After saving Christmas during the recent war, Pops steps out from the newly standing Black Hand HQ. The scent of gunpowder and blood still lingers thick in the air. He looks to his right and left, exchanging quiet, respectful nods with his trusted Right and Left hands, before turning toward the crowd gathered in the Bricktown streets.

Back-to-back wars are never easy on anyone in this line of work. We lose brothers we fought shoulder-to-shoulder with, and we hold that much tighter to the ones still standing when the dust settles. It isn't pretty, nor is war meant to be glorified, but it happens, and history writes itself. As we rebuild toward a new and hopefully better way of life, I’m stepping up as leader of The Black Hand here in Detroit. Well... at least until my hands can manage to reach puberty.
 

That is all.