🎲 ↪ You remember someone saying something about a chop shop in Detroit. So you head over and decide to roll the dice on making a little money or driving away with a sweet second hand car... ↩ 🎲

Mmmm that smell. Yes, petrol. I mean victory. I mean money? Or was it motors?! Ah fuck it, it smelt like a mix between all of it as Axel was revving the absolute guts out of a 1930 Cadillac V-16 Roadster. In no time at all the smell of burnt rubber added to the aroma as the car tires screeched and squealed and left a small blackened double line about five foot long before the slick ride came to an abrupt halt.

"Woooo. Can't do that in a sandpit now can we kids?" Axel said teasingly to the three youngsters he was trying to show off to. He was bored messing about in the garage so decided to give some kids a taste of what's to come. They'd been riding their bikes leisurely around the car the past half hour.

After exiting the vehicle and slamming the door shut Axel joined the trio who were lined up watching on, all smiles. He gave one a scruff of the hair, pulled the hat down over another's eyes then slapped the absolute fuckn candy out of the other's cheek as his playful demeanour took a sharp turn. "Now get the fuck out of here and stop riding your bikes through my goddamn place of business!" Axel shouted as he kicked at the tires whilst the kids rode off screaming and crying.

"Fuckn little shits." Axel huffed while noticing a 1933 Harley Davidson pull in off the road and glide into a free parking spot near the front office. He casually made his way over and greeted the man with a strong handshake. The rider would've and should've removed his black gloves and helmet before he accepted the handshake, but he didn't have any on. He looked like he had just hopped on some strangers bike who'd ducked into a shop for a moment. And, it wasn't half untrue.

"What can I do you for?" Axel asked as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Well, I heard you do what you do, being the place that this is and all that." the somewhat shady looking character responded as he took a look around for anyone listening in.

"Oh yeah, and who said this exactly? Axel said in a rather defensive tone as his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Felipe from Vegas." was the immediate reply in lightning quick fashion, as if he was desperately eager to drop that name.

"Well why the fuck didn't you say so?"

"But that’s what I..."

"Come with me, we'll get you sorted."

Axel put his arm around the shabby looking guy and guided him inside the front office whilst two of his men, who were always waiting in the wings for such instances, began moving the bike into a garage around the back of the lot.

Petrol Victory Money Motors was simple, just like the name. It just made sense as soon as you saw the sign and remembered what that guy once said to you that one time when you spoke together that one time. Take in a new or used car and roll out with some moolah, or find yourself rolling off the lot in a ‘new’ ride for that inconspicuous job you were on the way to.

What happened after you walked or drove away was no-ones business, not even these guys. Just ask them what they did and they'd tell you they sold flowers to your mother’s mother’s father’s son’s daughter’s son or daughter for that funeral ‘they’ were going to.

Upon rolling into the chop shop fronting as a gas station, you’re initially greeted by one of the various 'gas attendants'. If you were to ask, Axel himself might also be on lot to make an appearance...