.

He was so happy to have built such a good friendship with so many in this wonderful world. It was really mostly good people he met which he demanded a lot. Live was nicest with good people around.

Through fire and water, only real men and women can go to show what they are capable of. That was his life motto, together we are strong. Without friends no pleasant moments. With friends lots of wonderful moments together and that was what he liked. Tuttes trail were really a good one he liked much.

The quivering string of self restraint in the young girl's heart snapped so hard it was almost audible.  She lay face down on the floor covered in blood, not knowing to whom it belonged.  She drew her breaths in quiet and shallow, trying to calm herself as the footsteps got closer.  It had barely been an hour since she'd hugged her dad goodbye and grabbed her trunk, hoping she'd be safe in Monterey. 

She hadn't even made it to the entryway before her father pushed her down and the long stained glass windows on either side of the mahogany door shattered into thousands of pieces.  She had run to attic, taking high ground and hoping Hamish was ok.  Gunfire echoed throughout the house and Cherry had to assume Hamish was fighting for his life.  She heard stomping on the stairs and then more shots.  Eventually the shouting and stomping stopped altogether and Cherry's curiosity got the better of her sense of self preservation.  

The ladder to the attic creaked and Cherry winced, hoping she was alone.  The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to mirror the beat of her heart as she crept down the hallway.  A man lay slumped over the banister and Cherry frisked him, taking his watch and the gun still held in his limp hand.  She looked down the hall and then snuck down the stairs, carefully avoiding the ones that made noise.  There were several more dead men and Cherry carefully frisked them all, trying to avoid getting blood on her new dress.  

She turned to the door and froze.  There, on the once pristine Oriental run lay her father.  His eyes were open, mouth ajar, blood congealed around his lips and nostrils. She fell to her knees. 

"Papa." She whispered.  She had barely got the word out when she heard a floorboard groan under the weight of another person.  She dropped flat and lay next to her father, one hand at her side, the other curled around a Remington. She didn't know how long she'd been still until the clock struck the hour.  She felt the footsteps stop and a gruff voice comment. 

"Huh, I don't remember-" The sound of a gun cocking was the last thing Cherry clearly remembered. 

The dull fire in her chest suddenly raged into an inferno and she twisted around, firing every round in the gun.  The man who was about to kill her toppled over onto Hamish's lifeless body and Cherry dragged herself to her feet and escaped the house.  She ran to the corner druggist and used the phone to call Honey, then collapsed in the alley. 

The train ride to Monterey was full of tears, but Cherry felt empty in a way she didn't know was possible.  She wasn't sure what had really happened that autumn day, but everytime she tried to picture it she came away with a dull blur of sounds and emotions she couldn't place.  She took no solace in her new apartment, and although she adored her cousin, she was finding it hard to be around her. 

Finally she went to a bar and got drunk, hoping she could at least enjoy an evening out.  Everything was going fine until a rather handsome man asked her to dance.  She shook her head no and returned to her drink.  He returned several times and each time she said no until he began to goad her. 

"What, a little girl like you thinks your too good for me? Why, I could buy a million of y-" 

Cherry didn't even let him finish before she connected her glass to his face.  Luckily it broke into several pieces and didn't cut her hand, but the damage was done. She hopped off of the barstool and went to slide past him. He grabbed her arm. 

"Listen bitch."  He suddenly went silent. 

"No, you listen. This might only have one shot in it, but it's pointed at your twig and berries and I'll be damned to hell if you or any of your goons ever think of touching me again." 

The handsome man nodded to his friends and let go of her arm.  Cherry escaped into the night and ran like mad to get to her car.  As she started the engine and rushed away from the scene she felt something in her chest.  Was it panic? Exhilaration?  No, it was better. It was her will to live again. 

Miachell thought he lived it all got stumped robbed mugged even shot. But never did he ever think he would be a member of the mafia.  He rembers the day when he walked in the wrong strret and got aproached by gangsters. They were about to kill him when Sammy Soul and Adaylan arrive and they rescue him from certain death by killing the gangsters.  They offered him a spot and soon he becam an assoctie of the addlyan crew and continues to rank up.

Enzo was walking down the streets of his old town, a couple hours north of Chicago, remembering the days when life seemed so much simpler. Enzo pulled the key from his pocket looking at it as he walked up to the steps of his parents' old house when he was visiting Chicago. Turning the door and opening it up, it had been some time since he had been there as the dust began to settle pretty much on everything. Placing the keys on the table just at the door as he did when he was a child. Running his finger along it noticing how thick the dust really was. Sighing as he continued on, his bodyguards waited at the door for him to make sure no one would disturb him. He took a seat in his father's chair remembering how his father went. 

Enzo was about 15 when his father was killed, his mother passed a few years after they say of a broken heart. His father was always a very secretive man, didn’t really know what he did for work, always went on business trips. He assumed he was part of the mob since well most Italians are.  Especially since his father was killed and it was ruled a murder which they never found anything but a strange wound thought to be a knife. 

After dwelling on the past for a few more moments he got up remembering his father’s room he wasn’t allowed to go into growing up. Making his way to the kitchen and down into the basement he stared at the door. As if time itself froze, a blank expression came over his face as stared at the door. Swallowing hard he pushed open the door, never had he seen the inside of this room. 

Stepping it was a mix between a study and a workshop. He made his way over to the chair in the study, sitting in it while looking at all the books and texts all over this section of the room in the basement. Enzo’s hand rubbed over his face then his chin, noticing an envelope with ‘To My Son’ written on it. His heart sank as he read the text. It had been fifteen years since his father's death and here is now just seeing this.

Enzo sat for a moment staring at the note. Not having a clue how long this latter had sat here for, did his Dad think he would have made more of an attempt to get into this room? He wasn’t quite sure what to think at this point; the fear of opening and what the hell could possibly be inside was starting to get to him. Cracking his neck he flipped over the envelope and started to peel off the back of it. 

The letter read:

Enzo my son,

For a long time I wish I could have had more time with you, but if you are reading this it means I have met my end. There is so much I still have to teach you, hopefully you will find everything you need to learn inside this study. I kept it a secret from you for so long because I wasn’t sure if I wanted you in this world. So if you have found this and started reading it's time you know the truth. 

As you already know there are a lot of secret societies out there. In the chest by the workbench when you finally open it you might understand.

Enzo paused a moment from reading, looking over to the workbench seeing what looked to be an old chest next to it. At this point, Enzo was pretty freaked out, but continued to read.

Right now in the world there are two big orders that are secretly at war. The Knights Templar and the Brotherhood of Assassins. They have fought for many generations an endless war after items from the garden of Edan. 

 

Setting down the letter Enzo rubbed his face in disbelief. This whole time he had just thought his father was an average mobster. Not really understanding what part his father had played in this he took a deep breath and sank into the chair. Picking back up the letter to continue reading it.

Like I said before, if you're reading this my end has come. Sadly the kill is probably someone you will never find. As the killer most likely is part of the Brotherhood of Assassins. Now that I am gone I hate to ask you of this but you must take up the mantle and continue on my quest. In the chest is an outfit you won’t recognize and my journal. 

All over the world there are items of Edan. Yes as you would suspect the biblical artifacts, it is true, at least some of the stories. We call these items pieces of Edan, the mission I was tasked with was collecting these for the Templars. I was once an Assassin, but I saw the truth and the destruction these pieces of Edan can cause. There is a wrist guard in the chest as well that with the right pressure applied a blade will shoot from it. This was a signature weapon of the Assassins. 

My journal will explain more, my son. I am sorry you are brought into this world this way. I wish it was under different circumstances. 

Sincerely,

You father.

 

Enzo sat in the chair a moment, then got up making his way over to the chest. Opening it up he found another letter. 

“Awe fucking hell da.. the letters.” 

He spoke as he picked it up noticing the strange weapons and coat. Staring back at another letter.

I slipped out of the womb like packaged chicken sliding out of a plastic sleeve. The doctor took one look at me and said, "Delicious". I escaped quickly, riding the waxed floors like a fat caterpillar crawling through a cobb salad. By the time I got outside, it was dark out, too dangerous to go any further. I camped by the river with a small community of criminals hosting a competitive writing competition. As I told them my tale, they laughed and cried. They asked me why the doctor looked at me so hungrily. I said it was probably because he hadn't eaten anything all day. Maybe he was working a double shift. They nodded their heads in understanding. And then they asked me how I managed to crawl out of the hospital so easily. I said it was because the floors were recently waxed. Another nod of understanding. In taking in the full details of my story, we came to love one another as a family. And I loved and was in love with them, and they loved and were in love with me. And in loving each other, we loved what we were here to do, which was to compete in writing challenges. I followed them around for a few years, engaging in as many competitions as I could. With every year that passed, my origin story grew longer and longer, increasing my chances of winning. One day, a man approached me and told me I had done enough creative writing to become a member of the mafia. Yes!