It had been a while since Fenton last hit up the band, he’d been back a short while and it felt as soon as he arrived the world turned all kinds of ugly, so much so people began to think he was cursed. Somehow the jammy git managed to keep his head down and focus on the money, the respect, and the brotherhood he was invited to with open arms.

Maybe he wasn’t cursed afterall. He stood there with his revolver resting in his palm, the engraving shimmered a bright light in the hot sun, he had the world in front of him, and a band of brothers behind him.

Marston had approached him earlier in the week to discuss some important matters, he was finally being recognised for the hard work and dedication he had been putting in around Brooklyn, and to take that next step he needed another helper to bring in new recruits, maintain the horses, and do all the busy-busy people stuff that an esteemed Godfather would need assistance with.

It was a great honour to be given this opportunity to shine, and although it had been many a moon since his forefathers roamed these streets Fenton knew that he was surrounded by loyal, hardworking men and women and he would vow to do the best, uphold his traditions and live this life to the fullest.

“Let me be the first so say Jesus Christ Fenton. Right now that’s out of the way I just want to say a quick thankyou to all those in my life, I wouldn’t be here today without you. People may think we are Expendables, nah, we just know what to die for!”