Krasuer walked shamefully down the street, his gaze pointed down. Recently released from jail, he was afraid to face his family again. What had happened to him? By no means was he a thief, or at least he would like to think that way. After his uncle's death, however, he had been feeling.. strange. It started off harmless, at first. Seeing him on the street, or in a room, out of the corner of his eyes. When he turned his head, there was nothing there. Things then got progressively worse. He could hear his uncle's voice, whispering to him. Mostly things he had remembered him saying throughout his childhood. Then the visions got worse, and worse. His uncle would stop disappearing when he turned to look at him, and his face would look twisted and wicked. Suddenly the whispers were hateful, and degrading. Not hateful towards Krauser of course, but to everyone else in the room, or on the sidewalk. Eventually, he would see the man hurting people. It got harder and harder to look away.

Krauser's uncle was involved in the mob, it was no secret among his immediate family. Although they didn't want to get involved with him, they also knew he was a violent man, and didn't want to risk making him angry. And so as a young boy, Krauser was spending time with a hitman. His uncle would give him gifts, which his parents would get rid of after he had left. They said he didn't pay for these things, and it was not right to have them. His family tried desperately to keep Krauser from doing any wrong, often times using his Uncle as a reference. When he died, they tried to hammer it in his brain that all bad men would share the same fate. So why, then, was he coming from the jail?

It started out innocent enough. He was headed to the post office to drop off a letter for his cousins in Chicago. As he waited in line, he heard the familiar voice. It was more than a whisper now. Sinister and deep, it sent chills down his spine.

"Krauser...." He muttered. "You know how much money this place is making?" His uncle slowly walked beside him, his distorted face grinning wickedly. "Don't you think you deserve a break? All day, all you do is work for that ungrateful family of yours.. Running errands tirelessly, and in return, they just hold you back."

Krauser closed his eyes, trying to look away. His heart started racing, and he started feeling a bit sick.

"You could be like me, kid. If I wanted something, I just took it. Everyone knew my name. Everyone respected my name."

"No.." Kraser muttered to himself. The man in line before him glanced back, curious. 

Damn.. He thought to himself. I'm making myself look like a fool. Trying to ignore it, he looked forward.

"Tell you what kid.." His uncle chimed in again. "I wanna see you do good. It's obvious those parents of yours have closed your eyes to the world. So, you wanna be a good kid? I'll tell you what. You march up there and demand they give you money, or I'm going to kill everyone in this place, one by one."

Krauser's eyes grew wide. He clenched his fists, and bit his lip so hard it bled. This isn't real.. He told himself. The line between reality and imagination was blurred too much, at this point. He only half believed himself. To his left, he heard something hit the floor. Turning, he saw his uncle had thrown a man on the floor, and was now pointing a gun at him. How can he do that!? Krauser panicked. Looking around, nobody else saw anything wrong with it. So it must be fake, right? A shot rang out, and blood splattered on the wall, the floor, and some on his uncle's suit. 

"Next, please.." His uncle chuckled to himself, and grabbed an elderly woman from the line. Krauser didn't know if these were real people or not.. But the pressure was too much.

"No, stop! Stop what you're doing!" He shouted, wide eyed. Everyone in the building stopped, looking at him. "I'll do it, I will!" With that said, he walked to the front of the line, slamming his fist down on the counter. "...Give.. Give me the money! All of it!" His hands were trembling, and his heart was racing. 

"Or what.." The man behind him said. Krauser froze. He had no weapon. He had no defense. Turning around, he did the first thing he could think of, and swung at the man, hitting him in the face. In a flash, every able man in the post office was on top of him, holding him until the police came. And so, he was arrested, found guilty, and taken to jail. He served his sentence without seeing his uncle, and here he was now. Too afraid to go back home, too confused to know what to do.

"Well, that didn't go so well." His uncle whispered into his ear. Atleast he couldn't see him this time.

"Leave me alone.. Just go away.." Krauser muttered. Those close enough to hear turned in confusion.

"You need more practise kid, we gotta start off small. Tell you what, go to the square, pick a few pockets." The evil voice spoke again.

"Stop.. Just stop talking to me, I don't wanna see you anymore.." Krauser began to walk faster. Increasingly agitated by the voice, he just wanted to find somewhere to go. A concerned bystander stopped him to ask what was wrong.

"Hey kid, are you alri-" Krauser cut him off by grabbing him, and pushing him forward.

"I said leave me alone!" He screamed. Without thinking, he took a swing at the man, barely missing him. Throwing two more punches, this time hitting the man in the side of the face, his bloodlust grew. His adrenaline was pumping. Grabbing the man again, he threw him to the ground. Noticing the attention he was attracting, he thought back to the post office incident. He wasn't about to go back to jail. Turning, Krauser booked it down the road, not knowing where he was going. Looking for the first alley to duck into, he just wanted to get away as fast as he could.

Onion was startled by the sudden commotion from across the street; a man shouting "are you alri", he was cut off at that moment as he was knocked off balance by an attacker. The two men were scuffling, the aggresor gaining the advantage and throwing his opponent to the ground.

Another noise joined the hectic scene, the sound of two cars, someone shouting from inside one, and the scuffle in the street stopped. The guy with the upper hand quickly looked around him before taking off and heading for an alleyway a few doors down.

The cars pulled up beside the alley and three men got out of one, Onion could see one of the men had a firearm, they moved quickly and headed into the alleyway.

The commotion with the fight forgotten, Onion started to slowly cross the street towards the alley, hearing a single gunshot ring out, he ducked behind a car and waited. After a minute or two, with no more noise coming from the alley, he looked up from the car to see the three suited men getting back into their vehicle, immediately speeding off, around a corner.

Onion quickly made his way to the alley, he took perhaps six or seven steps before he came across the body of the man who had been fighting in the street. He was slumped over a garbage can, a note had been pinned to his back, a gambling marker, it had  "$50, 000 - Krauser" written on it. Briefly surveying the scene, Onion noticed a small wad of bills tucked into the corpse's sock, he quickly reached down and pulled them free, a cursory glance told him there was perhaps $200 here. He pocketed the money and ran out of the alleyway and started to mingle in with the crowd that had gathered around the man who was knocked to the ground, the sound of sirens blaring in the distance.