First word: Quill. Last word: Tangy. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Quills, thought Kathryn Renford, were far more romantic than the simple pencil she was currently using to scratch out a poem. Pencils were fine for jotting down grocery lists or scribbling out some calculations, but the elevated emotion of poetry, particularly when writing about love, seemingly called for a less mundane medium of transference. The quill was the first thing that came to mind, along with images of a poet dipping it thoughtfully into an inkwell. But maybe one of those flowing fountain pens could do the trick? Kathryn looked up at the stars and took a deep breath, once again appreciating the view from the roof of Renford Properties as she tried to think of a beautiful word that rhymed with brown. Gown? The stars danced in the sky above ,a celestial canopy that hung over the desert, while humanity's glowing casinos on The Strip did their damnedest to outshine the heavens. She often came up here to write: you could take the girl out of the English major, but you could never take the English major out of the girl. In fact, she made a mental note to-

Her reflection was interrupted by several small explosions, immediately followed by gunfire. Kathryn lurched  to the wall, resting both hands against the cool concrete edge as she looked down to see what the hell was going on- but outside of a few fires breaking out and the sounds of chaos, she couldn't tell.

The door banged open behind her as she scrambled for the gun in her purse, but she was far too late. Fortunately, the only thing that greeted her in the door was the judgmental glare from her longtime bodyguard, Jack. His scowl was somehow even more pronounced when viewed through his grey beard.

"Should have had your gun out earlier, Miss Renford. I could have been anyone."

"Yes, well... you weren't. Now what the hell's happening?"

Jack shrugged. Very helpful. Kathryn pushed past him as she headed downstairs to her office, a few lines of poetry abandoned on the roof. Several brief, frantic phone calls later, a picture began to take shape. There were a few members of RP Inc. around the HQ as well as a couple other visitors from The Strip, and Kathryn had summoned them to share as much information as she could. She was pacing. Fast. Almost as fast as she was speaking.

"Here's what I've been able to figure out. Multiple teams of mercenaries, we're not sure how many... maybe two dozen, maybe three dozen... have hit several locations on The Strip. If my source is correct, and they better be because I just shelled out a small fortune for information, they are led by Victor Larsen, a Danish veteran of The Great War. Apparently, he exclusively recruits former soldiers, so these guys will be well trained. Right now, they're causing chaos. Not sure who hired them yet. Could be another crew. My money's on Atlantic City, since FitzChivalry might put them out of business, but we'll worry about that later.

So what's happening?

We've got reports that a group is in the MGM Grand, perhaps going after FitzChivalry.

Another group is hitting the vault in the MGM Grand. 

A third group is apparently just wandering through gaming rooms in multiple casinos, shooting as they go.

Unconfirmed reports have a fourth group setting up a bomb somewhere. 

At least one restaurant is reporting a hostage situation.

And this is just what I've heard about... depending on what you see, these guys could be up to anything. Whatever their primary mission is, which in my opinion is FitzChivalry, a secondary objective seems to be causing as much chaos as possible.

The police, obviously, are aware of the situation- but it appears that at the moment, since the targets seem to be mostly criminal in nature and the bad guys have some big guns, that the police are focused on containment. I wouldn't be shocked to see some teams of cops or feds, but it doesn't exactly seem like they're in a huge rush to get here and save a bunch of lowlifes- or people who associate with them.

Here's the plan: spread out through the city, alone or in a group. Find these assholes and neutralize them. Jack and I are heading to link up with FitzChivalry; I know he's got some steel reinforced doors in his office that could keep them out for hours, but if I can get there before any siege starts I might be able to help him organize things. If you've solved your particular problem, maybe we can try to gather in the MGM Grand, ensure the Godfather is safe, and rally for a counter attack. I don't think we can plan too much right now, because who knows what'll happen? Right now I think the move for most of us is to spread out and take these assholes down. 

She took a deep breath. They were criminals, not soldiers. But each one of them had their own particular set of skills that they could employ. She just hoped it would be enough.

Alright. Be safe. And kick some ass.

Kathryn walked out of the room with Jack trailing her. People were screaming in the streets. She heard gunfire from the S+G Casino across the street and more from some restaurants to her left, but she couldn't worry about that now. She walked briskly toward the MGM Grand, trying to ignore the fact that her hand was sweating as it held her gun and her heart was beating much faster than usual. 

It looked like a normal, extravagant Vegas evening had been chewed up and spit out: rich men decked out in tuxedos, beautiful women dressed to the nines, fine dining, finer drinking, gambling, boxing, stage shows- everything and everyone had been, or would soon be, scattered by the chaos exploding on all sides. Kathryn tried to focus on the matter at hand as she climbed the stairs to the MGM Grand. The lobby was occupied by groups of screaming people beating feet on marble toward the exit; gunfire was audible and getting louder. Kathryn was nearly knocked over by a heavyset waiter making a beeline for the road, but Jack steadied her and they continued moving forward.

They were in the middle of the lobby, making their way toward the stairs, when the gunfire went from "loud" to "deafening".

One of the mercenaries, who was carrying some sort of rifle, turned the corner and saw them as he entered the lobby. Civilians scattered before him. 

Kathryn, Jack, and the mercenary raised their guns and fired at the same time.

Kathryn felt the impact- felt something in her left shoulder shatter irrevocably- before she heard the roar of gunfire. She tried to aim the revolver in her right hand, but she only managed to shoot the floor in front of her. The gun was just too heavy. She then felt a hard punch at the center of her chest as the wind was knocked out of her and she looked down to see blood mingling with the beige fabric of her dress. 

Kathryn Renford observed several final things before the world went black- observed them in a way that was not dissimilar to her reflective pondering on top of the roof.

Dying was, perhaps, not so bad. It many ways, it was just like falling asleep. Her eyes snapped open at the thought of who she would leave behind, but even that brief rush of adrenaline couldn't keep her lids from sliding over the now wet blue eyes that looked up at the ceiling.

As they closed, she saw the mercenary fall backwards.

She felt Jack holding her. Had he caught her and kept shooting at the same time? She felt a rush of despair for Jack, who would no doubt blame himself for this. She tried to tell him it was okay, but she could only emit a barely audible murmur.

The pain was building, but it helped to keep her eyes closed- to slip away into the unquiet darkness.

Someone was yelling. 

The floor felt cold on her back.

There was something in her mouth. Blood. Her blood. Who knew that blood tasted tangy*?

First word: Tangy. Last word: Fire. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Tangy orange was his favourite, he liked the bitter taste it left in the back of his throat, it reminded him of all the bitter thing he had done in his life. Sat at alone in the a corner booth of The Saving Grace, a restaurant operated by a good friend of his, James was eating. As he was about to put the next mouthful of food into his mouth, the main door was blew of its hinges, and half a dozen man all armed to the teeth flew in.

"This is a robbery, any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every mother fucking last one of you"

Even by Delaney's standards, this was going to be a eventful day. As the armed group moved around the restaurant, kicking over tables and knocking patrons to the ground, James sat still eating. One of the taller men approached James and screamed at him, inches from his face

"What, did i stutter, get on the flo..."

His words were cut short as James thrust a 6 inch blade, that he had pulled from his jacket, up into the mans chin to wards the top of his skull. as the man started to slump forward, James was up on his feet with the man spun around and holding him up as a human shield as the rest of the armed robbers opened fire. This mans corpse was absorbing all the shots fired at him, giving James the time to move towards the group. The dead man still with gun in his hand, James pulled up his arm and started shooting. A freshly deceased finger was not going to put James off, as his finger pulled down on the finger of the dead man, firing volley after volley into the chests and heads of the men.

Click, click, his magazine was empty and one man still stood. throwing the body he was holding to the group, James jumped upon a table and threw himself towards the last attacker. Hitting him in his torso, both James and the man flew back and started fighting. The man quickly gained the upper hand and was about to cut James throat

"Arrrgghhh" James screamed as a deafening boom filled his ears, leaving them ringing. As he got to his feet he saw the now dead man with only half a face left. Looking around the room, head spinning James was trying to figure out what had just happened.

"Are you OK, dear?" said the littlest old lady he has ever seen, holding what could only be described as cannon in her hand. "Oh this, I never leave home without my .357 in my purse. You looked like you needed a hand, and none of these chickenshits looked like they were going to offer much help."

Once he had regained his composure, James went to the back office of the restaurant to use the phone.

"WHAT? Where, I'm on my way." James had rung Kathryn's office and manged to get a hold of her bodyguard, Jack. Jack had given James a quick run down of what had happened, and what he needed to do. Before he knew it, James was in his car, racing towards were Jack had told him to go. 
James was already out of his car and running before it had come to a stop in front of the MGM Grand Casino.
Entering the lobby, James saw chaos all around him, Lifting his new weapon given to him by his savoir in the restaurant, a .357 Magnum, James dropped the first three guys at the door, before a quick reload and heading towards where he saw Jack, and his boss Kathryn injured on the floor.

"Jack, Jack what happened to her, is she OK?" blood was all over Kathryn's Dress. James panicked, quick flashes in his mind of him having to attend a funeral he really didn't want to.

"I'm OK James, but my dress is ruined. This is one of my favourites, if i remember rightly you bought me this one. I have the vest on underneath it, Jack made me wear it" Kathryn said as she sat up, still in Jacks arms.

Before he could thank Jack for his quick thinking, he saw another group of men entering the lobby from the bank of lifts.

"There is more of them return fire, RETURN FIRE*"

First word: Fire. Last word: Terrible. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Fire. That was the first thing finanaveguy saw… and felt as he finally started coming round after the initial explosions. His head was groggy, smoke and screams engulfed the room as he tried to piece together what just happened. No time to think though; he immediately started patting down his left side for the gun he’d packed. Finally he felt the reassurance of the steel against his finger tips and withdrew before crawling over to the nearest half upturned table he could just about make. He passed at least half dozen blood splattered bodies as he reached the table. He wasn’t averse to the sight of death, but the suspected concussion from the explosion was fucking with his ability to think.

He smiled as he slumped down behind the table and quickly assessed himself for any injuries of his own. He’d been fortunate, he was just on his way to the toilet and so hadn’t been sat at any of the main poker tables where the blasts first hit. He smiled at the now ruined tuxedo, he hated these things anyway - these events. He kept himself to himself for most of his working life under Lord Fitz, in fact he’d only attended this one because it was a “special occasion.”

Heavy gun fire quickly returned finanaveguy to the present situation. Hushed whispers and footsteps told him they were heading in this direction, It would be the last stupid decision they made on this night. finanaveguy slowed his breathing and poised himself… he just hoped there weren’t more than 7 of them. He swung round the corner and the table and took aim...

“FUCK.” He nearly pulled the trigger as James and Kathryn skidded to a halt in front of him. He saw the whites in their eyes before quickly lowering his gun and nodding to Consigliere Kathryn.

“The fuck happened here?” Kathryn and James quickly filled him on all that they knew so far, not a lot but enough to understand what needed to be done next.

“DROP.” finanaveguy ducked down as a bullet whistled past his head and hit the mercenary stood square behind him in the chest, he crumpled. He nodded his appreciation.

“So what’s the plan, what do you need me to do?” finanaveguy looked towards Kathryn as he asked the question and nodded as she filled him in on their plan to reconvene on the floor below and form a counter offensive to bring down this Victor Larsen man.  

“I need my shotgun, I checked it into the armoury this morning as it’s not discreet enough and Godfather Fitz says it makes the punters nervous. I’ll meet you at the spot”

finaneveguy looked around to get his bearings before heading through what was left of some double doors leading downstairs. Just before he entered he turned around.

“Stay safe.” finaneveguy nodded to both and then headed through the doors.

The smoke wasn’t as bad down this hallway, and he could breathe a little easier he slowly made his way past the various pictures on the walls of fighters past and present. His Godfather had made a name for himself initially in the fighting business, leading and training boxers from across the country in his now widely famous King of the Ring tournaments. That’s how he had secured a job working for him originally, pushing leaflets across the city advertising for the fight. Over time he’d killed and extorted where necessary before finally being inducted into the family as a Made Man.

finaneveguy rounded the corner and spotted a man just ahead of him, he wasn’t from around these parts. He slowly slid up behind him and violently twisted his neck before lowering him to the floor. That was one but fuck knows how many others were in this place – it was still pandemonium. Finally finaneveguy reached the armoury and smiled, he entered the combination to the armoury and headed in to retrieve his weapon of choice. The irony wasn’t lost on him, for a man that prided himself on staying in the shadows and not making much of a muchness his gun was anything but. He heard more gun fire and screaming and cocked his head for any indication as to who it might be. He couldn’t make out the muffled sounds and just hoped it wasn’t anyone from the family he might know. He quickly shut the armoury behind him, he didn’t want the rest of the guns falling into the wrong hands and started making his way towards the meeting point. These mercenaries would soon understand the reason why he referred to his shotgun as Terrible*.

First word: Terrible. Last word: Fair. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

“Terrible,” Grace muttered to herself as she washed her hands in the sink after she had finished stitching up her latest patient. The woman had been brave, coming here for help after he husband decided to beat the ever living shit out of her. Grace’s heart went out to the woman, who despite constant beatings, refused to leave the drunken lout. Grace knew she’d see her again. The phone started ringing as Grace dried her hands. She moved to the wall and picked up the receiver, balancing it between her ear and shoulder, “Hello, Grace Angeletti’s Medical Offices.” She said in her professional telephone voice. “Jack….” she paused as her friend’s bodyguard basically told her the news she hadn’t wanted to hear, Kat had been injured.

“How bad?” she asked the man as she tossed the towel down and started gathering things she would need. The bodyguard informed her that she was bleeding from the shoulder, but had been wearing a vest so she’s not in danger of dying. “Let me guess,” she said sarcastically as she snapped her bag closed, “The woman refuses to rest, right?” she asked before rolling her eyes even though no one could see her. “I’m on my way, try to get her to sit still,” she said knowing that it was probably a useless sentiment. 

She hailed a cab and climbed in, giving the address to the MGM Grand. “And hurry, please. This is a medical emergency.” Grace told the driver as she sat back and closed her eyes, not wanting to think about the very real fact that she could be losing a friend today. As she neared the heart of the city the sounds of chaos broke out, faintly but still noticeable. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked the driver who just stared at her blankly. “Some help you are,” she muttered as she tossed a few bills at him and got out of the cab, rushing through the door of the building.

Grace was met at the door by a man who looked vaguely familiar, but apparently, he seemed to know her. “Doctor Angeletti?” he asked before taking her elbow in his hand, “This way, ma’am,” he said to her as he led her to the gaming room where Jack had moved her. She steeled herself for drastic life-threatening wounds as she turned the corner and nearly gasped in shock when her friend was up pacing around the room barking orders at people. 

With a shake of her head, she looked around and then made eye contact with Jack. “Get them out of here.” she said motioning to the others in the room. “You can stay, but they are needed elsewhere, I’m sure.” she didn’t have time for pleasantries, she needed to get Kathryn off her feet and stitched up. “You look like hell, woman.” she said to her friend as she looked her over. “Ok, get your shirt off, and get on the table.” she told her pointing a finger and using her doctor voice. 

Kathryn turned and smiled coyly at Grace before batting her eyelashes and jokingly saying, “Is now really the time, doctor?” before holding up her hand, as the other one still wasn’t moving to well, in surrender. “Ok, but I’m going to need some help.” she admitted before motioning to her shoulder, “This thing isn’t working so well, at the moment.” she told Grace. 

Grace resisted the urge to laugh at the woman’s joke as she helped her onto the table, “It's fine, we’ll cut it off you.” she told Kat as she pulled some scissors out of her bag and started cutting at the fabric. “Now Kat, can you please explain to me how you got into this horrible situation?” she asked her friend, hoping to distract her a bit since judging by the way she was favoring her right side, she was in a bit of pain. As Kathryn talked about what had happened, Grace eyed up the bruise on her chest, wondering if the ribs might be cracked.

As she cut the sleeve off the shirt and pulled it away from the wound she bit her lip, wondering if the joint could even be saved. She used the mangled shirt to wipe away some of the blood and shook her head, “You know Kat, when I first met you I didn’t think I’d be dealing with quite so many bullet wounds,” she told Kat lightly referring back to the evening they had met. “Between you and Merci, I’ve had my hands full.” she forced a laugh and then grabbed her bag. 

“Ok,” she said as she started pulling things out, “This is going to go a lot like it did with Merci. I’m going to have to get the bullet out of your shoulder. That is going to hurt like a bitch. So I’m going to give you something for the pain before hand.” she told her friend. “But before I do, I’m going to poke and prod you a bit, to make sure your ribs aren’t broken from the shot to the chest.” she told her as she eyed up the rather spectacular bruise that had formed on Kat’s upper torso. 

“Do what you need to, but just get me back on my feet.” Kat told her through clenched teeth as Grace started prodding around. She let out a gasp of pain as she found a particularly tender spot before managing to choke out, “And here I was thinking you’d be more gentle if you ever got me with my top off.” 

Grace rolled her eyes and then grabbed her bag and pulled out a glass bottle of something and a syringe. “I don’t think the ribs are broken, probably only cracked. You’re not going to be moving around very fast for a while, they’re going to need time to heal.” she told her friend. She stuck the syringe in the bottle and pulled back the plunger, “Now for the stuff for the pain…” Grace said to her, “It’s going to make you feel woosy for a while, and a bit out of it.” she tapped the tip of the needle and pushed on the plunger slightly to get any air bubbles out, “But it is going to stop the pain.” she knew that Kat needed time to heal, and the only way she was going to do that is if she was knocked out completely. She felt bad lying to her friend, but her life was more important than their friendship. Although, if she was being honest, she hoped that both survived.

She stuck the needle in Kat’s arm and pushed on the plunger, sending the morphine into her veins. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going back out there.” she told her friend softly, “Doctor’s orders.” Jack moved a step closer at these words and Grace held up a hand, “I gave her a high dose of morphine, she needs rest. Not to be running around. She’s not a superhero, she’s just a woman.” she told him as understanding lit his eyes. 

Kat finally grasped what Grace was saying and struggled to sit up, “Now, what the fuck, Grace?” she mumbled, as the drug started taking effect. “I told you I wanted to be back on my feet.” her friend glared at her and Grace winced, before pushing the woman back down on her back. 
“You’ll thank me when you live through this.” she said quietly before Kat’s eyes drifted closed and her mumbling stopped. 

“Right, Jack I’m going to need you to help me hold her arm down so she doesn’t move. She’s out, but she may still not like what I’m about to do.” she told the man and then as he moved to grab Kat’s arm she positioned him and the arm where she needed it so she could safely and quickly remove the bullet. She picked up her tweezers and stuck them in the wound, rooting around until she managed to grasp the bullet. Pulling it out slowly she looked at Jack and frowned, “I don’t know what the extent of the damage is to the shoulder joint.” She told him, “And I’m not about to cut her open to go looking. Not right now.” she dropped the battered bullet on the table next to Kat’s body and then got out what she needed to stitch her up. “We’re going to need to get her back into my offices so I can look over the damage a bit more.” she told him, “But let's get this sewn up, wrap up her torso and then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do from there.” she told him, 

Once she bandaged up the arm and wrapped her chest, she put a shirt on Kathryn and then managed to get a sling on the woman. “Thank god you’re here,” she told Jack as he held the woman’s unconscious body up. “I don’t know if I’d be able to do this alone.” she shot him a tense smile and then instructed him to carry her outside. “We’ll take a cab to my office, it's far enough away from the chaos that's out here.” she started putting her things back in her bag as the others came into the room, “Good luck, guys.” she told them as she picked up the bag, “If you have more wounded, try to get them to my office so I can work on them. It’d be more efficient to have them in one place, rather than me running around all over the city.” she patted James’ cheek as a goodbye before following Jack out of the casino. 
As they got in the cab she looked over at her friend, who looked younger than ever while she was sleeping, before saying to the drugged woman, “I suppose it wasn’t fair of me to do this to you, but I do hope you’ll forgive me.*”
 

First word: Fair. Last word: Unaccountable. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

"Fair enough," Merci mumbled to herself as she hangs up the phone in headquarters. The city was under attack, her people were scattered to hell and back and her options were limited. Heading to the armory, she straps as much hellfire upon herself as she can handle and still be able to jog, at the very least. She heads to the rooftop and sets up her rifle as the sounds of explosions and gunfire patter rise from The Strip below. As she sights on a target, a piece of paper from the roof is caught in the kick-up of a breeze and passes in front of her crosshairs. "What the fuck?" she queries to herself. That was Kathryn's handwriting...

Refocusing, she methodically begins picking off unknowns down below. Losing count after number seven, she sees that the coast is relatively clear if she chooses to make a move towards the MGM. Typically better on her own, she nonetheless has a sinking feeling spreading in her gut that she needs to get down there.

Gathering her arsenal, she heads down the fire stairs and out the front door of the HQ, taking out two more targets as she makes her way down the street. Shots to the back were bad form, but all's fair in love and war. 

When she makes her way through the front doors of Fitz's casino, she stops a moment in an attempt to absorb what shes seeing. It's complete chaos, with men running everywhere through the smoke and confusion. The air is pungent with the smell of spent gunpowder and the coppery odor of blood. And its everywhere...the walls, stairs, and floor are thick with it. 

Wondering in a passive way if any of it belonged to someone she knew, she grabbed the shoulder attached to a familiar face...one of Fitz's people probably, but she wasn't sure. She just didn't socialize much. Snipers usually didn't.

"Hey! Where?" she called out over the cacophony. He must have known her at least, because he pointed upstairs. "Room under Fitz's office. Take the stairs, the elevator's out," he responds. 

Twelve fucking flights. "Fantastic," she mutters as she starts the ascent, two at a time. By the time she's reached the war room, her shirt is sticking to her body and she's panting. The hallway is choked with smoke; someone must have thrown an incendiary up here. She waves her hand in front of her face and squints her way down the length of the hall toward the double doors. She's about to lift her Winchester Model 70 and rap on the door with the barrel of it when out of the smoke, a bullet whistles past her, grazing her cheek. She looks up in time to see her ex-husband Augustus_Caesar advancing towards her, gun dropping to his side and an 'Oh Shit' look on his face. Blood begins to stream down her own face as the fear of God came upon him in a full-bore panic.

Because, without a doubt, there was no way he'd be held unaccountable*.

First word: Unaccountable. Last word: Politician. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Unaccountable, that was the best way to describe the dirt bag cops in this town. Joe had paid damn good money to several officers on the force to ensure that he would be able to get information and protection whenever he needed it. Now, as it seemed Vegas was burning none of them were returning his call – he would be sure to thank them properly for their service later. Right now, he needed to find out what the hell was going on.

Joe had been in his office at Scalise’s Fine Imports going over some numbers when he heard the first explosion in the distance. As he strained his hearing trying to figure out what was going on he heard the very distinctive sound of gunshots roaring through the night and immediately dialed into RP Inc. headquarters to figure out what was happening. To his dismay all lines were busy – it was then that he had tried to reach out to his police contacts to no avail.

Now Joe was flying down the street in his Ford coupe toward the heart of The Strip as he saw smoke rising in the air. As he reached the edge of the casino district where the fighting seemed to be taking place he pulled his car into an alley and stepped out. Before he left the warehouse, he had changed into dark jeans, a black tee shirt, as well as a black ski mask and gloves. Now, as he began slinking through the shadows toward RP, Inc. headquarters it would take someone with very keen senses to locate him. The closer he got to the tower the more he began to get a clear picture of what seemed to be happening. Armed men dressed like mercenaries seemed to be causing havoc within the casinos and night spots owned by the various gangsters throughout Vegas – for the most part they seemed to be avoiding businesses owned by private citizens which might explain the noticeable lack of a police presence – the law seemed to be letting the criminals take care of themselves for at least this one night.

Seeing what was happening Joe decided to change course – Godfather Fitz and Consigliere Kathryn were likely already conducting a defense of the area and him trying to slip in would likely not benefit much and might even get him killed for his troubles. It wasn’t like he would be much help in a fire fight anyway – after all, his skill with a gun was legendary . . . for just how bad it was. What he lacked in skill with a gun, however, he more than made up with in his ability to get around quietly and his ability to persuade others to see his way of thinking – a skill he had picked up from his trusted manager and ally Lucy.

Turning in the direction of the penthouse he knew the mayor kept on the edge of The Strip Joe quietly made his way through the alleys until he reached the building. Two bodyguards were standing sentinel at the door, obviously meant to prevent any of the violence that was going on in the streets from reaching their precious mayor. While they would have to be dealt with this was actually a good sign for Joe, it meant that the mayor was in fact in his penthouse.

Approaching quietly from the side Joe got within 20 yards and quickly launched two of his throwing knives. The knives found their mark and the two guards slumped down gurgling on their own blood from where the blades had embedded into their throats. Retrieving his knives Joe made his way to the elevator and up to the top floor. As expected he found two more guards posted outside of the Mayors door and quickly dispatched them in the same fashion as the ones below. Quietly letting himself into the suite he made his way toward the bedroom.

As Joe had known he would, he found the Mayor in bed with his favorite mistress Roxanne – he had been in to buy enough jewelry for her to make the Queen blush. For her sake, Joe hoped that that meant he cared for her as much as he expected. Pulling his .45 out of the holster on his shoulder he burst into the room – even he could hit a target at this range and he hoped he wouldn’t need to pull the trigger anyway. As he entered he pointed the gun squarely at the couple who were smoking what he assumed was a post sex cigarette and calmly said,

“Mr. Mayor, how nice to see you, I truly apologize for the boorish behavior but I simply must speak with you urgently.”

The Mayor’s eyes went wide as Roxanne screamed in shock before quickly gaining control of herself and backing as far away from Joe as the bed would allow. The Mayor began to call out for his guards and in response Joe removed one of the still bloody throwing knives and impeded it into the wall next to him. “They won’t be answering Mr. Mayor – anyway, it is rather impolitic to throw out a guest is it not? Especially one who brings important news about what is happening in your city.”

The Mayor’s face turned a deep shade of red as his temper flared and he responded

“I know what’s going on, at least the basics. One of your scumbag crews is attacking another – why the fuck should I care? As far as I’m concerned every one of you guineas can kill yourselves off so the rest of us can sleep a bit easier at night.”

Joe simply smiled slightly at the mayor before moving over to Roxanne’s side of the bed – being careful to keep his gun aimed at the mayor’s chest – and grabbed her by the hair. Roughly pulling her out of the bed he slammed her into a nearby chair. Once she was seated he put the gun in his left hand and kept it pointed at the mayor while using his right to pull out his favorite knife – a mother of pearl handled stiletto switch blade with a sterling silver blade. Switching it open he placed the blade against the face of the now terrified young women.

“Now Mr. Mayor – it isn’t nice to say such things. Insulting my friends might anger me, and if you do that I might react . . . badly . . . and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty little girlfriend, now would we?”

At that the mayor actually laughed catching Joe by complete surprise.

“You must be even more stupid than the average Wop, you think I care about what happens to this whore? Kill her, I was getting tired of her anyway.”

Joe had to react quickly and move his blade as Roxanne tried to grab it and lunge at the mayor in fury while screaming a number of insults is way. Thinking quickly Joe had an idea. Turning to Roxanne he got her to calm down before asking, “Does this schmuck keep a camera in the penthouse at all?” at her nod he told her to go get it and when she returned he had her lay seductively next to him as he took a number of photos.

“Now, Mr. Mayor, let’s make a deal. You pick up that phone by your bed and call the police chief and tell him to get his boys out to pick up those attacking the casinos and night spots – while leaving those defending them be – and I leave this camera with you. You don’t and I get these pictures as well as a statement from Roxanne here to every newspaper in Vegas – I’m sure your wife would love that.

The Mayor’s face quickly drained of blood as he nodded quickly and picked up the phone.

“Now, before you get any funny ideas about what you are going to say, remember, I have a .45 pointed at your chest and no matter how fast you think they may be I assure you my bullet is much faster.”

A few minutes later after a short phone conversation Joe heard sirens in heading toward the strip. Smiling slightly, he motioned for Roxanne to get dressed.

“Good job Mr. Mayor, you get to keep your reputation and can even take credit later for stopping these thugs. Roxanne, come on, I’ll take ya home and we can grab a drink later. Don’t worry about what this greaseball said – after all, they are all the same, these damn dirty politicians*.”

First word: Politician. Last word: Science. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Politicians, bankers and illustrious figures from across The Strip in Las Vegas district were having fun at the MGM Grand Casino on that hot night. Angy sat at one of the luxurious tables chatting with Governor Miller about whether she would enter a political career, gaining more protection and prestige for her criminal organization.

Angy noticed that her guest's glass was getting empty so she decided to signal the waiter to refill the drinks. Looking around, she saw one of them and discreetly pointed to the glasses. The waiter came quickly, and while he was serving, Angy noticed a strange movement by some men walking between players and casino visitors.

"Those men are not part of this casino's profile," Angy thought to herself. This thought had barely crossed her mind when she heard a distant explosion, a bit muffled, and suddenly one of the men drew their weapon and began firing at the ceiling in order to disperse the crowd.

Mr. Miller looked sideways, frightened, as Angy drew her gun and pointed at the man who was firing upward. She fired a single shot directly into the middle of his eyes. After making sure the other men had not yet figured out where the gunshot had gone off, she took the governor's hand and pulled him into a small adjoining room where there was a secret passage that led directly into an alley near the FitzChivalry's headquarters where she would leave the Governor and gather a group together in order to take control of this situation.

FitzChivalry was not in his office after she looked around for a few minutes, but Orange was sitting there with some people around him. Leaving the governor with a few security guards, she approached the group in time to hear the words: "mercenaries" "several bombs" and "Kathryn shot."

Looking scared, she put her hand on Orange's shoulder and said, "Have you formulated any tactical plans and how can I be of help in this situation?

Orange looked directly at her and said, "Find the leader behind these attacks and deliver him to the Alley near the Casino. I'll find out the motive behind it, and ask your men to kill the others. No one attacks our town and leaves it alive after.

Angy ran off and bumped into Kharon who was coming to check on what was happening. Looking at her trusty hand, she told them to call the boys and hand them the photo of Victor Larsenwho could be the only man behind these attacks. Then the plan was for them to scatter in groups around the casino, and kill anyone who seemed strange.

Passing in the armory room, Angy got enough ammunition for the job and called on Prati who was her best marksman. This looked frightening to him because it was his first great mission the front of the family. Pounding on his friend's arm, she began to tell him a plan of how they could catch Victor when he remembered that he would first have to talk to the engineer responsible in order to know all the possible accesses that the casino hid inside.

After a few minutes and with the maps in hand she listened to all the man's explanation about it and smiling respectfully she thought to herself.. "how intelligent these engineers are, and they certainly need to study hard to master this field of science*."

First word: Science. Last word: Used. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Science had yet to invent a way to turn back time unfortunately. Otherwise, Caesar would definitely have seized the chance to omit his last bullet from human history. No, there was going to be no easy way out, and he gulped uneasily as Merci shot him an "I will castrate you after this shit's over" look. Well, he had always lived by the ideology of what's going to come will come, so might as well focus on the present. "There are more of these bastards heading upstairs towards Lord Fitz's chambers." he tells Merci, while handing her his handkerchief so that she could clean up the graze on her cheek. 

"I could use an experienced shooter's assistance." Thankfully, Jupiter had decided to have mercy on him, and Merci agreed to follow him up the TWELVE FUCKING FLIGHTS OF STAIRS. They started the long trek, with Caesar in lead, armed with his German Luger in the right hand, and his .45 Colt in the left, while Merci brought up the rear with her rifle. The stairs were empty, and quiet. Too fucking quiet. This was a trap, and he could sense it.

His clairvoyance was vindicated when he saw a stick of dynamite drop down at their feet as they approached the landing to Fitz's office. Now, when it came to the sexy, waxy and slender body of a stick of dynamite, Caesar loved little more in the world. He loved touching dynamite, he loved lighting it, he loved tossing it and hearing the sound of it exploding gave him a massive hard-on. What he did NOT love about dynamite, were those moments when he had it tossed towards him. They said Karma was a bitch. Caesar was in no hurry to meet her.

"Cover me!" he shouts to Merci as he leaps forward to grab the flaming red stick. The assholes above opened fire on him immediately, but for all the good it did, they might as well have been using Napoleonic muskets. Clearly, training in the sweet, sweet art of combat was not sufficient to prepare one against Caesar's unexpected moves. The lovely Merci however, WAS as efficient at dishing out death, as Bubba was at deflowering virgin ass. Using her rifle, she immediately dropped two of the bastards, and bought Caesar enough time to toss the stick of dynamite back up at them. Incoming Karma motherfuckers!!

The explosion took out three of the mercenaries, but the rest of them retreated further back into the landing, while avoiding the rain of rubble that was covering everything. Clambering over the debris, Caesar and Merci head out to the landing, and the open fire on the retreating men together. The two pistols in his hand spat lead like a typewriter churning out letters, and he could barely make out the movement of the bolt on Merci's rifle, due to the speed with which she was drawing it and sliding it back into place in-between shots. 

They fought their way up to Lord Fitz's door, and were relieved to see that it was still bolted shut. They were here just in time however. The cunts had set up an entire stack of dynamite right in front of the wood, and were about to light the fuse when they all dropped dead under a shower of fiery lead from the heroic couple. "Right." Caesar tells Merci panting, as they walked up to Lord Fitz's door. "Now we just need to hold the fort until help arrives." They create a barricade of sorts in front of the door, using the corpses and the rubble from the explosion near the stairs and crouch down behind it. 

They could already hear the footsteps. There were people charging up the stairs, no doubt, attracted upwards by the racket. A LOT of people, and judging by their rather annoyed voices, Caesar had an odd feeling that they were here to hand out presents and declare that Christmas had come early. He separated the individual sticks of dynamite from the bundle near the door, and prepared himself for some serious lighting and tossing, while Merci aimed down the iron-sights of her rifle, with the barrel pointed towards the mouth of the stairs. 

If this was going to be their last stand, they were going to make those sons of bitches remember it. They were going to give the person behind this shit-show some serious thinking to do about the quality of the cannon-fodder he had used.* 

First word: Used. Last word: Great. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Used to this kind of situation, Decypha was able to act quickly and efficiently to eliminate any threat posed to him. Although, he was surprised when he received a telegram through from an old associate that the MGM Casino and surrounding areas were under attack from Mercanaries. He was always a confident man that kept his nerve, and it's no surprise given his expert training as a double agent. But, this was different. Whenever he was out in the field, he was always alone. Flying solo, a lone wolf. He never had any comrades to think about, he just had to worry about himself and his own safety as most of the time, he was alone and surrounded by enemies. As long as he kept himself hidden, undercover or eliminated all targets before they eliminated him, he had nothing else to worry about.

This time, it was a whole other ball game because he had his family to think about, especially Miss Renford. Not only that, if the Godfather of the district was to fall it would mean chaos among the streets and the criminal underworld. He knew that the others would have acted upon the news and prioritized the safety of Miss Renford and Godfather FitzChivalry, but he had to get down to that Casino urgently. Not that he doubted the others, but he had confidence in his abilities in these situations and he would feel much better knowing he can be there to protect them. So with that, he jumped into his Cadillac V-16 and headed to his nearest storage hideout to gear up.

Looking around to make sure nobody had followed him in case of an ambush, he arrived at the Casino about 7 minutes after receiving the telegram. He could see that the mercanaries had already began to lay waste to the Casino and surrounding areas, rom the bodies of innocent civilians in the street. There was strange feelings deep inside him as he jumped out the car and headed for one of the side entrances into MGM, bobbing and weaving to avoid the odd random shots still being fired across the street from several buildings. He was extremely worried something may have already happened to his friends, which was the reason he'd never made bonds like that before with his line of work. On the other side, he felt excitement. This was an environment where he excels, where he comes to life.

He snuck through the side exit onto a stairwell, giving him the option to head upstairs or down, or go straight on into the casino area. Taking a peak through the casino area and seeing an extreme gunfight in process, he decided to head upstairs straight to Fitz's vault. Although he was good in a gunfight, it could potentially last for hours and and this moment it was not his main objective. As he got to the first floor the stairwell ended. He glanced through the window to see one of the mercanaries standing guard facing down the hall. Decypha took a moment to think to himself. They must be making an advance on the vault inside, which is where Miss Renford and the others would be, making a stand. He had to fight his way through to help them defend the vault.

With him, he'd brought his favourite weapon, the British-designed Welrod. Decypha had acquired the blueprints for these just after World War 1, and decided to build it himself. Currently, there is no other weapon simiilar. It is the first known silenced pistol. However, this would not be needed to take down this guard. Also a man of gadgets, he clicked a button on the inside of his signet ring releasing a small, sharp point. Moving silently and swiftly, he crept through the door and backhanded the guard on the neck, making sure the point pierced the skin. The guard instantly dropped to the floor. The ring contained a poison that instantly paralyses before shutting down the internal organs. A slow and painful death, while unable to move or attempt any form of pain relief such as a bullet to the brain.

Now it became real, he felt the adrenaline surge through him. But he didn't want to alert them to his presence. He walked to the end of the hall and poked his head around the corner to find another two mercanaries stood there. He flung himself back behind the wall.

"Time to go to work, old chap." He said to himself as he pulled his trusty Welrod out from the inside of his suit jacket. He jumped around the corner and popped off two shots, to which the sound of two bodies dropping followed, as if it were an echo to the bullets fired. He ran quickly to the bodies and pulled them back around the corner to the first guard and threw them all down the stairwell to keep them hidden out the way. He ran back through to where the two guards previously stood and headed through doors into another stairwell, heading up once again. His nose filled up with the smell of steel and copper, and that all familiar sound of gunfire boomed down from the next floor.

Peaking through the next set of doors as he reached the second level, sure enough he was behind some more mercenaries advancing on the outside of the vault, which was now within distance as he saw several of his comrades outside it with defences up, fending off the enemies. If he could make it there, he'd prove a valuable asset to the defense whilst also clearing out a group of the attackers, thus creating a vantage point for escape if necessary from the way he'd came.

From his pocket, he pulled out a small grenade-like object and pulled out the pin with his teeth and spat it out, hearing the metal make a 'ting' noise as it dropped down the stairs.

"I do apologise, my friends." He whispered to himself as he opened the door ajar and rolled this strange device through into the vault entrance hall. Why was he apologising to his friends some might ask? Well, with a noise similar to a sonic boom, an extremely high pitched screech filled the air. The noise was heavily vibrating the ear drums of everybody in the room, causing them to instantly drop their guns and put their hands to their ears in an attempt to stop it from penetrating and causing devastating pain. It was as if time had almost come to a halt as Decypha then stood up and kicked open the door. Without thought, he pulled out a sawn-off shotgun from the other side of his suit jacket as it swished back, and his shots let loose, puncturing holes into the backs of the thugs and blowing off limbs.

As the noise cleared, his friends looked up and peered to see what had happened, and why suddenly a large group of the mercs advancing on them from one side had dropped dead. A figure came hurling through the smoke, and as it got closer they realised it who it was.

"You scared the shit out of me!" Caesar said to him as he jumped over to finally join up with the crew.

"That noise has almost deafened me! How could you still operate like that with no effect?" He continued, puzzled at how he'd just pulled off that feat. The others also looked at him with an expression of shock glued to their face.

"Haha, there is a lot you will come to learn about me, my friend. If you are going to create a poison, it is wise to consider creating yourself an antidote." Decypha replied to him, pointing to a small plastic-like device in his ears. He had made a mould that fits in the ear which enables him hear as usual, but with the addition of cancelling out extreme noise conditions.

They continued to stare it him in awe as he pulled out some strange looking attachment with two barrels, and slid it on to the end of his sawn-off shotgun, thus converting it back into a shotgun of normal size - now giving him the advantage of range.

"Right then, you can give me the sit-rep while I help to fend off these bastards!" He added while he aimed down the barrel as almost double the amount of mercs as before approached them. He said to himself,  "I kill a load of them, then a load more appear. Great*."

First word: Great. Last word: Thoughtful. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Many would find this a great situation to be in, but it made Jaryll uneasy. Passion was battling with doubt as she pulled him closer. Afraid of naivety, he hesitates, but her seductive look and tug at his shirt quickly brings his body against hers. The slow dance of their tongues push back rationale and invite submission to pleasure into his mind.

But as the sound of the muffled explosions call for his attention, their lips part in response. She looks into his eyes. Jaryll stares back, his thoughts divided by what could be happening downstairs and the beauty of the woman in his arms. He can feel the soft touch of her fingers on his stomach through his shirt, where her hand halts just above his belt. His hand slides up on her thigh, revealing more skin as the fabric of her dress falls aside. Both exhale audibly and time seems to freeze in this moment made up of desire, conflicting interests and excitement. Reason would deny a romance with the daughter of a rivaling mob-boss, but passion is more convincing.

With yet another explosion, louder this time, in his mind Jaryll already steps back from her, but his body is still reluctant to say farewell to the moment. As his touch finally loosens, she grasps tighter.

“Don’t go, Jaryll. Not today, please.” she whispers before her lips softly press against his.
“I have…” starts Jaryll, before he loses himself in her kiss once more. But then his curiosity gets the best of him. That damn curiosity, never allowing him to be satisfied with the moment.

“Something is going down. I have to find out what.” he whispers as their fingers slowly slip apart. After decisively closing the door to the hotelroom, Jaryll heads for the elevator. While waiting he closes his eyes, silently cursing himself for leaving this woman behind. It takes a minute before registering that the elevators are not even working. Puzzled, Jaryll speeds down the stairs to the casino-floor. Bursting through the door he steps into a chaos that is uncommon for even Las Vegas. Jaryll checks the pulse on Sammy, the croupier he became to appreciate for his dark humour. He’s dead now. Or busted considering the king of clubs, eight of hearts and five of diamonds in his hands. Now all that is needed are spades to get Sammy buried.

“Any last words, scum?” it sounds suddenly and Jaryll spins around, looking up the dangerous end of a Smith & Wesson in the hands of an unknown man. The single shot hurts to the ears and has Jaryll pinned to the ground, as his face gets splattered with the blood of the crumbling person in front of him. When Jaryll’s vision starts to unblur, he makes up the face of Lucius Sweet standing with a smoking gun. Lucius nods, before him and his boys continue to efficiently work their way through the casino floor and head up the stairs to Fitz’ offices.

Jaryll is just in time to grab the revolver that the mercenary on the floor is scrambling for. While bringing up the gun to now face it’s owner, Jaryll gets cursed at and is being promised that Atlanta will soon control the businesses in Las Vegas. A gentle pull on the trigger ends the cursing and suffering of the man and leaves Jaryll with a hurricane of emotions and thoughts spinning through his mind.

Anger and adrenaline push Jaryll up the stairs to the eight floor, where he left her behind. Stepping into the badly lit hallway, her indistinguishable features appear in the distance. She freezes when she sees him. He halts, afraid of what he’ll discover once closer to her.

“De-Denise?” Jaryll stammers, lifting the Smith & Wesson once more.
“You knew about this? Tell me you did not know about this. TELL ME, DENISE!”

Her reply comes late, but the simple words imply a knowledge that hurts more than a boxer’s punch to the face.

“I told you not to leave me, Jaryll.” She speaks while slowly stepping forwards. “There is a choice to make here, Jaryll. My father could use you with all your knowledge of this city’s workings. We can be together here. You and me and we would thrive.”

He likes it when a message is clear. Even if he does not like the message. His eyes start to water up as he thinks how he’ll miss her gentle touch on his body. How he’ll think of her sweet lips. How he never again will look into those eyes that disarm him, leave him vulnerable, but still comfortable because of what she is to him.

“But are you?” Jaryll softly asks.
“What? What do you mean?” sounds her puzzled reaction.

The shot reverberates through the hallway as her lifeless body slumps to the floor, followed by the revolver he used. The second and third shot came as a surprise for Jaryll. As he goes down on his knees, blood oozes through his shirt. A man steps from the room Jaryll shared with her before, his gun pointed at Jaryll.

“Wrong choice, asshole.” The man says looking over Jaryll. He looks scandinavian. Or german perhaps. But Jaryll does not care. He was already dead before the bullets hit him.

No longer passionate.
No longer curious.
No longer mattering.
No longer thoughtful.

First word: Thoughtful. Last word: Revenge. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Thoughtful. It was definitely a way someone could describe Isla tonight. Or crazy. Crazy worked. Annoyed worked. A little upset worked earlier, extremely pissed off came after that. And after that it was a blur. There was a shovel, a forehead, a body, a car, a trunk. A drive out into the desert. That was Isla’s favorite part of today. Leaving Vegas with some junk in her trunk. At first she thought about dumping the body over the border in Mexico, but then she decided that was too far away. The guy in her trunk wasn’t worth it.

He wasn’t worth the energy it took her to dig such a shallow grave. Wasn’t worth the energy he took to be dragged from the house into the trunk and then out of the truck into such a pathetic hole. Isla couldn’t even call it a hole. She hoped she was on some government test land that no one ever visited and that the vultures would feast on her victim. When she heard a bird caw off in the distance she was filled with hope. Either way, she was sure this would never catch up with her. Anyway, who would ever believe that someone as charming as herself could do such a terrible thing.

Isla stood above the half buried body as the wind whipped her hair around her face. She gently tucked a piece of it behind her ear. Thoughtful. Isla was proud of herself for taking care of this all by herself. Isla thought about how she’d never be able to tell anyone about this. She was ashamed of it. The dumb jerk buried beneath her was a con man and even though he was fairly terrible at it, he had gotten her. In her defense she was extremely new in town and needed to make money for rent. Isla fell for him and she was his fall guy. To say the relationship didn’t work out was kind of an understatement. So when the dumb jerk came crawling back to her first asking for money and then demanding that she owed him money, well after one hit to the head with the gardening shovel, he quickly became her fall guy.

Isla laughed to herself as she played it all out in her head. She lifted her head and noticed that the sun hung lower in the sky than she wanted it to. It was getting late and she needed to get back. The trunk was closed, a door was opened and a key put into the ignition. The engine turned and rev’d to life. Isla put the car in gear and got her pretty ass back to the city of sin. Just before the dumb jerk stopped over, Isla had gotten news that something was going down at the MGM tonight. She had planned on being their much sooner and in much better condition. It would have worked in Isla’s favor if she could help out her boss and pick up a gentlemen for the evening. It was the weekend after all.

Isla was filled with adrenaline from her previous chore this afternoon as she pulled up to the MGM.

“Ma’am, you can’t park there.”

Instead of getting back into the car, Isla tossed the keys at the employee who approached her. The car was stolen, she had no more need for it.

Tow it!

She called over her shoulder as she entered the casino from one of the employee entrances. As Isla cut through one of the many kitchens she heard someone ask.

“What’s that smell? Is something burning?”

Isla simply replied.

Revenge is in the air. Sweet revenge*.

First word: Revenge. Last word: Voice. If this is the last post then the last word is: Quill.

Revenge, a dish best served cold. And for good reason. If you lept without thinking then what could possibly be the result than mayhem. Unbridled passionate encumbance that left a tangy aftertaste.

It had to. As did anything attempted with the raging fires of human emotion. It would later leave this empty terrible gaping hole in the core of the being. Some would also argue the intial act was less fair, yet what about the reaction?

Who would be held responsible for anything if everyone was off blaming the other, waving the stick of unaccountability with the pointy end being jabbed into their supposed origin of pain?

The collective of governments and politicians? Were they to blame for this madness? This pointing of fingers. This ever hungry power vacuum that constantly needing filling, with more power plays and violence.

How else did the lower rungs of society learn, if not from those throwing insults at one another at the top? It had to start somewhere. The science of revenge didn't just happen by accident. It was learned, like all bad things used against one another.

For profit. For increasing ones reach, through the taking of something someone else had. Someone always had it first, and revenge was a great tool to spin and gift wrap in whatever the top level players wanted the masses to see and believe.

But behind the bullshit it was always the same. Always a thoughtful well crafted spiel to cover up true intentions. Because when you have to appease so many and at the same time need to stick the knife in somewhere to cut oneself out more of a slice, revenge was a perfect bit of wrapping paper.

Constantine found himself in a hotel room at the MGM when shit went sideways. So much sideways the whole district wouldn't be sitting straight for a while after it all came to pass.

Being the misfit he was, he had his own brand of normal. And by found himself here, it was on account of an exorcism he was partway through when the room shook briefly.

John stopped his biblical babble and looked over at a glass of whisky he'd poured himself earlier. He was straddling the chest of a young German girl who was strapped corner to corner on the hotel bed.

Legs and arms bound, yet full of some fucked up energy. The actual girl was overtaken by a force outside her own doing. And like most, it was here for revenge too.

The posessed girl seemed to get some devilish kicks off of what was transpiring downstairs. The liquid gold began to swirl around in the glass he'd poured and left for a post exorcism nip. It kicked about just like the thing beneath him was.

Sensing it time to move this party along and see what the commotion was all about, John got to work. As the girl squirmed he lifted the small bible higher and began speaking in latin. He repeated the same phrase over.

"Ut inimicos sanctae circulae humiliare digneris, Te rogamus, audi nos! Terribilis Deus Sanctuario suo, Cernunnos ipse truderit virtutem plebi Suae, Aradia ipse fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus Deus, Gloria Patri, Benedictus Dea, Matri gloria!"

The bed shook more and more with every word uttered, as if more explosions were going off in the hotel floors beneath the room. Whatever had found its way into the girl was becoming more and more enraged, more and more openly demonic.

It was a sight to see. Superhuman strength for the body composition. Swearing, cussing in English and Latin directed at both John and the main character in the holy book he was holding. It was chaotic and although Vegas was under attack this moment was just as action filled in it's own way.

After repeating the phrase three times and with a splash of holy water, the shaking stopped. The room lulled into a silence. If it weren't for the screaming and gunfire outside the room it would've been quite the contrast.

The demonic spirit was released. It was free. Well, it was fucked because it was headed straight back to whence it came. Hell wasn't a happy place. John at one point questioned why he had to perform these rights to so many, and after a trip there himself it became clear to him.

It was torture, even for those that belonged there. They were made to enjoy their own mindsets, their own passions and fucked up personality traits. Because what they put out, came back to haunt them. Their revenge was self fulfilled, and without the illusion of victimisation and finger pointing.

They came face to nose with their own warped thinking. And that, was hell. A certain mindset played on repeat over and over again yet without a target to point the blame.

They burned in the pits of a self created prison, and this is where this same undeniably demonic soul was headed. As it did, it still had a sense of consciousness. All souls did, even those suffering through self torment.

It passed through another room down the hall where two bodies lay on the floor that had another shadowy figure hovering above them. The end result of an earlier scene dosed with foul play and gun play where as great as love was it did seem to have bounds. Jaryll's body was one of them.

It hovered down past FitzChivalry's quarters where all seemed to be fair in love and war. The scene of the inside of the vault where Fitz and MonsterHair were greeting Merci, Augustus_Caesar, Decypha, finanaveguy and James-Delaney.

The war outside was another story. The corridoor and stairwell as well as the bottom floors were littered with bodies, spent and used in a losing skirmish. Practically a warzone with a deadly tangy aftertaste.

The story later would tell of James and finanaveguy's path of gunfire as they shot and corpsed their way to where the others were holding down the exterior of the vaulted office.

More so, how the man himself and his right hand Monster came out to even the numbers alongside RP Incorporated's trio of battle hardened soldiers till the others flanked from behind. 

Sometimes battles were won with tactics, military science, and othertimes with heart. This was a story of one of those other times.

As the soul drifted outside the casino it passed over a barrage of police cars and flashing lights. In amongst it was Joe_Scalise, in the crowd of onlookers who were watching on as police lead handcuffed individuals into various police cruisers and vans.

I guess not all of those in power were left unaccountable. Well not when they were being spoon fed what to say by someone with a leg up on them. Oh wait.. The ever corrupt system was working out just the way it was geared to work. But luckily for Vegas, the cogs had turned in their favour.

IslaCrawford was also about somewhere, but who knows where she had gotten to. Maybe in the casino somewhere, looking for that man of hers. She was ever thoughtful, afterall.

Beyond the casino boundary was an alleyway, which the spirit cruised past next. There was no sign of human life at this point, yet a group of bodies were laying face down toward one of the walls.

Angy wasn't in sight, nor her right hand or crew. Yet a pairing of tiremarks would later show two cars left the scene abruptly. Maybe this story would also come to light. Politicians were rumoured to be part of the cover-up and the holding of information to the public.

The only thing later found and released by the police was that those that were executed were closely associated with Victor Larsen himself. His body though, was yet to be found.

The potentially terrible beginning didn't actually turn out so bad afterall. With Kathryn attended to and resting, Grace was hard at work nursing more wounded at her office. The overcast of potential death was what drew this this demonic entity in.

With a weakened state after a minor procedure to remove a wayward bullet, one of the casino goers felt a sudden jolt in his body. I guess that trip back to hell would have to wait. The quill* of the angels would need to write this one on Constantine's ever growing list.