Kathryn had invited a handful of people to the abandoned office building on The Strip: some were her members, people she hoped to invite to her syndicate, some were other esteemed members of Las Vegas, and a few were members of the larger society from around the country.

The building, at the moment, was empty. A few sparse light bulbs were hanging down from the ceiling and the walls were bare. All the walls had been knocked down on the first floor, where everyone was standing; the second and third floors contained offices and meeting rooms in a similar state of disrepair. 

A woman emerged from the crowd and stood in the center, while everyone else gathered around her in a circle. Her voice was clear, with barely contained enthusiasm.

"It seems like recently, every day a new crew goes up in this thing of ours. Most of us who put on a bold suit can expect a brief flash of opportunity, followed by a relatively early grave. To those who have recently been bold enough to start their own operation, I salute you- and I am proud to be one of you. To those who have been long established- I hope to mirror your success and I congratulate you on what you've achieved so far. To Godfather FitzChivalry, Disorder, LuciusSweet, and Angy: I am honored by the opportunity to work for and alongside you, and I look forward to accomplishing much together as I hope to earn your admiration."

"I just spoke of mirroring the success of other leaders, but I should be clear: I mean to blaze my own path. I am not familiar with the entire scope of our thing's history, so I cannot say if what I am attempting has been done before. Perhaps someday necessity will force a change in my organization, but today I am resolute in my goal: I am going to reject 90% of people from joining me."

Discussion breaks out in the crowd.

"Let me be clear: I am ready to work WITH everyone. But if you'd like to work FOR me, I insist on only a particular type of person- a type that each crew usually has 1 or 2 of, perhaps more if they're lucky, but always the minority."

"I want people who are lovers of the streets and the business districts. People who are in touch with every discussion happening and who build character and skills through their various pursuits. I don't need everyone to be as eloquent as Shakespeare: the qualification for joining my organization is a willingness to put in work on the streets and the business districts. In other words, the requirement is a matter of will, not skill."

She grins.

"Although skill does come in handy. These are my people: the street experts who know everything that happens there, the voice that chimes in to every discussion, or the men and women who run or visit active businesses. Or all three. For too long, they have existed as minorities: a couple voices in a crowd of forty. My organization is based on the idea that the streets and the business districts are the foundation of this life, and we will work to provide opportunities for people to collaborate and grow, because I believe we will be be more excellent- and more profitable- together.

"I'd also like to announce that this building will become my base of operations. If you have an idea for a business, we'll help you put it together- or proofread your blueprints for you and make some additions. My name is Kathryn Renford: my new business will be Renford Properties, Incorporated."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to RP Inc. And if you think you have what it takes, you know where to find me."

Grace stood at the back of the crowd clutching the note that had been dropped through the door to her office. She couldn't believe this was happening again and that she was invited. She wanted to speak up, show her support but honestly, the group was large and rather intimidating, plus she hadn't seen the woman in weeks, much less hear from here until the note was dropped off.  So instead she pulled a pen out of her bun, letting her hair fall down around her shoulders, and wrote on the back of the note, "I'm in. - G.A." before folding the note up in the shape of a paper airplane and launching it towards Kathryn. As it landed at the woman's feet, Grace gave a small satisfied smile and turned to leave. 

Merci smiles. This woman was going places, and she wanted in on that ride. The last few weeks had been...interesting as Merci had come to know the woman, perhaps even love her, as her current condition could verify. She wasn't the lone sniper for hire anymore. She was part of a bigger picture. She steps forward, wincing a bit as her stitches pull at the bullet hole in her side, and speaks.

"I'm in. You're a force to be recon'ed with and I'll happily align myself with you. Whatever you need from me, consider it done. Above and beyond some blackjack lessons," she says teasingly. Stepping forward, she shakes the woman's hand with her good arm and turns to the others.

"What about the rest of you misfits? You in?" She asks with a laugh.

Constantine sat on a table by himself, toying with a deck of cards as Kathryn announced her intentions as to why she'd gathered them all in this shit box. Maybe it was nice. Maybe the joint had style and a bit of class. Maybe character. But when you've been to hell and back, life on this side leaves a certain taint to things.

The girl he'd saved days earlier from some demon possession still lingered on Constantine's mind, and he ticked over about it as the cards flicked over in his hands, one at a time. His mind trailed off as others stepped forward or simply gave their responses, one at a time. He was half present to the conversation and half aware of the rumblings that recent events across the nation were waking him up to.

The country had clashed in a fiery pit of war-torn self indulgence. It reeked of it. The stench of pride and massacre. And it was only the beginning. And if the Nazi regime was anything to go by, it was steadily moving across the world. What was? Well, if you asked Constantine he'll tell you to just stick to your crosswords and moonshine.

As the group lulled into a silence, it pulled Constantine from his inner world. A sudden change in the energy of an environment would do that, and he was all too familiar with the subtle play of energy. Feeling like it was his turn to interject, he did, and flicked a playing card toward Kathryn. In a show of more than just brain and money, her reflexes snapped the thing out of mid air, to Constantine's surprise. An Ace of Spades.

"I'm aces. All in. You're going to need me more than you know, and I feel I'll need you all the same." Constantine said in a deftly serious and sombre note. He then stood up, slid the deck of cards into his inner jacket pocket and moved closer to the group, taking a stance next to Caesar and Merci.

"Now, before we get to kicking bollocks and taking names, who here brought the tea and biscuits?" he said with a wicked grin whilst looking around the group of misfits.

A lone figure idles in the outer ring of the crowd, hands shoved into coat pockets, visage veiled in shadow from the lighting that gleamed upon its hooded head. Towards the tail end of the announcement and call to action, Shady_Sam ventures forward, passing a few figures such as the illustrious Caesar and the wounded Merci. The cloth hood falls as a hand sweeps through its brim, pushing it down to expose a tired face and short, unkempt dark hair. The hand return to its sheathe within the jacket, but the man offers a nod of approval towards the occupant of center stage, the newly minted leader of RP Inc. 

"While I have my own obligations, I whole-heartily support you in this reform to bring back some much needed life to these streets. Far too few crews focus on the more mundane aspects of this thing of ours, by first and foremost we are a community and should be sociable creatures. We are all in this together, one way or another, and few enjoy the company of one who keeps their head buried into the ground. I have high hopes for you, Kathryn. I shall be keeping an eye out for RP Inc. making their presence known in these glided streets of ours, as well as the local businesses abroad." 

Joe was standing in the shadows against the wall. His entire life he had lived in the shadows and that is where he felt most comfortable. Never the shot his father was with a gun he made up for his lack of lethality by learning to blend into his surroundings.

As he stood their listening to Kathryn speak his father's final words to him kept ringing in his head. The morning before he died he had approached Joe and told him that fighting had broken out among the families and that there was a good chance he might be dead soon. He expressed no regret and actually said he was happy to give his life for his family. Finally, he had looked Joe dead in the eye and told him that it was up to him to continue the honor of the family if anything should happen to him. 

And now Joe stood in this small smokey backroom listening as Merci, the daughter of one of his father's closest friends, signaling her loyalty to Kathyrn. Joe turned and examined Kathryn and saw the steel in her eye. She was nervous it seemed but still exuded confidence and poise - yes, she would certainly make a fine leader.   

Stepping out of the shadows Joe addressed Kathryn,

"You speak eloquently of your vision - of course the question is if you can make that vision a reality . . . I for one believe you can and I want to be around when you do. Count me in."

After spending most of his life in the British Secret Service (MI6), he decided that he needed to get out of the game after years of one assignment after the other, surrounded by conflict. So with that, he travelled to Las Vegas to seek a new path in life.

"Vegas, baby." He said to himself in an American accent - deriving from his usual strong British accent, as he looked at the sun setting behind the desert mountains beyond The Strip.

Finally, he could try to enjoy life without having to remain hidden, being undercover or in constant threat of death. Of course, he would still have to keep a fairly low profile due to the number of enemies he had made over the years. However, this is the last place anyone would come looking for a guy like him.

He had bought himself a little high rise apartment just out of the strip, where he stood at the balcony staring across this city full of excitement and energy. Strangely enough, he was actually bored. He couldn't remember ever being this bored, even as a lonely child. It seems that he had been cursed, thanks to his past, that he can only find excitement when living in the fast lane.

After spending recent days hard partying, gambling and spending his hard earned cash, he decided he'd had enough. At this moment he realised he would never be able to live a real normal life. He could have some of the normalities of your average joe, but he also needed the thrill and the excitement to make him feel alive. He had the skills for Heists, Protection Orders, Business Security... You name it. He was known as 'Decypha' for a reason - his ability to crack safes, enter the highest level security facilities, decipher the most complex code sent over radio frequencies. He would make for the perfect criminal with his track record.

He had heard on the strip about recruitment for a small crew by an associate of the district Godfathers, who went by the name of Kathryn, and he pulled out the card she had slipped in his pocket a few weeks ago, containing an address for an abandonded building. A crew of outcasts, misfits, all being put together in the aid of starting a crew and a business venture. He could find a way to put his skills to good use.

"Hmm, the sort of place I would fit right in." He said to himself as he flicked his cigarette butt over the balcony and walked back into the darkness of his apartment.

He decided to head over to the address that was on the card. Habit forced him to scout out the joint before even thinking about entering. Once he assured himself, he went in.

After listening in on some of the conversations, he piped up.

"Count me in. Whatever you need, Kathryn." He said to his new boss as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and straightened up his suspenders.

He liked the idea that nobody really knew who he was, or what he was capable of...