*AHOOOOOOOOGA*

The sound of a fog-horn is played throughout the docks of LA, large industrial ships floating on the great LA sea, protected by the waves that evaporate sight, the brownish spots overlook the green scenery through rust and small spilliage of cargo from these monstourous metal machines. On land, with the sun half-rised, the hobbled workers fix their blackend trousers, wiping their supposed white shirts with their nose as the yellow and grease stains that coat them give of a terrible musk. Walking through the crowd of burly men convincing themselves their day job is good hard work, while those who follow the streets earn more than them, their parents, and their parents-parents would earn and then some.

Reaching the office building, walking through the reception seeing no one at a desk - Scratchy follows through int oa serise of corridors - the large scale building crosses through into the large warehouse, holding possibly tens of thousands of cargo - held by a large heavy metal garage style door. Walking past s erise of rooms and up some stairs, no one bats an eye towards him - they either know his collaberation with the port-master or isn't paid enough to want to investigate further.

Collecting his thoughts and wearing a shirt and a jacket with a simple pair of jeans, Scratchy sees specals of red on the door frame, as it is slightly ajar, smelling what seems like gun-powder, Scratchy unholsters his pistol and cautiously opens the door. The scene is one that would stay in your nightmares, three people are cold and pale sitting motionlessly - one with their throat slit from ear-to-ear, excution style as the other two seemingly shot in the face tied to two of the office chairs.

Apart from the obvious intrusion - there were no papers, no mess, only blood splatters, this to Scratchy's mind as the fog clears from his head witnessing this brutal execution would tell him that it wasn't a burglary, it was to gather information..

"OH my GOD!" This blistering sound blares behind him is made as Scratchy stands in the middle of the room looking through into the hallway - a woman freezes for a mere second before her eyebrows scream upwards and flies into fight or flight mode and starts to dart outwards into the stair-well, the sound of high-heels clacking on stairs as the door shuts returning to the unrequited silence. 

Scratchy stands stern, seeing the scene before him - his desensitized eyes scan the room once more, through the pools of blood and papers that scatter throughout - a document peaks through underneath one of the file cabinets. Through the background of the docks - another horn is sounded as the voice of a squealing women is haunting through the containers yard - peaking through the thin-glass window, she seems to have huddled around 3 burly men in suspenders, not being able to read lips - can only imagine pointing to him as the suspect. 

Quickly peering down, Scratchy snags the loose document, quickly placing it inside of his jacket - following through into the stairway as the unending chamber of steps whizzes through his head, too fast to count before hitting the fourth floor. The forceful hit of the ground-floor door slams through into the concrete of the wall, causing minor damage to the flimsy door that barely held onto it's hinges in the first place. This startled echo causes Scratchy to enter into the top stairwell that leads into the Warehouse - this starwell made of grated metal, light but structurally sound. 

Suspiciously hiding behind a box cornered from the stairwell, Scratchy see's a man exit the stairwell door - the shadows seem to comfort Scratchy's slim stacture well. As the man stalks alert and waiting for any mess up - Scratchy keeps his cool - seeing his chance to leave, Scratchy gives out his left leg, straining his right and his core to keep him upright - giving him maneuvering room getting closer to the door to the stairwell. 
 

*CLINK, CLANK, DUMPF*
 

Scratchy’s eyes widen, his neck cricks to the right of him, seeing the charging bull already approaching him. Jumping just in time out of the way, the railing saves the brutish workers fro falling top-side, allowing him to recover easily. Scratchy pats himself for his gun near his waist, it’s nowhere to be seen, he looks to the floor as a man seemingly looking back up to him, kneeling in front of a gun. 

The burly man, teeth baring, seemingly those two men who are mutilated meant alot to this worker, or he is just withdrawn from his steroid abuse - but he couldn’t think of that now, Scratchy runs behind him, crossing the barriers, using the little force he can muster, leaping to the other walkway, with a heavy grasp, the adrenaline kicks in as he pulls himself over and starts to leg it down to the end of this large warehouse. 

The size of two football pitches and as well kept as a teenagers bedroom - screws loose in every shelve, objects that could pierce your skin left aimlessly on the floor and the walkways swaying the further is runs, though despite his imposter syndrome, this wasn’t his fault - as he looks behind him, three workers are shouting obscenities, Running from right to left of the walkway, Scratchy see’s himself not lasting long, his breath becomes heavied and layered - yet the opportunity strikes as to the left of him is a half closed window - seemingly 15ft above the air, he holds himself in a cocoon type shape, taking a leap through it - as his body slithers out like a rat through a door space. 

A car screech is heard faintly through the dazed Scratchy’s head - the black turns to a blurred white, finding himself inside of a collapsed box fort, seemingly landing safely enough - yet exposed. The car screeches to a half as Msfox extends her hand, the small penal like structure of the car seemingly is a good way to go in and out of the dock-yards, smoothly able to fit through small spaces, and take wide corners when necessary.
 Scratchy grabs her hand as she throws him a helmet - before Scratchy clips his helmet on, he pats himself one more time, feeling the document still in his jacket side - with a sigh of relief us replaced by panic by alerted workers - he jumps in before his neck is startled forward, nearly coming off of the stem as MsFox floors through the dock-yards. 

Few hours later

Scratchy smiles as the plans laid out on a table inside of the HQ, racketeering, human trafficking, drugs possession  on mass, all leading to the dock-yards portmaster, Scratchy’s deal with them was simple, everything that comes in - a cut is given to the crew, mostly imported cars but that wasn’t the long game - yet it seems they were playing on the same team as the Casimiro family, a small militia backed by one of the biggest families within Sicily. Knowing that the crazy old bastards were behind all this, Scratchy should have known that the mutilation was them all along and it’s possible every document and ledger filled could be lead back to him and his crew.

His finger lingering on the sort out plans concocted

“I’ve gone through a series of GTA operations from known God-fathers within the area, we need to convince that we are out for ourselves to get in with these bastards that did this to our biggest cash grab…”

Scratchy pauses, looking towards Msfox “So you understand what we must do..” 

A slight pause is heard before a grin pierces Msfox lips, 

“Not really, but if it means i can drive fast and kick ass, i’m in,”