His name was Conway, James Conway to be exact. His relatives? They all came from one line of blood, a family line dedicated to upholding the value of crime in this thing of ours, in this world of ours. 2 ancestors came before him, many years ago. They all met an unfortunate end. They died the way they wanted to. In honor. Conway knew that this would happen to him, unless he played his cards right. So here he was, on a rainy Chicago morning. Born in New York, he was sent here to Chicago to learn from the base. This made sense, considering the other Conway's all came from Chicago and worked in Chicago. He had a mindset of what to do. That's why he was in the back of a car, smoking a cheap cigarette. Then again, weren't they all cheap? Conway was scared, he had never robbed a store before. When the driver in the front told him, "Time to make your paycheck!" he instantly put on a grey balaclava and jumped out.

The shopkeeper, at the time, had his sides turned to the back room. Conway used this as an advantage, and slid over the counter. "Just like baseball" He thought before grabbing the clerk and using him as cover. A man, was in the back and told Conway that if he didn't drop the man in 5 seconds, he would drop Conway. "Who's the one holding the gun, ya moron?" Conway wittily replied to the heavy. Before Conway could react, the heavy man charged towards Conway. Barreling into both the shopkeeper and Conway, the shopkeeper was instantly unconcious. Conway reached for the gun, but it was too late. The man swung towards his way, and before Conway knew it, he was unconscious. Down for the count.

Conway's story will continue after this break.