It had been almost 24 hours inside the Swansong Hotel and MongolMo had already seen enough. Some little twerp introducing themselves as Caveman kept spouting off about the injustice of being pickpocketed, having lost his earlier payday packet to some sleek fingered gremlin called Bathsheba, who seemed very pleased with themselves and insisted on telling everyone in their vicinity about it. Fantastic. Nobody cared.

After taking his extremely hard earned wages from the crew bank, which wasn't so much as a measly $7,500, Mo went to explore the rest of this farce.

In the hallway, Mo bumped into what he could only describe as a face that only a mother could love, which in this case also happened to be his aunty Mildred. Rumour had it that one night after returning in a drunkern stupor, his father decided he would deflower his own sister and hence, UglyInbredGeorge was born. A man possessing a face that looks like it's been set on fire and extinguished with a shovel, a man who fell out of and then hit every branch of the ugly tree and got tangled in it's roots, a man who simply had a very unfortunate face. The man hailed Mo in a welcoming manner, asking if he had taken his days wage. Unable to make any kind of eye contact with any part of that poor chaps face, Mo nodded and then swiftly escaped off into the direction of the Swansong bar area. 

On entry, MongolMo found a kakistrocacy of idiots. A woman who wore pigtails and a uniform way too inappropriate for her age sat drinking wine and scribbling on something, she didn't say much and Mo was left questioning just who in fact was the mongol here, particularly because when asked her name she replied by saying TFS, Mo looked around in askance as to whether he had heard right, the others looked as blankly at him as she had.

"No but what's your actual name?"

"TFS."

"Oh, right, how's it going?

 "TFS"

"Right, ok"

He hadn't noticed it before, but she was colouring in a picture of a swan on a piece of parchment, what an idiot, she wasn't even doing it inside the lines and the swan was green.

Mo looked around the rest of the table, next there was WaffleStompingChamp who looked at TFS with the look of a man who'd had enough of life, he waved a glass in Mo's direction and let out a depressed sigh. Just what the hell had Mo joined up with here, was it too late to make the short trip over to Chicago to see if the TomJoad outfit was any better? Mo would have to make some quiet enquiries. 

Finally the big boss man, SimonTheSwanHunter. Sat there with his stupid hat on with two swan feathers hanging out of it. Where his addiction to swan hunting came from nobody was quite sure, maybe he'd had a bad experience when he was younger. A battered book titled Simon's Guide To Swan Hunting lay next to his glass, it had seen a lot of use.

"Hey, you. Did you take a fucking payday from Fanta the finance lady earlier? You did didn't you, don't stand there with your mouth agape like it's Waffle's rear end, I asked you a question."

Mo was a little taken a back but nodded defiantly, just then he felt a hand go into his pocket. "YOINK" Some little cretin had picked his pocket, Mo turned round to see the back of Eala's head, running away like the big dirty tramp they were. About to go after them, Simon started droning on again...

"Well from now on, you better think very hard and long about whether you want to make it long in this place you thief, you scoundrel, you cheeky motherfucker. You're going on the list, that's right, Simon says... you're going on the Cheeky Motherfucker List."

What did this mean for Mo, he wondered. The most powerful Mongol in America land was already being threatened, having arrived here only a short few hours ago. Well, Mo was no stranger to threats, he had heard them all his life and had dealt with them all the same way. By getting into full wrestling attire and giving any man, woman or child the Mongolian Back Breaker. Unfortunately for Mo, that seemed the quickest way to finding himself into an early grave, Mo couldn't give this plank a back breaker and live to tell the tale for long. So how else could he deal with this oppressor?

I know...

You were paid $7,500.

Ching ching, Mo was back in business and bleeding this degenerate dry. He'd heard Simon was big in debt at the casino's and they'd been throwing sticks of dynamite at the HQ, attacking the guard dogs and hammering down the reinforced door to make an example of him. Odds were Mo wouldn't even have to ask to leave, he'd be gone as soon as the Casino's had dealt with Simon.

With a smile on his face and a clear plan in mind, Mo decided it was time to venture out in to Bricktown to see what the deal was around here and spend his hard earned money, just then he felt the familiar feeling of a hand in his pocket...

Simon had been enjoying a rare quiet moment in the family HQ without anyone asking him to do something. They were like children his Goomba army. Everyone needed something all of the time. If it wasn't TheFatController getting his taxes increased, it was Eala pleading a case to burn down the recently unearthed Library. And that was just from within, without, he couldn't take a piss in The Goddess Ravioli seafood shack toilets without someone calling his name. It was all very tiring for Simon so when he saw his latest recruit, MongolMo coming up to him with his hand out for another payday and a faraway look on his face like his brain had been rattled around his skull one too many times, he felt himself snap. 

"What are you smiling about, you little virgin? Get out of my sight and don't come back until you've beat at least 3 people to a bloody pulp." MongolMo just kept standing there, lost in his own little delusions of grandeur about the wool he was going to pull over good Simon's eyes probably and a limp fingered hand still outstretched. Simon sighed. "For God's sake, here," and he slipped him $7,500 dollars. "Now, beat it."

MongolMo hadn't got far when he felt the hand of SlimRagnarok in his pocket. Fortunately for Mo, he was well versed in the art of Mongolian Back Breaking and dished one out to the slim fellow. On checking his pockets, Mo found a big fat nothing inside, no wonder this guy was nothing but ribs and dick.

"You ungrateful fucking cunt" he screamed out, while writhing on the floor. "I'll skull fuck your corpse"

Mo shrugged deciding he'd deal with any consequences that might bring later on and continued on to Bricktown to spend his hard earned wages. While out he happened to be walking past a place over on Jefferson called Sinful Delights, only to find that Bathsheba was situated outside telling everyone who would listen about an earlier love letter received from Caveman, something about a pig was mentioned. Mo didn't care, he kept it moving, as did any others walking nearby.

As he continued on his aimless wandering and out of earshot of that shrill voice, Mo came across a couple of fellow members he recognised as twigs alongside TheFatController, they were holding hands, gaily skipping along the street. Mo waved them down and asked why they were acting so queer, they both pulled from their pockets their pay checks and waved them with joy and skipped off again with the look of a couple hell bent (hehe) on spending their well earned fortunes. Working for SimonTheSwanHunter sure paid off, maybe Mo would stick around after all.

Mo shrugged to himself, then decided he'd find himself a new outfit, something a little more suave now that he was officially a Gangster.

TFS had during her somewhat short lived life been through it all. She'd been born behind a lion cage in a traveling circus outside Detroit, her father was the knife thrower, her mother the contortionist. By age 10, she was juggling razors and walking tightropes blindfolded. She smiled through fire, danced through danger. That's where the name TFS had been born. Short for TheFreakShow. Today she couldn't even remember her real name.

Spending her younger years around all these retards she grew tired of that life. No more circus and as any normal and sane person she decided to burn it all down to the ground. No survivors. No one but a lovely, smart and talented little girl who calmly walked away from the carnage never to look back.

Having spent years perfecting the art of killing with knives, poison, guns, rope, pens, flowers, pokes, and bacon she had grown into a woman to fear. She killed both for fun and for contracts. Jazz clubs, political rallies, boxing matches were all arenas where people dropped dead without anyone knowing how or why. She made a name for herself in the criminal underworld. To the point where she was approached by a man called SimonTheSwanHunter and an invite to this mans crew. Being a part of a crew with like minded people, feared people, excited her. To find equals to hone your skills and wreck havoc with sounded like fun. So she accepted.

BIGGEST MISTAKE OF HER LIFE!

Having spent some time around the HQ it had become clear to her. There were no equals here, no one to learn from or even kill for fun with. It was a prison. A place full of inbreds, fatsos, waffle lovers and slugs. A complete bunch of cavemans. No one worthy of her time or knowledge. New idiots were arriving by the day and she was growing tired of it. But hope was still there. Hope that someone close to worthy would step through the HQ door for the first time. This was not going to be one of those days though.

As she was sitting their drawing red crosses over Swan posters on the bosses orders so that Gneiss could spread them around town in an attempt to eradicate all Swans, it happened. The door open and hope once against sparked within TFS. Hope that, with one look at the man, died instantly. In walked a man with drool hanging from the corner of his crooked mouth, eyes pointing in different directions, a horrible looking outfit and a general empty and dreaming look. This was instantly a lost cause. TFS saw it straight away and barely answered when the man tried to speak to her in what couldn't have been english even. 

So she continued drawing the red crosses on the bossmans orders planning her fun for the evening. A stabbing or two.