Darkness. Chills. The sound of screeching metal being clawed with the moans of agony across the cell block was not a cheerful awakening for Swayzak. Sitting up and looking outside of his cell block, trickles of water were flowing from a leaky pipe that was running through the ceiling. Blood stains, faded and new, painted the concrete floors that built the foundation for the Silent Hill Asylum for which Swayzak was locked in, a remote part of Los Angeles that no sane mind would think of visiting. Heading back and sitting on his single bunk bed, Swayzak leaned his back against the wall, with his head tapping the wall lightly before going through the same scenario that had played in his mind since he had arrived there.



Three bodies in a horrific crime scene that someone couldn't make up in their sleep. Bloated, lifeless bodies that had fell to the ground from life to death. Cash soaring through the air and streets on a boulevard in Los Angeles from a small wind that had picked up in the distance. Such a travesty started on a warm July day when the top structure of the Reckless Hearts decided to plan a heist on a small city bank in a quiet business district in Los Angeles. HydroPhonic had civilian customers. Ceelo had security. Khujo secured the safe. What was an easy in and out operation for the most part, turned deadly, when word from an incident related to aiding of a banished scum who had escaped the black holes of the abyss reached the ears of Zeus and the demi-gods that had dwelled in the divine quarters of the Heavens. Out the door went the three, while Swayzak had been watching from the corner to ensure no cops would arrive at the scene before hand.


As Ceelo carried the satchel of stolen goods, he paused. The sudden fatigue and sense of pressure overwhelming the Don, he gripped his left arm as the sudden tightness in it made the weight on the satchel become a massive burden, before falling lifeless to the ground. As HydroPhonic dropped her satchel and ordered Kujo to guard the parameter, he too, suddenly dropped to the ground, as lifeless as Ceelo. Frantically checking both of them, the Don of the Reckless hearts was immediately struck by a lightning bolt that originated seemingly out of nowhere, immediately killing her and leaving all three bodies in the silence as the onlookers in the bank fearfully covered their mouths of muffled shrieking and exited from the back. Sirens were heard in the distance, but Swayzak remained still, pistol in hand, in disbelief at what had just been played out in front of him. Regaining his composure, he ran to the bodies to check their pulses. Flat. As soon as it had occurred to him, a loud voice from behind him rang into his ears.


"FREEZE!"

Breathing deeply, he quietly moved his index and middle finger away from Ceelo's neck before stopping in his tracks.

"Your gun, to the ground - now!

With his other hand, he slowly cocked his pistol before common sense had hit him. Lifting up his pistol with his left hand, he dropped it in front of the officer's point of view. Before he had known it, he was being processed at the local police department.


Hours of interrogation, mind games and brutish threats had become unsuccessful, save for the fact that he had explained their fates before they had charged Swayzak with armed robbery, assault, and murder, on account of his position at the scene of the crime and the three lifeless bodies that had blocked the street.


An arraignment was to be scheduled a week later, before his lawyer called Swayzak for an emergency visit. Chris Hansen was an aspiring lawyer who had worked with some of Detroit's up and coming mobsters, who was given Swayzak's assignment on the orders of an unnamed associate from Detroit. Being called out of his cell, the quirky lawyer sat on one of the prison benches, with what looked to be several dishes and a few pitchers of lemonade.


"Why don't you have a seat, right over there."

He sat.

"Would you like a refreshment? Lemonade? A scone, perhaps?" He offered, only to meet a dismissing hand.

Right. Well, after reviewing your case, you pretty much have two options. One, you can proceed with the trial and you can take the chair. Two, you can plead guilty to all charges and serve life in an a penitentiary. You will be eligible for parole after twenty five years.



With a breathless laugh, Swayzak shook his head. After going back and forth in his mind, he decided to take the latter. Several paperwork screw ups later, the bus had dropped him off at what was used as a penitentiary, asylum, and prisoner of war camp. Besides being a ghost town and being the front page of several alleged paranormal activity stories in the past, the town was iconic for its ever permeating layer of thick fog. Walking into the seedy prison, the sound of faulty electrical wiring was immediately masked by a shrill scream from the room to his right; Electroshock therapy, the new treatment that had swept the floor of psychologists in America and had opened the door to a new form of "help". Being sent up several stories, Swayzak was promptly shoved in a cell to rot. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months - three years and forty one days, hundreds of disgusting meals and several months in solitary confinement later, Swayzak sat there, recalling everything that had occurred to him, before his cell slot opened.

"You've got a visitor. Hands, boy."

Sliding his hands through the slot before the faint utterance of a twisted laugh echoed through the cell, he was quickly handcuffed by gruff, dry hands on the other side of his cell before having them pushed back forcibly through the slot. After a quick yell to the cell operator, the door was opened. Stepping out and having an elbow push him forward, he was led down to the visiting hall where the silhouette of a familiar yet implacable figure was painting his vision before having the light shine on her - a gorgeous, brown haired Rossi, first name, Kates. Almost not believing his eyes, he felt his own incredulous look on his face before settling down into relative calmness.


"Hello, Swayzak." She said coolly, a light smile on her face.

"Madam.. Kates? Why would someone of your stature be visiting a hell hole like thi-"

She raised a hand.

"Enough. I have been given my chance to serve as a captain under my mother, and the Federal Government has been fast to act on your parole request. 23 or so years less isn't that bad."

She removed from under her side of the bench a folder, documenting release papers, only to have a shadowy figure step over her, to whisper something into her ear.

"Thank you. Swayzak, sign where your name is required - I have to take care of one little thing, and we can get out of here."

The visitor doors entered once more the company of the warden of Silent Hill penitentiary, giving a surprised look before extending his arms in a hug-like fashion to the established Rossi descendant. Giving him two quick kisses on each cheek, she whispered something into the warden's ear before turning around and heading back to the bench she was sitting on.

"All done?" She asked, receiving a brief nod.

"Great. Let my bodyguard, Giorgio, escort you out."

Walking with the large bodyguard, Giorgio heavily pat Swayzak's back before speaking.

"You won't need to pick up any of your old things - you have a new flat in Detroit - along with a few new suits."


Stepping outside of the penitentiary walls, Swayzak eyed a small Ford A in the distance before pulling up to a snow covered prison entrance. As he briskly walked to the car and got in the back seat, Kates joined him before talking once more, just as they made their way to the nearby airport.


"Swayzak?"

"Miss Rossi?"

"How do you feel about management?"


Years Later


Sitting in a coffee shop on Bourbon Street enjoying an espresso, Swayzak sat at a corner table, shaking his head at the final issue of the Reaper Daily.

"Should have included hit list rumors and stock exchange prices."

Folding his paper, he glanced at the entrance one more to notice Godmother Kates, looking at the menu back and forth behind sunglasses. Ordering and apparently putting the fear of God into the barista, she walked to the table he was waiting at and took a seat.

"Is six cups of espresso really that necessary?" She snapped, glancing at the saucers riddling the table.

"We really should consider selling this along with our other products.." He said, wandering off in his own thoughts of coffee addiction. Snapping back to the present, he glanced at Kates, who was eying Rebecca cross the street to the coffee house.

"It passes by an instant, but so much occurs between it.." She muttered.


"You haven't aged one bit, dear."

Hearing the small bell ding back and forth, Rebecca entered the coffee shop, continuing where her mother left off and once more, putting the fear of God into another unfortunate barista.

"Thank you for everything, Kates."

"My pleasure." She replied, leading on a small smile. With Rebecca sitting down with to make it three, the barista brought both of them their orders before scurrying away. A business discussion with the top structure of the Renaissance over coffee while dusk slowly took over the light in another busy day in New Orleans.