Satanta casually brushed the assorted tea leaves from his jacket sleeve, beginning to wonder if he had gotten more on himself than he had managed to in those blasted teabags. He looked up across the warehouse, seeing a veritable army of workers bagging the leaves from numerous large sacks which lay strewn across the hall.

Glancing at his own sack, which was overflowing to the brim and needed to be empty by the end of the day, he knew he had a lot of teabagging ahead of him. Teabagging had never really been his strongest skill, he had always found he was a little too large to be doing such delicate work in such confined spaces. However, with Don Tetley's new warehouse in full operation, he knew it was vital for everyone to grab their sacks, man up and do what needed to be done for the family.

In the corner of the warehouse, he noticed Tetley in deep discussion with Whatsername and Holly and Ivy. After some initial stumbling blocks in the establishment of the new opperations, where some of the staff were believed to have unsuitable equipment to adequately teabag to the required level, the girls had suggested the introduction of the much sought after and highly desired "Chestical" equipment. Their introduction to the facility had already lead to improve performance and an unquestionable improvement in moral throughout the workers. Famous for being far more aesthetically pleasing than the standard teabagging equipment, their larger size and greater ability to handle vertical movement and vibrations was proving a real hit. Everyone wanted to get their hands on the new arrivals, but Don Tetley thought it important to keep them safe in the delicate touch of the ladies for now.

Everything appeared to be going in a positive direction. Mouths were being filled, sacks were being emptied and despite a few workers sitting a little uneasy in discomfort and being a touch crabby due to their high workloads, things were progressing nicely. Tetley was especially proud of the new plaque that had just taken pride of place on the front of the building.

Tetley's Teabaggers
Nobody will put a better taste in your mouth!

Satanta slowly moved clear of the intimidating shadow cast by Don Tetley's warehouse, basking in the warmth of the Philadelphia sunshine beaming down. He stretched his legs and began drying his equipment, which had become notably moist with the sweat of their work. A smile came across his face as he scanned his Bella Vista surroundings. It was only a short time ago that this district had been untouched by this thing of ours, a location of chaos and instability. Now, under the commanding leadership of Godfather Hghar and Don Tetley, it was developing into a bustling hive of activity and notoriety.

Noticing a few familiar faces gathered in a small group just ahead of him, Satanta meandered over towards them. After a brief initial exchange of pleasantries, talk quickly turned to something that had been on his mind.



I had an interesting conversation the other night with Don Tetley while relaxing on IRC avenue. After the normal talk of business and preferred bagging techniques had been put aside, the discussion turned to old stories passed down to us from forefathers long departed.

It was particular interesting as our bloodlines had shared many of these experiences over the years, yet hearing the story from a differing point of view cast a whole different light on the subject. Topics and events that I had assumed I understood and knew the details of, from the stories of my own family, were shown in an entirely different way when looked at from the eyes of another.

I've heard it mentioned many times, especially recently, that our streets can become stagnated with a lack of new ideas or material for discussion. The fact of the matter, in my own humble opinion at least, is that it isn't the subject matter that is required to make it 'new' but simply the point of view of the story teller can do that all on its own. Having seen and heard sides of tales that up until that point I had been completely unaware of, it opened my eyes to how much all of us might be missing out on in terms of stories that we think we already know.

With that in mind, I'd like to ask if we have any story tellers willing to give me their insight into a tale? It doesn't have to be about a huge war or a life changing experience, it simply has to be something that gives us a deeper insight into something that has happened in this thing of ours.

I've heard my forefathers speak of large wars and the death of famous mobsters, but often their stories about the little things were far more interesting. A new family member taking up arms in a war for the first time? A previously unknown personality taking on a role of leadership and going on to achieve feats beyond even their own wildest dreams? That freak event that made you take a closer look at your life in cosa nostra and take a different path down the road of life or that completely changed the outcome of things to come? I don't mind what the tale is about, I'd like to hear them all.

I've always been a fan of learning from my own history and past mistakes, so if we can all share and learn from each other it may prove a beneficial experience for everyone involved. If we don't learn from our past, we are destined to repeat its mistakes... and all that malarkey.

So, what is the tale you wish to regale us with?

***************************************************************

Competition: Tell a story about any MR related event(s)
Deadline: Posted below one week from now
Prize: As large as I can muster between now and one week from now

(Guaranteed minimum prize of 5 credits. Yes, I know that really sucks, but so do I. I'm looking forward to voluntary donations from those of rank and stature in our community to help increase it significantly. If they aren't voluntary, I'll lean on them to make it happen with threats of tears and begging.
You also earn my gratitude, undying affection, a lollipop, a pat on the head and if it's really good Tetley will throw in a free teabag

***************************************************************

A little bit of book keeping, if you'll allow me.

At the moment, the prize pool has risen to 20 credits. I hope and expect this to rise (dramatically) before the deadline for the competition, but I'll happily keep you eager authors up to date as it escalates so don't worry there.

Anyone wishing to donate to the prize pool has a number of options:

Donate directly - You'll receive credit for the donation and the option of participating as a (weighted - depending on your contribution) judge in the competition (should anyone worry about a judge being biased towards their own family, you have my word I'll veto any vote that looks like favouritism and abuse the offender in public without hesitation. We have a code of honour, I'll ensure it's adhered to).

You may decline this offer, in which case I'll take on the associated weighting, which also allows you to enter the competition directly should you wish.

Anonymous donation - Should you wish, you can donate to the event anonymously (tick the little box for anon credit transfer). In this case, people making donations will have to take my word that each credit is being applied to the event. However, I'm more than happy to give that promise and my word means far more to me than a handful of credits ever would. This obviously means that you're fully open to participate in the competition, but does remove the option of you participating as a judge.

It has been suggested that I allow for anonymous cash donations too. I'm a little hesitant to do this, as if I happened to meet an untimely end while holding such donations they would be lost (unlike the credits). My own suggestion is to purchase a credit with the cash and then transfer that. If however someone does wish to make an anon cash donation, the bank account is a9b05dca931190d84412e46495199cf0 and you again have my word that each donation will find its way into the prize pool.

A very quick hat tip to:
Alexander - 10 credits to pool - Has declined judging rights as may participate
Tetley - 5 credits - Will be judging and said he'd happily teabag every entry, good or bad

(Choices on judging or not are open to change until the deadline has closed, so feel free to revise your choices)

I'm sure the other donations have already been sent and the mail man is just struggling with the volume of them. Once they do arrive, I'll update accordingly.

I'm keen for the top prize to be sizeable in order to encourage the highest standard of entries possible (that doesn't mean it has to be the best writing, sometimes it's simply the idea/thought that makes the story great), so a focus is being placed on the first prize. If/when it gets to over 50 credits (which I do expect it to), I'll outline the system for handling further prizes going down the ladder.

In a land far far away there was a crewleader. This crewleader was a complete C. Some of the things he said in the coffee shops were despicable. He was known Schwarzenegger. At this point he was cross dressing and went by the name of DanielaMancini.  Now, around this time Anita was the big wig. A wicked with she was. She used to ride around on her brromstick (this may not be true) with her Pig Flying along side her (see what I did there?). Now, she was hated by half of this world. Admittedly loved by the other but I was on the hating side so this comes first.She had authed  DanielaMancini into it's own city.

Around this time BG wacking was rife and Schwarz, because he was a massive C as mentioned, was bearing the brunt of it. It wasn't aimed just at him but those around and under him. Now his minions were busy taking black and white photos of the faces on the streets when the shots were fired and comparing them to previous occasions. They came up, wrong with a list of names. Now from what I can gather from my Great x 100 Grandfathers diaries they were Evsie, Jon, bighead and El_Nino in the coffee shops. These were all members of MickyFinns crew.

MickyFinn, although also under Anitas umbrella was a good man. When he returned to find someone had taken shots at his crew he was furious. He sought out the dead members descendants and questioned them. At this point he knew bad shit had gone down. Bad bad shit. These descendants had records of their shots. All of them. They were hitmen and took pride in their work. The times of the deaths did not match. It could not have been these men. Well, Micky was known to have a fuse. It was quite short and this had caused it to expire in record time.

Now the amusing part here is that Schwarz expected Micky to hold his hand and skip in to the sunset of these deaths. Sadly he was wrong and Micky pulled his family together and unloaded in to the belly of his ship. Sadly, it didn't sink and at that point it went off. Snoopy and RickDeckard decided they couldn't leave their mate alone so they joined in on Schwarzs side. Fuck knows why, As already alluded to, He was a massive C.

But lo and behold Micky got his mates down as well. The much fabled Manny and some no mark called Flash-Fire joined his side and proceeded to slowly but surely kick the living shit out of them until victory was secured. It was quite magnificent. Many a tear was shed. I dont think the bloodline was ever seen on these shores again or very son afterwards he disappeared completely.

So the lesson is this. Always think your actions through carefully. You might think that another leader will agree with you. But without asking him you just cannot be sure. Also ensure your evidence is concrete. As shown today with the takedown of New York.

Great work Gene.

It's fantastic to see the bar being set so high with the opening entry. My own bloodline have spoken of some of the events mentioned in that tale in the past, but not nearly to the level of detail provided or with the insight behind the scenes of the root causes of the events. A real trip down memory lane.


A little more paperwork to update you on...

Prize Pool: 45 Credits + $1m worth of credits
(Some deals are under discussion there, but if anyone would care to open negotiations about favourable credit rates I'm always keen to achieve the best result possible for our valiant competitors)

Donations to Prize Pool:
Mar 19, '13 01:06 You were transferred 25.00 credits from the Detroit Crime Syndicate (c/o MartinaGiorgio)
Mar 17, '13 20:43 Your accountant has received payment of $1,000,000 from tiggy.
Mar 17, '13 20:42 You were transferred 5.00 credits from tiggy
Mar 17, '13 18:22 You were transferred 5.00 credits from Tetley
Mar 17, '13 11:09 You were transferred 10.00 credits from Alexander
Mar 17, '13 10:08 You set up the competition with 5.0 credits


Judging:
Everyone making a donation to the prize pool will be offered the opportunity to participate in the judging. Each judges score will be weighted to the level of their contribution. If they wish to participate in the competition themselves, they obviously must decline the offer. Anyone choosing not to judge following a contribution will have their weighting transferred to me. I will monitor the scoring and ensure that no undue favouritism is shown to a friend or family member, where there is any doubt of an unbiased vote I'll happily veto that score from the totals. If anyone is unhappy with the results following this process, they may and should complain directly to me. I'll laugh, play a little violin and tell them where to stick it in a most thoughtful of ways.

I hope (or damn well expect) to see the prize fund to continue rising, I haven't even begun to beg or hump legs yet, so expect to see some further information regarding the breakdown of additional prizes in a later update once we get the first prize over 50 credits. Other than that, feel free to get your stories rolling in!

There's no cost for entry, there's no limit on the number of entries you can have (though you are limited to a single prize, sadly), there's no limit on how new or old the tale must be (though I do ask for it to be based on real events [however as I can't verify all stories, this is down to an honour code]), so the only limit is you choosing to present something that is meaningful to you!

You obviously misheard me earlier, I clearly said:

Prize Pool: 50 Credits + $1m worth of credits

*Wanders off muttering "One plus one, carry the square root, divide by the remainder, divide the legs and multiply. This maths lark will never catch on. Definitely just a passing fad."*

Santana competition story - Entry from Green_Tony_Mancini

Being fairly new to this thing of ours and with a bloodline that hasn't been active in a life of crime for many generations, stories of epic battles have not been written in the journals past down by my ancestors over the past years. Even so, I would like to tell a tale that is of great meaning to me personally. I wish to speak of the experiences I've had to date with my fine family, run by Psychopath.

It all started several weeks ago. My younger brother, also known as Admiral Ackbar, being the stubborn guy he is kept telling me to join up with a local organization making dramatic impacts on the local area. The way he discussed them, the business they conducted in seemed to make them more than normal criminals. These were men of honor, respect and loyalty. These weren't just criminals, they were family!

During quiet nights as we relaxed with a few beers he regaled me with stories of epic battles, of tremendous victories and bitter defeats. He spoke of Godfathers and leaders that looked untouchable being attacked and defeated by close friends who turned on them. He mentioned tales of unexpected people rising to the top of the ladder and of infamous faces with high expectations falling to their graves. Hearing all of these stories made me wonder how such a simple way of life, something you could almost describe as just clicking away at the next dollar, could hold so much potential. Could such a way of life attract these hundreds of people, playing their part in this thing of ours seeking to make a mark on our world, without the rest of us even being aware? Could these stories even be true? After a lot of blabbering combined with a few to many beers and whiskey, and being the awesome brother that I am, I choose to leave the simple life with an honest job behind me and join this life of crime.

In order to make the changes needed to survive this new way of life I had chosen, I knew I needed a fresh start. I arrived, fresh faced and innocent, on the streets of Chicago. After making some enquiries with the right people, I managed to figure out who I needed to speak to. That, however, didn't stop others trying to change my mind. Everyone I spoke to had their own unique style of interacting with me and many even tried to convince me to change my mind and to join up with their own chosen family.

I instantly turned them all down though, I had blood ties that I wanted to honor. It was only at this stage that I found out that my brother wasn't a made man himself. Without these connections, without him being a friend of ours to those in power, he couldn't be the one to bring me into the family he worked for. I would have to try and make my own way, there was nothing else to do. Working hard and keeping my ear to the ground, I managed to make contact with a made guy that was affectionately known as HMX1 within the family walls. After earning his trust, I was finally able to make my way into the fold as an associate. I had taken my first steps down the road and I was enjoying the journey.

Immediately I felt right at home and I was happily welcomed by all the family members present in the headquarters each time I set foot in the door. With their guidance, I quickly started to pick up the tricks of the trade. Within days I was getting to know each member, having in depth conversations about this thing of ours and I was really starting to get it. I realized that this way of life is about far more than just picking up a few dollars from meaningless crimes. It was about bonds, brotherhood and being willing to do whatever it takes for the good of your family. It's all about the interaction with others. Every trip down the streets and the conversations around the hq as the crew chatted among themselves all reminded me of how much I had gained in joining this way of life. It all made sense. Some time has now passed and I have never been more dedicated to this thing of ours as I am now. I stand as a boss within the family of Psychopath. I owe each and every one of family members my thanks for being so awesome to me and helping me get this far so fast.

I stepped into this life unsure if I would belong and questioning what I should be doing. With the help and assistance of fantastic people I am now proud to call my brothers and sisters I have made a place for myself, one I'll fight to never lose. The moral of this little story is that you should give everything a chance in life. Even if it you end up not liking something, you might just enjoy the ride!

I've been avoiding hitting the soapbox too quickly each time with an update, but there have been a few donations made that definitely warrant some disclosure.

Prize Pool: 200 Credits
(There have been a number of pledges that put the figure slightly over 200 Credits, but we'll wait until they officially arrived in to count them. Chickens, hatch, you know the rest.)

Donations to Prize Pool:
Mar 19, '13 23:06 You were transferred 75.00 credits from the Chicago Crime Syndicate (c/o SammyGarcini)
Mar 19, '13 20:36 You were transferred 25.00 credits from Jaqen_Hghar
Mar 19, '13 15:34 You were transferred 10.00 credits from Phil_Steak
Mar 19, '13 10:55 You were transferred 5.00 credits from Macho_Man
Mar 19, '13 10:33 You were transferred 5.00 credits from Cpt-Harris
Mar 19, '13 03:08 You were transferred 25.00 credits from _Warped
Mar 19, '13 01:06 You were transferred 25.00 credits from the Detroit Crime Syndicate (c/o MartinaGiorgio)
Mar 17, '13 20:43 Your accountant has received payment of $1,000,000 (5.0 credits) from tiggy.
Mar 17, '13 20:42 You were transferred 5.00 credits from tiggy
Mar 17, '13 18:22 You were transferred 5.00 credits from Tetley
Mar 17, '13 11:09 You were transferred 10.00 credits from Alexander
Mar 17, '13 10:08 You set up the competition with 5.0 credits

With that in mind, here's the plan for the current breakdown of prizes (this is a dynamic one, so as the credit pool rises, the breakdown will be tweaked slightly to accommodate [no prize will ever drop in actual value from a figure mentioned due to changes, but obviously the %'s may vary in value]).

1st: 50% of credits (100 credits at the moment)
2nd: 20% of credits (40 credits...)
3rd: 15% of credits (30 credits...)
4th: 10% of credits (20 credits...)
5th: 5% of credits (10 credits...)

I'll keep this one short and sweet. You don't need my words as the kind gestures tend to speak for themselves.

Mar 21, '13 19:37 You were transferred 100.00 credits from DeadlySin
Mar 20, '13 01:22 You were transferred 4.00 credits from Master_Pain

Prize Pool: 304 Credits

Very, very impressed by the outpouring of support the community has shown in this venture. Alot of very generous donations and wonderful gestures. Someone is going to walk away as very wealthy person by doing a good job of story telling!

It all started on a stormy and rainy night in the town of Philadelphia. I was new in town, drenched from head to toe with nothing more than a few hundred bucks in my pcket and nowhere to go. Masquerade, who I would later discover to be a Don in Jaqen's family, was riding in her limo heading back to the family Headquarters when she saw me. I guess she took pity on me as the limo pulled over and she offered me a ride to wherever I needed to go. As I got into the limo I never thought I'd see what I saw...

As soon as I got in the back saw a dead body opposite Masquerade, the seat belt propped him up, if it wasn't for the hole in his throat he'd have looked like a real live person. I was trying to get back out but the doors had been locked. In the sweetest voice Masquerade said "Judging by your looks you have nowhere to go. We see people like you all the time, you step off the boat with big dreams and no idea how to make them come true. I'm going to give you a choice." She adjusted her necklace, drawing my eyes. "Option one you can come with me, we'll get rid of this clown, you can make a little money and I'll take you to talk to the head of my family. Or option two, you can forget everything you have seen, remain homeless, and take your chances on the streets. The choice is yours." I looked around the car, taking in the crystal glasses as decanters, the diamonds on her wrist, the faint smell of expensive perfume mixing with the sour smell of death, but most of all I looked at her. She had an ease about her, a calm authority which spoke of a power so present it need not be flaunted. I wanted that, a few days of homelessness, ripping off purses for food money was enough for anyone. I took a deep breath before replying, "Well ma'am I'll take option one. As you pointed out I have nowhere better to be. Also ma'am might I as your name? Mine is King-Pitt?"

"I am Masquerade, and even though your name is King-Pitt i am just going to call you Pitt as no one is my king."

The body went in the river with a quiet splash, she seemed to have no fear of being caught, when I questioned her on it she just smiled. I guessed she had some cops in her pocket too, but still, this was murder, surely there was a limit. We soon pulled up to the steel gates set in a thick wall surrounding an imposing building. Masquerade told me to sit tight until she got back, her driver gave me a knowing look as he held open her door. I sat in the car, tempted to help myself to the whisky, but not daring. I stared out the window, taking in the fence, the wall, the guard dogs, the steel bars on the window... it all added up to one thing, whoever lived here wanted to feel safe, you'd need an army to storm this place! It felt like an eternity just sitting there, I wanted to smoke, but I was out, I wanted to get out and stretch my legs, but the dogs put me off, so I sat, and I stared. Eventually Masquerade returned before i could open my mouth she said "I have spoken to the boss, and he's allowed me to bring you in as an associate, you'll meet him soon, but for now you work for ME, understand? You handled yourself well tonight, if you keep it up and keep your mouth shut, you could go far. She invited me in and showed me to a room, it wasn't much, but it sure beat the flea-pit motel I had been staying in. She handed me a single piece of paper. "These are the family rules, learn them, then burn this paper. As a rule we don't like things written down, it can lead to," she paused "complications."

I didn't need to ask what happened if I broke a rule, I had a feeling I'd just disposed of the last person to do so.

The next day I woke up to discover a new suit hanging on the door and a note From my mentor that read "Get ready, meet me downstairs at 9 sharp!" I did as the note said 'cause let me tell you Masquerade was a scary woman, and I didn't want to end up in the river as well. I headed downstairs, a few people stopped to say hi, a guy called Isiah pointed me towards the kitchen where I hoped to find coffee, but it wasn't to be. As soon as I walked into the room I saw Masquerade talking to someone I hadn't yet met. His only distinguishing feature was a small scar on his cheek, otherwise he could have blended in to any crowd. I assumed he was another associate at first. I walked up and shook Masquerade's outstretched hand as she introduced him "Pitt this is Mr H'ghar, he is my boss and now, I guess, yours as well. Do. Not. Let. Him. Down." Jaqen said "Pitt don't mind her she hasn't got her morning spanking today. Now to business as of now you are the low man on the pole but i do take care of my family so here is $250,000 put it in a bank account and use it to help your self move up, you'll kick up a percentage of your earnings to me, and as you progress in this thing of ours you'll find money easier and easier to come by. You won't stay a thug forever. You have any questions you talk to Masquerade, or anyone in the family really, most people are happy to help out the new members. Now get to work i got to go take care of some other business." Jaqen then walked away, flanked by a couple of monsters I assumed were bodyguards.

"You know how to make money?" Masquerade asked.

"Yeah, I think I got the basics down, how hard can it be, right?" She didn't smile.

"Then get to work. You'll meet the rest of the family later, and you know where I am if you have any questions."

It took along while but I worked my way up through the ranks and Jaqen called me to his office. Myself i thought i was in trouble and didn't know why. Jaqen looked at me and said "Please Pitt have a seat. I have noticed over these past few months that you have worked really hard for Masquerade, you've done well as an associate, you've learned how to handle yourself on the streets and most of all, I think you've learned what it means to be a family, not just another crew. Would you like to become part of the family? Meaning you will have to show more respect to your fellow friends as well as any visiting family. Also you will not have to work as a low member you are now of great importance and can help me with more better things." I said "Sir it would be my honor to be apart of your inner circle and do anything you need me to do."

Satanta Story Competition by Joga Benito

Firstly I would love to thank Satanta and all others that have supported this competition for bringing something like this to the streets and have enjoyed gaining an insight into past experiences.

Sadly I myself have not been at the forefront of any breaking news and its been so long forgive me for my hazy memory. For I am a quiet and modest gangster (a word I hate to use, we'll say businessman instead). I am a quiet businessmen, my long vacations between law breaking make it difficult to hold any strong relationships, which I largely regret. However it also prevents me holding any grudges or having grudges held against me. Now I cant imagine i've ever been a name to remember but aspiration has never been my cup of tea. I strive to serve and for me I still feel giddy when I make that first million or drop my first body.

However there was one time I had a taste of power, I was in New Orleans if I recall. A young man called Tish had just been given his first crew and seemed clearly more giddy than me. I had the opportunity to move into his crew when he was authed and purely from a similar taste in music I earned his trust. He appreciated my earnings and activeness and offered me a spot on his Right. Clearly I jumped at the chance and my eyes were opened to a whole new world of opportunities and social circles. I was in a coffee shop with the GodMother, i couldnt believe it.

Sadly before long a few bad eggs tainted our joy. It seemed a couple of gangsters who were banned from almost every crew around had snuck into ours under the anonimity this world provides. Now it seemed they were part of a dasterdly trio, intent on reaking havoc. Now these three cowards worked in the early hours of the morning taking advantage of others being asleep. They would find a quiet city and sneak up to un-suspecting mobsters and shoot them dead, yet not be caught. It appeared one was doing the shooting whilst the other two huddled round in the hope of being the prime witness which they appeared to achieve.

I saw good men buried whilst their families didnt know where to turn, it was like body snatchers working in the night. To go along with this the third member of their gang had somehow risen to Right Hand man of another crew, it seems people can be easily decieved in this world by bloodlines changing their name and family persona. Now this man, was more cowardly than the other two, whilst keeping his eyes out for witness statements he was heartlessly wacking members inside his own HQ. Now i've seen rogues be reckless and foolish but never so cowardly and heartless.

The amount of deaths going un-answered was making the whole place feel like Jack the Ripper was on the prowl again, people couldnt sleep, upper structures were demanding answers. Unfortunately for me a rival crew found those answers before me and Tish. They followed the trail of breadcrumbs that led them to the two night killers. Now I cant remember the name of this other crew but an image of zombie cowboys comes to mind, or have I been sniffing glue too much. Anyway this more powerful crew had come to the conclusion that because these villians were in our crew we were all in on it. They thought our own mass mails for answers were decoys and we had a scheme to take over the world whilst people slept. Sadly not true, as I said before, I have no aspirations. But it turned out that whilst we slept the zombie cowboys had already gathered other families. And so myself and Tish slept, along with the two villains and the rest of the "Dub Police", never to wake up. And that was the demise of my one and only fore father that got to dine with a GodMother.

As for the HQ wacker, well his wearabouts today are unknown, is in your crew, standing to your right or holding a pillow above you whilst you sleep sweetly within your own crew walls.

The Best Laid Plans of Newbs and Men

by TheHumanCentipede

There once was a man, a strikingly handsome man, who began his Family Tree here as a fresh-off-the-boat brand-spankin new aspiring mobster several years ago. He knew nothing of this world, the people or bloodlines in it, in fact his only knowledge of This Thing Of Ours stemmed from the shadowy man who approached him off the boat and a Mafia Tutorial manual he came across upon hitting the shore. Strapped with a measely couple thousand dollars, he approached a man wearing a bold suit and went to work for him.

He worked hard, quickly learning the means of which to make money. He did have a general understanding of how the Mafia worked... money goes up, orders come down. He tributed regularly, made connenctions within his crew, and gained rank and prominence within his family. It was shortly after that, his Don approached him and asked if he would accept the honor of becoming a leader of his own crew. The young man was flattered, as he was the first generation of his Family Tree in this world. He enthusiastically accepted, and took with him a man he had become relatively friendly with, another fairly new bloodline, to be his Right Hand Man. They established a crew and continued to learn the ways of Our World through trial and error. Mostly error.

Over time, a Godfather from another city, feared by many, found his own city bursting at the seams. His own city's expansion was eminent. It was a matter of time before this Godfather would wish to see his own syndicate grow.

There was a pickpocket mishap in said Godfather's city, a member of the new crewleader's family was to blame. Unsure as to how a situation like this should behandled, the crewleader mailed his own Godfather, who was sleeping at the time. The lack of swift response to the issue at hand upset the Godfather, and a temporary banning of the crewleader's members in the Godfather's city was put into effect. The Godfather opened fire on the sleeping members of our protagonist's crew and anyone who made the grave error of entering his city. The heat was on, and the crewleader could see the writing on the wall. This was the beginning of the end for him, and most likely the rest of his city.

Understanding, and ultimately accepting this, the crewleader and his trusted RHM began discussing possible ways of getting themselves out of the jam they found themselves in. They came up with nothing. Being new to this world, they knew little of guns, warfare, or strategy. Members of his crew continued to be gunned down by the Godfather and eventually, the temporary ban became a permanent and publicized one. At this point the realization that they were basically sitting ducks just waiting to die so that this Godfather could put one of his own Dons in place as GF became painfully clear to the crewleader and his trusted Right Hand. He naively proposed to his own Godfather that they strike at him first. The half-assed propsal was shut down.

It was around this time, the Godfather found himself sentenced to federal prison for an alleged crime he may or may not have commited. The alleged crime itself is unimportant, but the CL and his RHM saw a window of opportunity to at the very least go out on their own terms, in a blaze of glory. Or at least that was the idea.

They gathered the whatever pitiful guns they could muster from their crew and put together what they thought was a brilliant plan. They would enter the offending Godfather's city while the GF was serving time and gun down the CL they believed would be put in place after their own city was wiped out. They had limited knowledge of pro-wacking, and made sure they had some pro-shooters ready to roll when the time was right.

So like a total asshole, the young naive crewleader took his pro-shot prior to shooting, flew to the rival city, shot at the heir apparent, and missed, thus losing his own pro in the process. The reponse was pretty much immediate, with the crewleader's hitters being gunned down witin about a minute. The rival Don that was shot at returned fire on our hero, also missing. Ironically, coinidentally, whatever you want to call it, the jailed Godfather was released from prison. The two exchanged heated words and the Godfather demanded he give up his pro or he would slaughter not only the rest of his crew but the rogue CL's entire city. The CL agreed, killed some irrelevant Consig, lost his pro and died. It was a piss-poor suicide mission that if remembered at all by anybody, was remembered as an embarrassingly laughable comedy of errors.

People took to the streets regarding it, some in blaring opposition of the move, while others including a swine that the CL was particularly fond of spoke out in defense of it. In the end, it was a move that the CL and his family felt they could live with, and ultimately die by. But regardless of anyone's opinion on the matter, the entire incident could pretty much be summed up in one word.

FALURE!

The Back Story of BrunoD'd

The time was right after the God's decided to wipe out everything. It was similar to the great Flood told in the book of Genesis. It took everyone with it and left nothing behind. The God's left nothing behind and all everyone knew was now behind us. The time immediately after the God's removal of everyone were called the cycles. These cycles were considered the most harsh of times because literally at a moment's notice you could find yourself six feet under. The likes of the ChickenCat were one of the finest to rule the world for the short time. That hybrid animal ruled the world with his gun and anyone that stood in his way was another notch in his belt.

After the reign of ChickenCat and the cycles, the Gods decided to let loose the world and allowed everyone to come back in to try to make a name for themselves. The race to Earner, back then that was the minimum rank required to purchase a HQ, was the most exciting race ever in our history. A few people got the edge with their trusted friends and after five days they had the highest rank in the game at the time and set up a Crew. The likes of Paranha, Yuri-Orlov, Jason_X were some of the very first to establish a crew within our cities. They took advantage of their rank and tried to recruit others to work for them.

My understanding of working for someone, belonging to a crew, was simple. It was a way for us Wise Guys to protect ourselves. It was a way to hit whomever hit you or hit anyone who even get in your way of conducting business. Back then, there was no protecting per say. Words went a lot further than a gun back then because no one had a gun. The way of the gun had gone and the way of politics was once being practiced again. Many took advantage of this and set up a Crew without the backing of fire power. The reliance of your words went further than ever before.

BrunoD found himself working for a man he met briefly in the city of New Orleans. His name was MrYayo. He was MrYayo's RHM for the short time MrYayo lived. Loose cannons were on the rise and no one had the power to fight back. Many Crew Leaders were gunned down within the next few days, MrYayo included. As MrYayo was gunned down, BrunoD lived. He was later taken in under Tank-Mage who then was appointed to Godfather on the AGF (Acting Godfather) council. The AGF stood for many things but the main thing they stood for were loyalty and stability. The AGF included Kreed from Las Vegas, The_Mathematician from Philly, Otho from New York, Antonio of Los Angeles, and Tank-Mage from New Orleans.

The alliances between cities were more than anything because turning on the AGF council meant turning on the rest of the population. Kreed was the strongest of the AGFs, he had the most firepower with his cannon. He ruled his city with an iron fist but he protected them with all of his power. A war had broke out between Las Vegas and Los Angeles but due to breaking the commandments set by the God's, Kreed was removed from our world and all HELL was loose. Las Vegas had lost its most powerful gun. Rhett who was at the time helping out Las Vegas, had to finish the war in fear that if he didn't, Antonio's much larger family would eventually remove Rhett's smaller family. With the alliances between certain cities, Antonio was found dead hours later by the hand of DiscoDuck. BrunoD's efforts were removing Antonio's many prowackers.

Shortly after Antonio's death, 2 other AGFs were murdered. Otho was the first. Otho had taken in a hitter from Antonio's fallen family and was deemed a threat. The alliance of DiscoDuck, Rhett, and Tank-Mage were the main force to be reckoned with. The alliance took action and shot the possible threat. Otho deemed that this action couldn't go without any consequences and told the alliance that he demanded some sort of compensation or war. DiscoDuck decided war and removed Otho as BrunoD stood by and awaited for any retaliation shot on DiscoDuck. But no one tried to retaliate. The remaining members of Otho had joined the other cities while possible threats were being cleaned up by hitters. BrunoD at this point was almost as strong as DiscoDuck and their friendship only grew stronger.

Shorty after the removal of Otho, The_Mathematician's time was about to expire. As the war between Antonio and the alliance kicked off, The_Mathematician was said to have played both sides. He even leaked info from the hitting room to Antonio. The_Mathematician's fate was sealed as DiscoDuck along with BrunoD, removed the upper structure of Philly in the first wave.

As time went on other people were allowed to set up their own head quarters and the promise made to BrunoD regarding his own crew, was slipping away. BrunoD asked around if his time had come, others gave him their approval. Both Rhett and DiscoDuck allowed this as BrunoD paid his efforts gallantly fought in the wars. A certain someone did not like this. As jealousy kicked in the RHM of Tank-Mage decided to remove BrunoD with a HQ wack. He even left the whisper "This is for FlyingPig. You fucking asshole". With that whisper, no one really knew what had happened. All everyone knew was that a friend of FlyingPig, a very well known and capable hitman, removed BrunoD. BrunoD had shot FlyingPig and his next of kin both times during the wars. Rinaldi_Mannovanni, Tank-Mage's RHM, led BrunoD's next of kin into believing that DiscoDucks' RHM killed off BrunoD.

BrunoD was furious and confronted the man, morte, and quick realization settled in that morte couldn't have done this. BrunoD's next of kin was lost in finding his father's murderer, and so was DiscoDuck. DiscoDuck was outraged that his young friend, and sidekick was murdered in cold blood. Days had passed and something had slipped the cracks. The story of the removal of BrunoD had finally reached out to the public's ear. The fact was Rinaldi_Mannovanni did not like BrunoD and thought he was disrespectful in seeking out his reward of a head quarters, he HQ wacked BrunoD

Tank-Mage and the upper structure was killed by DiscoDuck shortly after the word had reached DiscoDuck about his friend's death.

That lead to the public saying of BrunoD'd for weeks to come. The unforgiving HQ wack was the ultimate backstab. Because it didn't require any talent, all it needed was someone in the right place to pull that trigger.

Hussling over with a piece of paper Vincent begins.

There once was a man named Iota.

He was fat.

He was fat because he was depressed that the last time his bloodline did anything...he shot himself in the foot and bled to death in the most embarrassing manner.

To add to it. That idiots great grandfather had done something similar.

And so Iota ate himself into a coma.

And no one gave a shit.

Fin.


With a bow Vincent disappears into the night again.

Padrinello will speak. Listen to the words of Padrinello.

My name is Padrino. My father was an honest man. I'm a mobster so the journals of my honest father are not exactly interesting to the mobstership. Nor are my own journals really. I was a small-time thug until Toby took me under his wing, and I've been working for him, and the cities of New York, and now Chicago ever since.

Padrinello has spoken.

Satanta you young pup. I might have guessed you'd be at the centre of this commotion when I heard a rough Irish brogue.

So you're looking to hear a few stories? Did I ever tell you the one about the worker that didn't empty his sack on time? It's not a pretty tale and ends with a rather large mess on the floor, so get back to work.

Obviously *spends a moment straightening his tie and putting on his best sales smile*, after you've managed to allow this fine gathered crowd to avail of some of the finest teabags anywhere on the East coast *Nods to some associates to bring forward more of the merchandise and begin handing out flyers*

Tetley's Teabaggers

Once you taste Tetley on your lips, you'll never be the same again!

Before you do go, however, your drunken slurred Irish accent is reminding me of stories I heard myself as a younger man. Tales of joy and sorrow, triumph and despair, drunken hedonism and blatant sadism, a story that really does have it all. Personally I'd have included a few more midgets and penguins in it, but I'll try to remain true to the tale as I once heard it.

*BlackFog begins to settle himself against the wall, casting a glance at the gathered listeners. He removes a single cigar from his oblong State Journal cigar box and taps it twice against the case. This was always a clear indication that the man was deep in thought, or at least buying time to think up a concocted answer. A quick flick of his lighter, the flame jumped from starter to wick and the puff of black smoke left nobody in doubt of where his infamous nickname had come from.*

Let me begin to paint the picture for you. It was many many years ago, in the time of our Great Great Grandparents. The country was a different place, with less random attacks from the likes of the Rogue or the infamous Durden family. Some say it was a time when many mobsters were so poor they had to throw bullets at their victims and that the idea of hubcaps was but a twinkle in the eye of a scouser, but the people that say that are probably idiots so don't listen to them.

On the streets of New York at this time walked two very different characters at opposite ends of the spectrum.

The first was Godfather ThomasRourke. The most feared Godfather of his time; with a gun that didn't just rival anything of its era, it completely eclipsed them. He, along with his trusted Butt_Ox and incompetent friend ForkRourke, ruled New York with an iron fist. An iron fist that was happily wielded towards any city that posed a threat to his home.

On the other end of the scale, we had a young whelp scrounging on the streets of New York after making his way across from the old country. Many stories over the years have claimed he made his living posing as the largest midget gigolo in the city, but given the smell of Irish whiskey that would have surrounded him this is possibly a fabrication of the truth. This claim has also been refuted many times by the midgets trade union representatives and resulted in riots in the past, so probably best if we leave bygones be bygones on that one. This young man's name, of course, was Deimne.

The circumstances of how these two lives intertwined is still a mystery and no firm answers have ever arisen from the depths. I'm not suggesting it's up there with the Loch Ness Monster or Big Foot, but either of those stories are far more plausible than what ultimately unfolds on the outskirts of Central Park. What we do know is that this drunken little Irish man, famed for a quick tongue and a much slower intellect, somehow made his way into the New York crime operations and started to build a reputation for himself.

As time passed the crazy little guy moved further and further up the ladder of authority in New York. Following a massive war, which I won't suggest Deimne had any hand in provoking but do feel free to cast your own doubts there, four cities were left in ruins and many friends of ours or potential young associates were left without homes of their own. This event was so heart wrenching for many in the community that it could have left a permanent stain on this thing of ours, but luckily the timely death of ForkRourke was enough to ensure a small silver lining.

The leaders at this time, at least the few that were left standing, quickly went to task at rebuilding and providing hope for the future. One of the steps taken by Godfather ThomasRourke in this work, which is hard to be considered as anything other than a blemish on his time in charge, was to give authorisation to the little Irish lad to set up his own family in the Big Apple. Some say the drunken little imp was driven by confidence, some say he was driven by arrogance, but those closest to him at the time all confirm he was really driven by flatulence and this was the real reason for his expulsion from Thomas' headquarters.

Deimne wasted no time at all developing a reputation for himself and his Flying Monkeys. They became notorious for their drunken antics, aggressive nature towards cats and an obsessive compulsion towards guns. The worrying thing was that these people who were armed to the teeth were also quite crazy, even when taking into account that they thought they were monkeys who could fly. They would commonly be seen streaking down IRC avenue, looking deliriously happy, muttering nothing other than Success! Rumours ran that they even used this as a name for their hidden lair where many a mob wack had been planned and executed over the years.

Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, but the Monkeys just kept on expanding. The young Irish man continually surrounded himself with trusted friends and close allies, which was required really if he was to successfully hide his often incoherent mumblings from the world. He was seldom seen without an extremely ugly ginger kid on one side, who irritatingly referred to himself as the Sherminator with a strange German accent, and a rather beguiling lady on the other, with rumours that Deimna (and later her daughter ScreamingButterfly) were in fact heavily sedated on narcotics to force their cooperation behind the family walls. These claims have never been fully proven, but they do appear to make a lot of sense and have never be denied in public. Though it is hard to deny a rumour that I only just made up now. The people closest to the camp however have said that the aforementioned narcotics were being used exclusively in Iota's daily food intake in an attempt to curb his insatiable appetite. That alone doesn't seem plausible though, as everyone knew that there wasn't a drug invented that could keep Iota from a burger.

As the clock continued to roll on, things began to change in New York. Godfather ThomasRourke decided that his time in this thing of ours had come to an end and that it was time to hang up his gun in retirement. Some suggested he had never fully overcome the loss of Fork and was too deep in mourning to continue any longer, some suggested he had been kidnapped by Godmother Marietta and was being held in Detroit for nefarious sadomasochistic rituals and some suggested he could just no longer put up with living in a city overrun by unruly monkeys. Whatever the true cause of his decision, he decided the time was right to pass the city and the empire over to Deimne. Many would have held this second blemish on his record against the man, in a fool me twice type of scenario, but nearly all agreed that it must have taken the patience of a saint to have endured Deimne for so long as the man did and decided to let that one fly.

As Deimne took on his new role as Godfather of New York, large celebrations hit the streets. It wasn't that anyone liked him or anything, they just hoped that if they made the party big enough that the old vagabond would do the polite thing and drink himself into oblivion. Alas, only the good die young and Deimne appeared to survive the party with both of his IQ points intact.

On his way home however, things took an unexpected turn. The former right hand man to ThomasRourke, affectionately known as Butt_Ox and famed for his tolerance of idiots and friendly manner, decided he had seen enough of this debauchery. Now holding the title of Godfather of New Orleans, he had made his way to New York to cut the celebrations short. Unconfirmed reports have suggested his exact words were "Pigs will fly before I let those Monkeys live". And with that, the Ox made his move. The exact details from here are a little questionable, but insiders from New York have claimed the following is an accurate description of the moments around the event:

WitnessProtection: what the hell just happened?
Satanta: Oct 17, '09 13:40 You WACKED! Butt_Ox.
Satanta: Oct 17, '09 13:39 oux_ttb tried to WACK! you.
Satanta: no idea why tbh

Deimne, in an attempt to avoid being hit with any potential parental claims made against him one can only assume, often carried himself by the name Satanta at the time. This was long before he met a very special Russian midget working girl though, that our young friend Satanta of today later become to know as Great Great Granny, you'll have to understand.

So on his first day on the job, Deimne set to work demolishing the city of New Orleans. This was a sign of things to come, as the tyrant Deimne continued a long reign of terror which touched most cities at one point or another. His Monkeys had turned their odd compulsion for guns into a city wide hit squad that terrified the poor citizens of the time. Deimne himself, it was claimed, had replaced his old revolver with a veritable cannon taking out leaders surrounded by bodyguards in a single blow. He began killing rampantly for the most questionable of reasons. Small things like a city launching an attack on his were seen as justification for war. If only someone had thought the little guy to talk through his problems, or maybe even to just die when he was supposed to, many lives may have been saved. Instead, he'd wander out to the streets giving clear justification for each action and outlining cities trying to manipulate them, cities blatantly lying to them and most commonly and most questionably cities trying to kill them. They even went so far as to expect things like loyalty, honour and respect to be obeyed, the heathens. They clearly had no sense of morals or ethics at all to carry on with shenanigans like these.

I apologise if this is starting to sound like a horror story, but please do bare with me a little longer. I assure you, it does have a happy ending. *BlackFog takes another cigar from its case, carries out his now all too common routine and engulfs the gathered crowd in another cloud of dark smoke*

This reign of terror continued unabated for a long time as the now old fool just refused to die. Wars became like shooting fish in a barrel for these hoodlums and many consisted of nothing more than a single wave of successful attacks. Stories circulated of the miscreants sitting around their war rooms almost hoping for a gun malfunction from one of their peers, just so they could get a second shot off. Many had, wrongly it must be said, started to believe that the drunken old fool and his city were untouchable.

Luckily, Deimne was a lazy old man. He began to pass his days in the company of a certain little Russian lady and was seen on these shores less and less as time went on. While many claimed he had actually eloped to Russia, the truth was he was more than likely chained up in the Monkey Cage in unspeakable acts of bondage and too drunk to call for assistance. The debauchery that occurred in the city had also left a big impact on their strength besides the 'loss' of the drunken Paddy. Unexplainable gun malfunctions had stolen the city of both ScreamingButterfly and Sherminator, though the rumours that Deimne had carried out these pranks himself are a fabrication of my own... I do tend to believe them.

With this opening, or possibly just for shits and giggles as nobody can ever know for sure, others made their move. Lead mainly by Godfather SpaceMountain and TheDean, a large scale attack was launched to liberate New York from the evils of the Irish fool.

OBIT: Kilroy (Don) - PhelixTheSphinx
OBIT: Tyrion (Don) - Tyrion
OBIT: Kismet (Boss) - None
OBIT: LoudFlyingBug (Consigliere) - None
OBIT: Maldiva (Don) - Deimne
OBIT: Domnizon (Don) - PhelixTheSphinx

As the bodies started to hit the floor, New York was in a daze. They'd just lost loyal members and a fierce leader in the initial wave, along with guns that could have rivalled that of even Deimne himself. The New Yorkers didn't fear however, Deimne would come to their rescue and save the day. The man couldn't possibly abandon his city like this. Even for someone as evil as he, the thought of not coming to the rescue of the entire city would be sadistic, cruel and downright meanie pants.

How wrong they were!

Deimne never stirred from his bed, raised his gun or spoke a word for the entire war. Some suggest he was already dead and SpaceMountain simply put it beyond doubt or tried to steal the glory, some suggested he had actually eloped back to the old country with his midget and this was a dupe left in his place, but most knew the truth that he was simply too drunk to move and was potentially killed the way he would have wanted to go out... up to his eyes in drink.

The valiant New Yorkers struggled on however and the proud Monkeys sprang into battle. Despite being forced to work under Deimne's cruel regime, they were still an honourable bunch that would have given their lives in a heartbeat to save the life of a brother or sister. The odds may have been stacked against them, but you can't keep a Flying Monkey down. Well, unless you have a strong leash, or a chain, or a cage, or maybe handcuffs.

*Realises he's babbling a little, possibly due to lack of air from all the talking he's doing or potentially due to the cloud of smoke that engulfs him, and quickly moves on.*

While battling to return fire against the attackers and attempt the protection of their own, they continued on with strength and hope in their hearts. Many calls were made to allies they had supported in strength in the past who, they hoped and believed, would back them up without hesitation. Someone once reported that over two hundred attempts had been made to contact Deimne himself at this time, though this could just be hear say. For all the city of New York knew, he may have been walking along the harbour in Howth, County Dublin while the war was taking place on the streets.

One Godfather and his city answered the rallying calls to war. Serotonin, the Godfather of Saint Louis, grabbed his weapons and called his men to step into the fray along side New York. The battle continued to rage on, with bodies continually hitting the floor on both sides. The streets were stained with blood, ketchup and mustard. "What?" I hear you ask, "Kethcup and mustard?". Yes, for it was at this moment that Godfather Iota of Chicago showed up on the streets of New York polishing off a few hot dogs with his usual level of etiquette.

Immediately, people within the Monkey's camp started to reach out to the man. He had grown up a Monkey, had served the family with distinction (by not completely embarrassing them or, like, shooting himself), had fought shoulder to shoulder with most of these men and women many times before, and now here he was to join in the war. Join the war he did, as the forces of Chicago and New Orleans under Godfather Jim-Levenstein joined the war against New York. At least, after they'd picked up a few more hot dogs and a quick trip to the local strip joint.

Slowly but surely all of New York had fallen, as had their loyal friends in Saint Louis. The brave men and women tried their best but the forces against them were just too strong and numerous. The Flying Monkeys will always have a place in stories like this and surely have left their mark on this thing of ours, if not merely the stench that they can still not get out of those old buildings in New York.

As for Deimne himself, he will probably be remembered mainly for three things. He had a big gun. He had an even bigger mouth and boy did he love to use it. However, most importantly and what should never be forgotten, HE MISSED THE DAMN WAR!.

BlackFog takes one last cijar from his box and once again, twice tapping the lid slowly and gently, falls into deep contemplation.

The moral of the story? Perhaps it's that Monkeys shouldn't be trusted with guns. Perhaps it's that Irishmen shouldn't be trusted with cannons or maybe it's that Irishmen shouldn't be trusted with drink. We can all be fairly certain that drunken Irishmen shouldn't be trusted with cannons.

The most important thing to take from all of my words though, and if you only listen to one part let it be this, GET BACK TO WORK SATANTA!

Raoul wanders into the street and decides to give this old story telling a go.

Why don't you sit right back and I... I may tell you a tale. A tale of three Little Mobsters and a big bad wolf.

My family first joined this thing of ours back in June '03, a rough and tumble wannabe gangster with no idea, and no clue. I died pretty quickly, shot down for random whacking and failing to affiliate myself with a family. Then came the name that would change my family for ever, Tiscalli. Nunzio Tiscalli to be precise. He signed up with Lia Vazzi's outfit, and did the best he could. He was polite and respectful, and never stepped out of line. At that time, unbeknownst to Nunzio, a member of La Frat, Dean Martin's then RHM, had noticed him, and was keeping an eye on his performance.

Well as with all good times, they didn't last. Nunzio had a fall out with another one of Vazzi's crew, who was trying to extort money out of him, and a friend of Nunzio's, called Spaceman. Not being one to back down, Nunzio threatened to kill the other associate if he didn't disappear. So what did he do? I'd like to say that he disappeared; unfortunately he went straight to the boss, with a carefully edited conversation. Vazzi decided that he didn't have time to deal with the petty annoyances of an earner and 2 Goombas, so he had the three of them taken into the desert and shot. No trial, no interrogation, just ultimate justice. This didn't sit too well with my family, who had a romantic idea of what being a mobster was all about. Surely there had been some sort of error. Benito Tiscalli arrived on the shores of America soon after, and went straight to Vazzi. He was respectful but curious. When Vazzi failed to provide the answers he sought, he took his case to the streets, and again found no answers. Benito was contacted by Dean Martin's RHM, Untouchable Saint, who was impressed with his way of speaking, both publicly and privately. And offered Benito a place in La Frat. Benito respectfully declined, knowing that his hold on life was tenuous at best, he'd been making enemies quicker than allies, but he did put in a good word for his son, and Nunzio's nephew, a guy called Carlo, who was waiting in the wings.

Benito was gunned down as soon as he made the rank of Gangster, killed by agents of Lia for questioning his actions in public. Carlo arrived in America a few days later, and took over as the family's representative in the USA. He approached Untouchable Saint, who put in a good word for Carlo with Dean Martin. Carlo's time in La Frat was double edged. On one side he was happy, here was a good family, willing to support and stick up for its members, on the other, he still sought revenge for the death of his uncle and now his father. Carlo decided open hostility was not the way to go, as Vazzi was the leader of the largest crime family in the 5 cities at that time, and had more than enough soldiers to ensure that any direct assault would fail. So Carlo made a public announcement that he did not hold Vazzi responsible for the deaths of his relations, and that he was determined to show that he was a worthwhile member of our society. However, Carlo's quest for revenge didn't end there, it continued for the rest of the year, only now it was an underground operation, collecting Intel on Vazzi, passing it on to his enemies though a carefully orchestrated network of spies and double agents. Carlo never once betrayed the confidence of any of his spies, and they were all well compensated financially, it really was amazing how many of Vazzi's crew were ready and willing to roll over on their boss.

At the rank of Earner, Carlo got his first position in to the La Frat crew Structure, that of Recruiter. By organising his endeavours, and creating Standard invites, questionnaires, and responses, he quickly ramped up the membership of La Frat to the maximum of 200 members. Many of you might not even have known La Frat if it weren't for Carlo and his endeavours. Around this time, Carlo also attracted the attention of Dean's LHM, one Donnie Brasco. He had noticed Carlo's talent for public speaking, and his polite and sociable manner, and asked him to look after his bar, Brasco's, in Philly, where La Frat had moved when it became the 6th mafia City in late July. Again, Carlo set himself targets, and quickly turned Brasco's into the most successful bar in the city, with his unique blend of Cabaret and humour, something my family is still known for.

When Carlo became a Made man, a proud day for my family, and Carlo himself, he took on the role of Family spokesman and Public Relations. It was his job to ensure that only the positive aspects of La Frat reached the streets and the general public. Again it was a challenge that Carlo was willing to undertake. Now, forgive me if this all sounds too easy, in fact it wasn't. Carlo still had plenty of enemies, and as he rose in rank, more and more decided to take pot shots at him. Carlo survived 13 attempts on his life in all, his good friend and mentor Untouchable Saint taking out those unlucky enough to test their gun and fail. It was hard work, but the rewards where good, and La Frat was in Carlo's opinion, the best Family there was. They weren't interested in world domination or being the baddest mofo's in this thing of ours, they were only interested in looking after their own, and having a strong supportive family. At the start of August, Donnie Brasco was authed by Dean, and took position at his side in Philly.

In the Second week of August, Carlo made Consigiliere, the highest rank our family had ever been, and until Dean made Godfather, the highest he could go. This was when things started to go wrong. Dean was in the habit of taking pro-wacks. Like Carlo, he had a few enemies, mostly idiots who were fearful of his strong crew and the respect he held with them. One of his most trusted friends sold him out for a mere 500k, telling his enemies the time of his pro-wack. On the morning of the 11th of August, Dean was murdered as he prepared himself for his prowack. Over 100 of his crew joined him in the cemetery; Carlo himself was shot at twice whilst unsponsored before he could get into Donnie's crew and relative Safety.

In Donnie's Crew Carlo continued to do the roles that he had been assigned in Dean's, Public relations and Recruiting, and for a while things carried on as they always had. But Donnie wasn't as strong a leader as Dean. He didn't have the same street presence, nor the diplomatic skills, and he was challenged repeatedly. On top of this, with the disaster that had befallen Dean, Donnie was afraid to take pro-wacks, and Carlo and his friends all knew it was only a matter of time before things went pear shaped. As predicted, before the close of August, Donnie joined Dean in the family graveyard, with almost two thirds of his crew. Carlo himself was killed and it would be 2 weeks before a member of our family could return to the streets.

When my family returned in early September, under the guise of Saint Carlo, he found sanctuary in another La Frat crew, that of Soultaker, one of the few lucky ones to have survived the massacre of La Frat in Philly. Carlo Junior started at the bottom and slowly worked his way up. It was here that he cemented a lot of the friendships that keeps our family here to this Day, FatTony2, BennyNoodles, Mafio, Cristian, Versace, Jimmythebean, Ecky_bloke, Seyarah, OptimusPrime and others too numerous to mention, they were… well they were as thick as thieves. Within days, Opti had been Authed, and moved away to start a crew of his own. Saint Carlo never achieved the same success in SoulTaker's crew as his father had in Deans or Donnie's, but he was by no means at the bottom of the Ladder. Saint Carlo had his own group of Subcrews to look after, and he still recruited other members, plus he still had the spy and informant network his father had set up to look after, Vazzi's line was still around, and there was still vengeance to extract. Things are always easier though with friends by your side, and with Tony, Benny and Untouchable Saint to back him up, Saint Carlo felt invincible. He trained his gun religiously, and whilst he never reached the legendary status of some, Carlo was by no means shabby with a pistol. Over 150 fell by his hands, but he made sure to attend each and every funeral, because he always had respect for my enemies. When you loose that respect, that's when you take people for granted, and that's when you get sloppy. 150 kills may not sound like much by today's standards, but this was back in the day before bodyguards, before shooting ranges, before Contracts, even before the legendary Tyler Durden. Every single kill had to be worked for. The top guns around seldom surpassed 300 kills

It was the best of times, and the worst of times. La Frat, except for a core of individuals, was disintegrating, and so was borne the curse of Saint Carlo. He had decided to go for Auth, and out of respect he approached Soultaker, his leader first. Again things were different back in the day. Your leader didn't just say so and so is gonna set up here or there, no you had to prove yourself to everyone, and then get the backing to set up. Don't have that backing and your new bold suit would be full of bullet holes pretty damn quick. Within 2 days of approaching Soultaker, he was dead, and Seyarah was exiled from the six cities. Saint Carlo then approached others he knew and respected, and who in turn respected him. One by one they all died, assassinated, wackback, war, Carlo's search for auth really was a touch of death to any who read his request in their morning mail. Carlo had taken refuge in Versace's crew at this point whilst he continued to seek Auth, and it was at this time, as September ended and October Began that he was finally given it. Opti was the man to do it, and Saint Carlo gratefully accepted. With the Death of Versace, that very night, he set up in New Orleans, the ancestral home of La Frat, beside Opti on the 6th October. Things where starting to look up, or so Saint Carlo thought.

As some of you might have read in your father's and mother's journals, this was the time of MrEvilMan, or MeM as he was often referred to, and he had just about taken over the 6 cities. Every one seamed to be scared of him, and despite his draconian policies, no one had the balls to stand up to him. Saint Carlo tried, but alas he just wasn't strong enough. After 6 days as a CL, word came to him that MeM had had enough of Carlo's petty little rebellion, and was coming gunning for him. My bloodline has never been the sort to wait and see what happens, so Saint Carlo took the only course of action available to him, and shot at MeM, unfortunately missing. As there had been no formal declaration of war, Carlo decided to make one, in his own inimitable style. He hit listed all 146 members of MeM's crew for 100k each. He knew it wouldn't be long before MeM worked out what was happening and took him down, so Carlo decided not to take Prowacks, and instead stood shoulder to shoulder with his Crew, and to take as many of MeM's crew to hell with us as we could. Saint Carlo was killed by MeM's RHM, and was out of the fight, but his own family fought on to the last man. Over 90% of them where killed, but they dealt a blow to MeM that he wouldn't recover from, he was down to 67 men, and less than 14 days later he disbanded his crew, as the tide of public opinion finally turned against him. Again my family was to be involved in this.

My family returned to the streets the next day under the guise of Unstrippable Paint, a tribute to my close friend and mentor. UP didn't join a crew, and went straight to the streets to continue to speak out against MeM and his ways. He remained unsponsored and alive for 12 days, making it all the way to Earner, the first person ever to do this. During this time I think UP pissed of just about ever Crew leader around, including TeQ, who's descendant maybe able to corroborated some of this tale, calling them out, and asking why none of them had the balls to stand up against MeM. UP's voice attracted a lot of attention, and many voiced support for his cause, despite the silence of their Crew Leaders. At the Rank of Earner, UP finally died. He had ensured that no crew leader could take him in and offer their protection, he had burned those bridges, plus with MeM still around, I think a lot of them were too afraid to even try. Earner was as high as you could go without a crew leader, so UP stopped his self administered prowacks and waited for the killing blow. Actually, just prior to Christmas, UP's son had a chance to catch up with MeM, and he voiced his support for UP's campaign, stating that he was not against freedom of speech, as long as it was a coherent argument, in fact MeM was one of the few to publicly debate with UP in the streets. UP's son also got him to admit that his intentions had been to Kill Saint Carlo, so Carlo had been vindicated in his pre-emptive strike. But I digress. Unstrippable Paint left mafia land, and made way for The Equalizer, but that as they say, is another story...

East Coast vs. West Coast
The Diary of Innocence

July 22 - Today has been the longest day of my life and it’s not over yet. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever sleep again. When I flew to LA last night for business I didn’t think it would be the last day I worked as Right Hand for The Acting Godfather of New York, Lancelot. My agenda was to sell coke and wack a few bums while visiting The City of Angels. My plans changed when I went to a bar shortly after midnight and saw a friend who worked for a family in LA. He told me he was ordered to keep his shot and flight open. When I asked him why he shrugged. I didn’t like the sound of it and immediately went to a phone booth outside to call the leaders in New York, Lancelot, SammyGarcini, Apples and Galahad. The first person I got in touch with was Apples. I warned her about what I heard about LA mobsters keeping their shots and flights open. She told me she just heard the same thing a few minutes before I called. Another source told her LA was preparing to attack Las Vegas over a pick pocketing and mugging fiasco. That didn't sound like legit info, but what do I know? I'm just an innocent mobster from Manhattan.

An hour after I spoke to Apples the world and my life were rocked. Los Angeles and Las Vegas attacked New York. The first wave killed my boss, Lancelot, New York leader, Galahad and several other mobsters. When I got the call I dropped the phone. I was numb with shock. I couldn’t believe the people I talked to just last night were dead. The moment of denial was followed by a brief second of grief then I felt the overwhelming need to do something, to get out there and do what we train to do everyday for weeks, months and years - shoot to kill.

Being in Los Angeles at the time of the attack I felt somewhat isolated and helpless. I was certain being in the enemy’s city meant my life would be over soon. With my bodyguards standing by I hid in a hotel and got information from Apples and SammyGarcini over the phone. They told me New York’s ally, DeadlySin, The Godfather of Philadelphia didn’t hesitate to join the war to help us. My flight timer was open soon and I contemplated if I should use it to fly home to New York and set up and take in Lancelot's former members. Deciding the flight timer was more important for a war move I told SammyGarcini and Apples I was setting up in LA. As soon as I bought a HQ I invited ItGirl, made her my Left Hand and gave her a list of Lancelot’s others members to invite. In the middle of doing that job ItGirl was fatally shot. I barely had time to grieve for her before her daughter, Fydora twirled into my HQ and took over ItGirl’s job.

While preparing to leave LA for a war strategy meeting with SammyGarcini, Apples and our allies from Philadelphia I asked Fydora to find our hitters as soon as possible. Other than me most the hitters with the biggest guns in Lancelot’s family were dead. Fydora tracked down Mako, a Consigliere and hitter. As I was rushing out the door to go to the war meeting Fydora told me Mako was at a bar heavily drinking, but he promised to be available in an hour. A drunk hitter. Oh boy!

The war strategy meeting was at a secret location we refer to as Skype. As soon as I arrived SammyGarcini told me he had room in his HQ if any of Lancelot’s former members needed a home. I thanked him and told him they were all invited to join me. During the meeting I learned the biggest gun on the Los Angeles and Las Vegas side was JohnGalt, the Right Hand Man for The Acting Godfather of LA, ParanoidFreak. Because ParanoidFreak didn’t have the official rank of Godfather JohnGalt moved to Las Vegas to be Right Hand for Godfather PoisonousJelly for the gun boost. Smart move. Although we knew JohnGalt was the biggest threat it was still the early stages of the war. As far as I knew at that point he hadn’t missed a shot, therefore we didn’t know how many bodyguards would make him miss a target. We could only speculate. When someone said he can shoot through the bodyguard cap I couldn’t hide my surprise. The meeting was over and I left frustrated over the thought of getting proshots. Several of my ancestors in the mafia were wacked by pro shots. I don’t want to go out like that.

Back at my HQ Mako was there and didn’t look like the sloppy drunk I expected. He was clean shaven and wearing a crisp new suit. More importantly he was ready to work. I only know Mako from us working together in Lancelot’s family. Our bloodlines don’t go way back, but there was something about him that made me confidant I could trust him. I made him my Right Hand and gave him strict orders to only shoot active mobsters who were shooting or proshooting. I stressed it was important for him to stay proed and not take a shot until a prowacker was ready to pro him the moment he pulled the trigger. In my opinion a hitter should never shoot and assume the prowacker will do his part because someone else arranged it. They should personally talk to each other to plan the exact moment of the shot and proshot. Over the next few hours I was proud to hear how hard Mako was working and following my orders.

In the middle of the world burning I received a phone call from my probation officer. She threatened to lock me up and throw away the key if I didn’t go to my legit job. I don't think she would've accepted "I've been up all night shooting people" as an excuse to take the day off. So off I went to peddle cosmetics door to door. Every time I passed a phone booth I called Mako or one of our allies for an update on the war. I also managed to wack a few mobsters in between selling mascara and lipstick to showgirls in Las Vegas. While in Sin City I got a telegram from a mobster from Philly, SpikeSpiegel. He told me some of my members were shot by friendly fire because I set up in LA. A few eager young hitters heard the war was New York and Philly vs. Los Angeles and Las Vegas and assumed me and mine in LA were targets. No one is perfect. When I was a young hitter I made a mistake very few people know about.

After selling my quota of cosmetics for the day I returned to our war room. As soon as I arrived I heard our side lost more members. The loss was partially due to Castiel’s family from Chicago being in our war room while they were secretly working for the other side. They were all kicked out before I arrived. Another family from Chicago lead by MikeHunt was there to help us. With Chicago involved every occupied city is now part of the war and the lives of everyone in the mafia are at risk. History seems to repeat itself often in this business.

I have a lot of blood on my hands. The obits show almost an even amount of deaths on both sides and a lot of big guns are still alive. The outcome of this battle could go either way. In between taking shots I spent a lot time in the war room with leaders, SammyGarcini, Apples, DeadlySin, Phil_Steak and others. A young masked superhero, Mysterion was also there. I was a little skeptical about working with the masked man until he told his real identity, a secret I'll take to my grave. By the end of the day we had enough information from JohnGalt’s hits and misses to estimate how many bodyguards he could and couldn’t shoot through. It wasn’t the cap. I was relieved to hear the number and stopped getting proshots because my bodyguards are enough protection from his gun as long as they stay alive. Despite a few misses JohnGalt is still the biggest threat. After our side’s biggest guns missed him we focused on taking out his bodyguards. I was impressed by the hitters who didn’t hesitate to wack his bodyguards instead of shooting bigger targets. We were keeping count of how many of his bodyguards we wacked when the unexpected happened, JohnGalt wacked New York leader, Apples.

After the death of Apples the public coffee shop near our war room erupted with a mix of yelling, criticism, cheering and personal insults. I was tempted to walk over there and put my two cents in, but my new habit of taking the high road kicked in. Instead of joining the coffee shop drama I remained focused on the war and what needed to be done to win. Another distraction has been constant questions that are not war related - Are you staying in LA? How close are you to GF XP? (Not even close to 120 days old) Who’s Mako? Although I want to yell at people for asking stupid questions I keep my temper in check and tell them I don’t know about my future because I might be dead in five minutes. Other than those questions I’ve received a lot of telegrams from friends and children of friends wishing me good luck. Their words of encouragement and confidence in me keeps me going through another sleepless night as the death count rises.

July 23 - Mako and JohnGalt are dead. They were both killed in the middle of the night. When I got the news I was conflicted with grief and relief. There are no words to describe how much Mako impressed me and how well we worked together. He stepped up when I needed him the most and fought hard until his last breath. Ironically proshot mishaps lead to the deaths of my Right Hand and the biggest threat on the LA and LV side. A former member of Apples joined me after her death. After he told me his gun stat I asked him to talk to Mako about proing. The last time I saw Mako alive he was talking to the young man about a pro. Shortly later when Mako fired his gun at a target the prowacker didn’t do his job. JohnGalt wacked Mako. A second later JohnGalt was killed by his prowacker. Seeing both names in the obits at almost the same time was unbelievable.

It has been another long day. After roughly 48 hours the war is over for the most part. The leaders and most of the hitters from Los Angeles and Las Vegas are dead. Only a few small threats are left to deal with. One person I will deal with as soon as this is over is the man who was supposed to prowack Mako before JohnGalt wacked him. While in the pro room for our side he was sending information to the other side about when our hitters were scheduled to shoot. Over 25 people are in my HQ. For more to join they have to be invited by Made Man and higher. I only have three members ranked Made Man. One of those three is the traitor. After I put him to work inviting members he’s going for a swim.

April would be ten years; ten years since her bloodline made their way across from the old country. Scarin was a young woman, an only child whose parents had just been murdered in their sleep. She had awoken to the sound of yelling coming from downstairs. Her parents had told her exactly what to do if any disturbance happened in the house like this suddenly. She got out of bed, changed from her pajamas and went into her closet, looking the door behind her. Inside there was a trap door with a staircase that swung down into the basement. Scarin lowered herself down and climbed the stairs into the dark passageway. She went to a small cabin in the woods and waited for daylight. As the sun rose, Scarin looked under the fourth board from the north wall; there was the envelope her parents said would be there with enough money to get far away from this town she had called home since the day she was born.
She went into town to the local train station, she bought one ticket to the coast, there she would get on a boat and go to America.

As Scarin waited patiently for the train to arrive her eyes glance down towards the newspaper stand, there in big bold writing, the headline screamed at her "Two Dead in Overnight Murder: Daughter Still Missing". Scarin already knew they were gone but the confirmation brought emotions that she could not hide. She ran to the women's restroom and got herself under control just as she heard the train whistle sound. She ran and boarded the train. Time seemed to fly by as she could not get the headline and the picture of her house out of her mind. Her parents had warned her something bad could happen one day but she did not understand why they had been taken from her; why her whole life had been taken from her. She barely remembered boarding the ship, as she made her way to the sleeping quarters that her ticket entitled her to. If she had to guess, Scarin probably would have said she slept for two whole days at this point and should would have been correct. Her trip across the Atlantic Ocean mostly consisted of her sleeping, only rising long enough to eat at least once a day. As the ship pulled into America, she finally had dealt with the demons in her head and was out on the deck awaiting the ship to pull into the harbour.

Scarin had only one person in the world she could trust. A boy from down the street growing up had come over to America years ago. They had kept in touch during that time and she now made her way to where he was. She had an envelope with his return address and starting seeking him out. A few days later she arrived at Allan's house. He could not believe his eyes when he opened the door and it was Scarin standing there. He invited her in and she told him what had happened back home. Al gave her a big hug and sat her down on his couch. He began explaining how her parents had belonged to La Cosa Nostra and it must have been a dispute within the crime family that brought on their death. He poured Scarin a glass of wine and then looked her in the eyes. Al explained that he had joined a similar organization over here, it was not quite the same as the old country but there were ties to it. It was all he knew here but he could get her in and keep her safe. Her money was running out and she needed something to call home so she agreed to go with Al in the morning.

As the sun rose over the hills of Las Vegas, Allan and Scarin made their way just outside of town. The building was really just a big warehouse but Allan insisted it was the place. The pair went inside, there were probably thirty people sitting around, smoking cigars and drinking. A man got up and walked towards them. "You are Scarin I presume. Allan told me about you last night. My name is SecretAgent, I run this crew. Are you willing to work hard to make your bones?". Scarin smiled and replied "I have nothing and have no one except Allan; I am willing to do whatever it takes to be a part of something and make a living". With that SecretAgent shook her hand and showed Scarin a seat with the others.

It didn't take Scarin long to start finding more friends within the crew. The one she tended to spend the most time with was named Spectre. Spectre and Scarin were inseparable. They would run crimes together, stealing from convenience stores within Las Vegas and across the country. The pair would drive corrections officials nuts busting out fellow Mafioso from jail regularly.
But it seemed everything good in Scarin's life must come to an end. On a rainy day not that long after her ceremony bringing her into the family proper, SecretAgent was gunned down by a man named BrianArao. Many leaders died that day and Scarin was left wondering where to go. She had heard of a newer boss in New York and how he was looking for new members. She made her way across the country and found TheIncredibleDrunk. She asked the man who people called TID if she could join his crew and he agreed that Scarin would be a good fit.

While with The Headless Welders of The Apocalypse, Scarin found some more friends by the names of DownWithFrogs and LangfordMan. The three of them caused havoc around New York drinking way too much in local businesses (and within their own headquarters). They were known to dance on tables and break chairs over each other's heads, on almost a nightly basis. Finally Scarin had found some stability. She was a Welder in New York for quite awhile and always kept in contact with both Allan and Spectre who had found other crews to run with after SecretAgent died.

After a particularly rowdy night out with the boys, Scarin had over slept her alarm. She awoke and went to the headquarters to hear the news that numerous leaders from other cities had died overnight. No one knew who was doing the killing and the Welders were scared their Drunk would be next. A few more leaders died and the rumors started swirling. The Incredible Drunk was doing the killings. TID denied it and the Welders defended their leader. Suddenly one last gunshot rang out and TID was dead. A note was beside his body; he had indeed killed the others and taken his own life. By this time Scarin had been awarded the title of Don and had very little choice were she could go now, her old boss had killed all but three of the Don leaders.

Toaly was a leader in Chicago and a Don himself. Scarin packed her bags and went to find Don Toaly. Toaly was nice enough to grant Scarin room in his crew. Again Scarin begun to make new friends, one of which went by the name of crab. Scarin and crab took up the old tradition of busting criminals out of jail. Scarin was quite talented at jail breaking by this time and helped crab to train up. She also found Althalus and SkyHook. She introduced them to shenanigans in the bars and these boys took it up one notch. With armies of midgets and wolverines, the trio started bar fights the likes of which would frighten most grown men.

It was around this time Scarin felt she was ready to lead a crew of her own. She spoke with Toaly in Chicago, PUREGOLD in Los Angeles and Soultaker in New York. All of them assured her they would consider her proposal but she had started to give up hope. During a night out with the guys Scarin received word that Toaly had fallen, most all crewleaders had fallen including Soultaker who had left a will. The reading of Soultaker's will was something Scarin needed to hear, she was told. She boarded a flight to New York and found out that in death Soultaker had given her authorization to set up in New York. All the killings were the work of one man. She was not sure how mrevilman would like her setting up without his permission but he had now killed all the Dons and she had no where she could call home. Scarin received temporary protection and bought herself a headquarters in the city of New York. Within minutes she received a mail from mrevilman himself stating "No sweetie, not yet", she thought for sure her time was limited but held herself together and replied. Scarin continued to house those who had lost their leaders and it was not long before her headquarters was full. With the son of Spectre as her right hand and her friends she had met along beside her the way including crab, SkyHook and Althalus, she knew things would work out.

Mrevilman had killed most all the very strong and powerful leaders so Scarin believed the best thing for her was to negotiate with the man. After a few long conversations the two leaders agreed that Scarin would move to New Orleans and work under mrevilman. This enraged a few of her new members who had been left homeless due to this man, but Scarin's crew prospered in New Orleans beyond her dreams. This would turn out to be her shortest home however. A rogue named Spire began shooting crewleaders and Scarin was taken down by the man who turned out to be the son of BrianArao. The last words Scarin ever heard were whispered by the man whose father had killed her first ever leader after coming to America.

This story of mine all started several years ago in the streets of Philadelphia.
Being an ambitious young one I started looking for work within the city walls. It
was not long before I made contact with a certain mafioso named Paul_Viddi that
took me into his wolf pack. Life within the family was wonderful, Paul_Viddi was
one of the best people I had ever met along with ScipitaRourke, Godmother of
Philadelphia. Even though I never had the privileged to talk to the Godmother, I
surely did respect her. If she ever would have asked me to risk my life for the
family, I would do so within the blink of an eye.
Being fairly new to this life of crime, I was having a hard time learning the tricks
of the trade. Where a lot of my family members were succeeding, I was no more
than a simple wise guy with two dozens of cocaine and a paper gun. You could
even say that my life was standing still..
Even so, everything in life changes in time. For me it was when the war began. I
remember receiving a message from our headquarters of an attack on the
families in Las Vegas. Immediately my hart started pounding, I was terrified of
the fact that I would be taking an important part in a real war soon. On the other
side of the field stood Aurora, Godmother of Philadelphia. Just waking up from a
deep sleep and not realizing the devastation that was brought upon her, she was
hit by reality when she saw the dead bodyguards laying on the floor of her local
HQ. It was that moment when Aurora decided to hit back hard, resulting in many
deaths on both sides.
With the war raging extensively on both sides I remember receiving my first order
from Paul_Viddi. We were instructed to stay on alert moving from location to
location to make sure we were safe from spies. At this moment, Paul_Viddi and
his wolf pack were ready to rock. Things at home were starting to look ugly, but
as we all knew, it was only getting worse.
Not knowing the outcome of the war, Paul_Viddi asked for me. He told me that if
anything was looking to go south, I should take a shot at him. Not realizing what
he meant by that, he told me that he didn't want the enemy to have to
satisfaction of taking his life. Still paralyzed by this uncommon request I agreed
to do so. Paul_Viddi was relieved to hear my response and thanked me like there
was no tomorrow. Several hours later, some good news arrived. PedroRourke,
Godfather of Detroit, entered the war and sided with Philadelphia. While I was still
confident that I would survive this war, my parents kept calling me to get out
while I still could. And looking back at it now, maybe I should have, because Las
Vegas had also found allies.
New Orleans and Saint Louis sided with Las Vegas and word of dozens of dead
family members started reaching us. It now seemed like Aurora had a real
chance of winning this war. As myself and a lot of others were starting to feel
deprived by the lack of sleep we again received some news. To this day I'm still
confident that this is the reason that saved us. Deimne, Godfather of New York
decided to fight side by side with Philadelphia. This great news gave us somenew hope and time, which some of us used to rest up for the battle was not over
yet.
A few hours later and still hoping to be alive I was roughly woken up by a
messenger that insisted I started making my way back to the meeting spot. I
received word that the war would last a few more days so I started cleaning my
gun, for I would be needing it again soon. Firing those shots made me feel the
thrill of war and knowing I was helping my family it made me forget how tired I
really was.
A few hours later a loud bang was heard. While I was making my next run to a
meeting spot a bullet grazed my arm while the next punctured my heart. I fell to
the ground and as the life drained out of my I saw a hooded figure run of into a
nearby alley. As my life flashed by, I felt no remorse. I was happy that I was able
to assist my family in such a way. It made me feel Important.
Soon after my death word reached HQ that the leaders of Las Vegas, New Orleans
and Saint Louis had fallen along with their main hitting squad. It meant we won
the war, and even though we lost so many good people that day, it still felt as a
victory.
This might not be the best of stories, but even so, this war has taught me three
important things that I passed down to my descendants. One, always value new
players and help them as my leaders helped me. Two, a man with a gun
protecting his family is stronger than a man with a gun firing at his enemies. And
three, never forget your friends.