Disclaimer: I do not own the cast of The Boondocks.

I own Anjelika Smith (popular to DA), and the many thugs involved in this small tale EXCEPT for T-Pain, The Game, and Tanker (since they will be mentioned)—those belong to the talented and former-writing partner Skystalker.

This story was inspired from Skystalker's "Gangster's Paradise" that basically continues based off the events that occurred. If you'd like to read that fic before reading this tale, please ask her.

Summary to Skystalker's Gangster's Paradise: Riley is now a 20 year old Thug in the now tainted streets of Woodcrest. He experiences the REAL thug life, and has lived it for some time now. He experiences the thrill of gunfights, and the heartache of a fallen soldier dying before his eyes. He soon learns that the thug life works in one way: Once you're in, you can never get out.

In the end of that fiction, his entire crew is killed by the biggest gangster who owns Woodcrest, "T-Pain".

This right here, is a very old story of mine. The question is - should I finish to unravel the main events?

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Chapter One: A Thug's False Sanctuary of CoRrUpTiOn

Riley Escobar's Commentary, "Too Far Into the Game"

Joyrides.

Drivebys.

Robbery.

Hustlin'.

Nothin' could top the thrill an' excitement of that shit.

NOTHIN', so don't convince me otha' wise. I could care less about your hyped up opinion on how fun it is to rape hoes and your baby sister.

Then came the gang-wars.

Then came my very first time when I had to shoot an unarmed nigga between tha' eyes.

When you bout ta' kill a nigga, I'd expect hate, loathe, anger, revenge, failure, whatever, ta' be in they eyes.

But my first target didn't have that in his eyes - they were clouded by fear, plea, regret, sadness...

Thug life was all real coo' ta' me.

I had a crew that was like a second family ta' me and despite being a gang crew, was a good influence on me.

Fo' me, the purpose was fun an' games.

Ta' them, the purpose was ta' survive.

I always wondered why the fuck they would be havin' these serious ass looks on they face while I was always grinnin'.

I finally got why...

When it was too late, and my second family was gone like Granddad.

Nowadays…It's like a steady and naggin' question that kept slippin' from the mouths of those who were so damn concerned about me and the way I ran mah lifestyle…

"Why do you continue to live this life after all the emotional and physical torture when you know you'll be dead in a few years?" - you say?

'Cuz I already chose this path, and once you step foot onto the quick sand, you ain't gon' be able ta' turn back, THAT'S why.

What?

You also think it's THAT easy ta turn back 'roun' and walk outta the shit hole of the game?

Well it ain't, jus' to yo' surprise.

You can't jus' cry out, "I QUIT!" in the middle of a thug wars battle to let all yo' enemies know you through wit it all.

Like they even give a shit.

If yo' name had already spread around the city like one of 'dem plagues, and you've had haters in the past and present, then there will always be niggas stalkin' you throughout yo' lifespan from there on.

So you survive the assaults here an' there, good for you. Thas' aiight, you'll be dead the next month probably.

So you see, it follows you even if you drop the pistol. I'd rather have a pistol and not need it rather than not a have a pistol and need it. Then again, there will always be a time my fingers will need to be strapped aroun' the handle of one.

'Don't flush yo' life away, son…step away from the bowl.'

Whateva…I get it.

But it's too bad I was already down the drain of that bowl 'dough, huh?

Good friends, no, best friends you could say, die aroun' me each and every single god damn day. Niggas I don't even know I felt that wrench of remorse for…niggas I'VE ended lives of. But I'm heedin' the thug rule when it comes to the merciless streets: There ain't no time or room fo' prolonged sorrow and mope, fo' every second is a tickin' time bomb. I've killed a lotta niggas, and as time goes on…fo' now at the age of twenty, I've become so immune to it, I'm incapable of anymore repentance.

Shit, man…this bull seemed so dope back when I was eight, and I didn't even live a PORTION of what I dreamt of bein'.

I can barely lift even a humored smirk on mah face thanks to all the most recent shit that's been poppin'.

I've already spun the wheel of fortune, and instead of "gettin' rich and gettin' bitches", I got death road, "DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!"

Teh, it don't matta…as a thug, I won't be goin' down wit'out a drawn-out fight. Riley Escobar ain't the nigga ta' quit!

People who get a sliver of mah personality or lifestyle always say they "pray for me", and tell me I mus' have some type of Guardian Angel by mah side to be livin' this long wit'out a tampered mentality of trauma. Psh, jus' some ol' Christian bullshit…

The silver linin' is…don't worry 'bout me. I'm sick and tired of everyone's pity and sympathy without true empathy. I can take care of mah damned self, and don't need no "Guardian Angel" or "luck" to watch ova me!

End of Riley Escobar's Commentary

Location: Woodcrest (St. Crenshaw Blvd)

Dogs barked. Kittens mewed. Crows cawed. Underaged children played with pistols in the alley.

A pair of scampering boots splashed in the puddle of a homeless boy's pee as wheezes rasped from the runner's lost breath.

Seconds later, husky grunts and a stampede of footsteps pursued.

"Blast dis motherfucka, man! C'mon, niggas! Stop motherfuckin' slackin' and get 'im! 'dis bitch-ass motherfucka up!"

The many hurried feet tailed after the lone scurries of a single man. Whizzing bullets sung through the tapered alley passage and only thundering trashcans were heard rather than the expectant yowl or grunt.

The victim caught in this situation made a sharp and edgy turn that nearly caused his foot to slip. His fingers clutched onto a brown bag and caressed it to his side for safety, the man himself being hooded.

The five black men that had been on his trail maneuvered the brusque turn as well.

The runner's green eye peered past his shoulder to see his chasers gaining on him.

His teeth grinded and his face squinted up. His sprints became harder dashes and his breathes became harsher pants. His body bashed into the line up of trashcans as more booms rumbled from the crashing and clashing metals, but eventually he found his balance with a few ducks while bullets zoomed past him. With another quick veer, he flung himself behind a wall, pressed his back against its cold brick, and panted through his nostrils.

Oblivious, the thugs stumbled right past his wall of shelter, all hollering at each other to find their convict and murder him for the item that had been stolen.

The hooded runner peeked out from behind this wall, chocolate eyebrows creased down on his forehead and his hazel eyes hysterically scanning his unlit surroundings. The only sound he could hear was his lungs hoarsening out of breath. He stayed where he was until the usual police sirens passed.

Having a red line of drawn blood that had neatly sliced his cheek, the runner's eyebrows frowned backwards against to emphasize a slow 'whew' of relief. The coast was surely clear now after the long wait.

As time progressed, the man sauntered into the open streets with his hands protecting the stash and the hood's shadow making his face seem mysterious.

Eventually, he stopped before a wretched small house; the old pastel pink paint had lost its color, the front yard's lawn was yellow with thirsty dirt and shaking weeds, the row of rusted tricycles were parked beside broken swings, and the malnourished pitbull limping in the backyard completed its "decoration".

The man raised his eyes in consideration of the puny house on the block, keeping the same stuck scowl for his expression. He pushed open the screechy gate and stepped onto the bloodstained porch while the dog barked and whimpered at him through an arid throat. Raising his fist, he knocked on the screen door. Ever so often his eyes would run back and forth to the streets as if expecting danger to find his whereabouts.

The creak of a door's hinge brought him back to his present priority. Standing in front of him was a short preteen with slightly darker skin, who had frizzy black cornrows and honey eyes, and a grin too big for his face.

"Wassup, Esco?! Whas 'hood', G-Dog?" the obviously younger boy held out his hand for a particular handshake and shoulder-bump, but the older man didn't comply.

"Yeah Wassup, Yohansi (Yo-hon-see)." The visitor replied solemnly, glancing into the house some. "Aye, yo' brotha Kenyon aroun'?"

Yohansi's former grin faded into a puckered lip. "Naw, naw, he out wit his girl, man. He be back 'dough in a lil' bit. Want me ta tell 'im you came by?"

The older man's cheeks inflated with a held-in cough. "S'aiight, nigga. I'ma stick aroun' till he get back if thas coo' wit chu. Yo mama ain't home, right?"

"Naw man, she out on the heroin sellin' dope wit Pops, man." Yohansi laughed and bobbed his chin at him. "Why you standin' out here with that hood lookin' like an old ass pervert? C'mon inside, Esco!" He side-stepped so his visitor could enter.

With a sniff, the older male stepped foot onto the carpet, which was splotched with beer. Once the man was inside, he lowered his hood to reveal his own scalp of cornrows, though being coffee brown instead of pitch black. He had three or four ear piercings in both ears, but only one earlobe was accompanied by a diamond stud earring. He took off his ripped bulky black jacket and tossed it across the sofa. His bulging biceps the color of caramel were marked by various scars and bullet wounds exposed to the chilly air since he wore a plain white tank top and a pair of stolen "True Religions" that had suffered many rips and much abuse.

"Want an Ides or some shit, Riley?" Yohansi asked as if to serve him, kicking aside broken glass of alcohol bottles from his parents' waste.

The couch's weight sunk as Riley plopped into it, "I'm straight, lil' man…don't worry bout it."

This was surely the result of twenty year old Riley Freeman, a.k.a. Riley Escobar: tall, muscular, alluring. But he had changed from the small eight year old boy in mentality also.

Yohansi blinked some when he noticed his idol paying special attention to his cheek. "Yo, you okay, man?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine…" Riley shut one eye shut due to the savage sting from the cut on his face.

"…If you say so, Esco…" a sudden perky smile was glued to Yohansi's face. "—Aye! We should go shootin' niggas up ta'day, Esco! C'mon, jus' you an' me! We could go rob some "Columbian drug-lords", OOH! Or betta, go pick up some BITCHES!" the boy waited eagerly for his answer, expecting his deity to agree.

Riley looked up into the ignorant youth's eyes, a glare marking its territory on his face this time. "Screw that shit. I JUS' came from beefin' wit niggas out in the streets, so I ain't tryna start no mo' shit ta'day. 'Sides, you know I don't ride on hoes in rodeo shows."

"Aww, nigga…" Yohansi pouted. "Thas right, I fo'got youz a virgin."

Riley's face twitched. "SO?! You DAMN well know I ain't got tha' TIME ta' fuck when every damn second a nigga's tryna BLAST MAH EYES OUT. You got a problem wit' how I do things?!"

Yohansi lifted both palms defensively, feeling the shiver down his spine from making him even somewhat angry. "N-Naw, Esco, I-I'm coo' wit it!"

Escobar kept the firm glare until finally "psh"-ing it off and directing his anger somewhere else. "Yeah, whateva lil' nigga…here's yo' shit by tha way." He tossed him the bag he had been carrying earlier.

Yohansi squinted hesitantly and rummaged around in the bag. When he grasped the object and pulled it out, Riley couldn't help but compare Yohansi's grin to his when he was eight years old.

"No fuckin' way! This is the shit mah brotha gave ta me!" Yohansi dangled the pure-diamond scorpion medallion with a few signatures of graffiti engraved on its from universal gangs. Snake Eye and his boys stole this shit from me awhile ago! Aw thanks, Escobar!" he threw his arms around Riley's neck and closed his eyes tightly to express his happiness.

"ACK! Aiight, aiight! Yo' welcome, lil' nigg'! Jus' stop stranglin' me!" Riley pried the misled youth off of him. "I knew you loved that shit, but damn, Yohansi…gotta hug me too? I been through enough torture already!" he exclaimed with a taint of humor in his deep tone.

"Oh yeah, right, right…" Yohansi nodded with his eyes facing the stained carpets, clearing embarrassment from his throat. "S-So, uh…anyway…" he staggered into the kitchen, shoving the medallion into another plastic bag he retrieved from the cabinet, which slightly caught Riley's attention before it had been stashed under the sink. "Eva heard bout the talk of the streets?"

Riley began to tend to the bloodied bruise on his cheek with a cotton ball of alcohol, "B-Be mo' specific."

Yohansi leaned up on his very tippy-toes to stretch out his hand to something within the same cabinet. "Satan's Compton Anjel? They call her that because her dad was a major Smith and a maniac of a gang-banger, but he was obsessed about her, and she had spent most of her life down in Compton."

"...Wait, what chu mean by 'major Smith'?"

"A major Smith! Y'know! He part of the Smith Family! They a black mafia that goes waaay back; had settled mainly in Italy but had fucked around with the Spainard royal bitches? They make everybody call them 'Your Majesty' an' shit till this day? Mafias and Hoods got 'em on they most wanted list: 'a thousand bucks for the head of a Smith'." He murmured; slightly muffled behind the fabric of his outstretched arm as his fingers searched blindly into the dishes-less cabinet. "All their babies usually come out to be boys because they usually slit the throat of any female newborns, so I don't know why she not dead. Wit' all her heart she really believes she's royalty. Like, in a delusional kinda way. From what I hear, she's got a mental issue."

Carelessly, and after a wince, "Naw, neva heard of 'em."

"Well, Miguel Smith, the Compton chick's father, was a gang-banger who secluded himself from the Smith Mafia, and his damn daughter is fuckin' wit' Woodcrest now. She left Compton a while back, and even though she don't bang, she used to hook up with some important niggas from important gangs up in Compton."

"Hook up?"

"Yeah, hook up. Girlfriend-boyfriend, friends with benefits, whatever. These important niggas were murdered by her, 'dough. It was usually a knife, a broken beer bottle, a metal rod, a bat, razors.... She even got somebody to hang Miguel's dead body like a Christmas star on the phone pole for Compton ta' see."

Now Escobar blinked in a hint of disbelief at this. "All this done by a CHICK?"

"Thas what I said, right? I don't know the story to all that shit either, but according to niggas on the block, they say she a bonafided cold-hearted bitch who a lotta niggas are out to behead or put a bullet through just cuz of that. Thas' insultin', too. The most powerful dudes gettin' ripped of life by a seducing CHICK? Now that she's here, everyone thinks she's really just an errand-girl of the Smith family, using her manipulation or superficial charm to win the hard-ass niggas over so she can assassinate them by orders of her family. Funny part is ain't nobody really know what she look like. To me, that sounds stupid as fuck. I mean, this ain't the fuckin' government. She prolly just paranoid and carries a gun wit' her all the time. Maybe she killed them niggas because she jus' psycho or maybe they tried to rape her. They weren't decent niggas, after all. Miguel especially. The Smith Family hated him, too. I heard he raped her a lot from childhood to teens, and I think she low-key is drawn to niggas that treat her fucked up like he did, so now it's an on goin' process."

A sharp and evident light flashed against Riley's orbs to detect his astounded curio of this new information just in case she was moving in to commit homicide on T-Pain himself. "Whas her sign?"

"Uhh…I don't know, Scorpio?"

Riley slapped his forehead. "Nooo, nigga! I mean where she FROM!"

"…OHHH! 'Den damn, say that instead of bein' so complicated! She was born in Baltimore, but came out of Compton, I think." Yohansi grinned shut the cabinet and drew out a black bag this time. "Aye, what choo gon' do fo' yo' twenty-first birthday, Esco?"

Riley's short eyelashes fluttered in a quick blink before his face eventually screwed up into slight unhappiness. He gave a noisy sigh and put his flattened eyes in his lap. "Nothin', lil' man. Shit, I actually believe what mah brotha be sayin'… I only see it as anotha year gone by that I've survived out on these streets."

Carefully, Yohansi began to slide out a rather large pistol and placed it down onto the table as well, ostensibly loading it with ammo. "So you ain't gon' do NOTHIN' fo' yo birthday?"

"Do it sound like I'ma do somethin' fo' mah birthday?" He questioned in slight exasperation.

"Mm…in dat case, me an' Kenyon will throw you a lil' some'in, some'in!"

Riley waved it all off with a hand of dismissal. "Naw, naw…s'aiight, I'd rather NOT have one. I wouldn't be smilin' or shit anyway. So why waste stolen chedda?" He glanced over at Yohansi for a short while, but then did a complete double take to see the younger reflection cocking a pistol in the direction of the wall. "Yohansi, where the FUCK you get that god damn gun from?!"

Yohansi blinked at the sudden hasty tone. "From Kenyon—AYE, MANNN!" he squeaked when the weapon was snatched from his palm.

"Man, gimme dis shit!" Riley began to unload the gun as bullets clattered onto the table. "You too young ta be carryin' 'roun' guns! If niggas on the street saw you with it they'd shoot YOU befo' you can even pull the trigger!"

"Psh, why YOUZ trippin', Esco? You joined the streets when you was fourteen or way younga too! So what chu mean "I" shouldn't be carryin' roun' no guns!?"

Riley's fierce stare bored into the shorter boy as if to threaten him. "Exactly, and I ain't gon' have you turn out to be like me! Roamin' 'round the city stealin' fo' useless survival and on the top of T-Pain's HIT LIST!"

The younger body began to slump his shoulders in distress. Before neither one could emit another word, the cordless phone began to ring like an alarm clock on the coffee table. Instinctively, Yohansi leaned over to retrieve the ringing electronic and pressed his thumb into the button to switch it on, holding it up against his eardrum. "Ello?"

Riley watched him, mouth-shut and ears open, secretly hoping that it was his older brother on the other line.

"Yeah, yeah! He right here, nigga! Wanna talk to 'im…? Naw? Well shit, how much in a rush are you, foo'?" Yohansi stayed silent for moments longer to hear the voice explaining inaudible directions to him. "…Aiight, I'll tell 'im. So ten o'clock ta'night, right? Yeah, I got chu…no! I ain't be sniffin' yo' drugs, nigga!" he nevertheless gave a timid grin. "I'ma see you 'den. Peace." Simply he pressed another button and placed the phone back onto its original spot. He looked over at Riley, excitement dancing in his amber eyes. "Kenyon said he want me ta' take you ova ta Overwrite Boulevard at—"

"At ten o'clock ta'night—yeah, so I heard." Riley lifted off his rear and brushed the knees of his saggy jeans off.

"…Aye, if you run into that Compton chick before me, then tell me 'bout her features, kna' mean? Like aaall the body details…you know, cup size an' whatnot." Yohansi traced his hands on his chest and flicked out his tongue.

Riley just stared down on the rookie with the slight shaking of his head before then brushing past him. "Nigga, you STUpid."

Yohansi quietly watched him wander by before grinning cockily and tagging along like a duckling. "But chu loooove me, riiight?"

Location: Overwrite Boulevard (10:00pm)

The once colored grey streets were now sinister shadows as sodium lights turned lit sections orange under its cast away.

Riley, in his previous torn black jacket and black baseball cap, promenaded these dark streets of night as few vehicles rattled past him and Yohansi, the chatting echoes of the follower's voice endlessly filling the block.

"And I was like—I was like, 'You wanna fuck wit dis, you lil' bitch?! Yeah I THOUGHT so! And them niggas ran like bitches at tha sight of dat pistol, too!" As Yohansi continued his useless blabber about his actually inexperienced events with the mafia life, Riley's mind remotely muted him out.

It was actually hysterical how he found "himself" annoying. (A/N: Since Yohansi's like him when he was younger)

It had been five months since any merciless battles with T-Pain's mob, "The Urban Terrorists" broke loose, and the last "war" was that with Riley's crew, "The Game". He fled after the death of his gang to the farthest side of Woodcrest, the most corrupted and trashed lands and away from T-Pain's territory. He knew his men were searching for him night and day, since it was insulting for anyone to survive T-Pain's torment, especially some "kid". T-Pain also hated "The Game" with a passion, since the leader was his half-brother. It seemed fit to have Riley dead.

Riley's mind still lingered on each and every death of his closet friends, including the sacrifice of Tanker.

Till this day it struck him into misery since his life was not worth saving nor was it worth living. It made him wonder nearly every second why he hadn't fallen dead yet like all the other street soldiers who were far greater than himself. It was Kenyon's theory that he had a Guardian Angel, but if that was true, then what made him so special to be loved by heaven when he should be loved by hell for all his homicides and felonies?

Yohansi just continued to chatter and blather, his everlasting grin remaining pasted to his brown face as his gaze wandered up to Riley, and finally the humorous grin departed. "Yo…you aiight, Esco? You haven't said nothin' since we left!"

He was right to worry, because Riley's expression had stayed ever so staid with his hard eyes stuck on the oblivion in front of him.

Quickly he snapped out of his mind and glanced at Yohansi with an invisible question mark above his head. "…Huh?"

Yohansi's eyebrows interlaced to express his trepidation as he opened his mouth to re-ask, but a loud shriek of wheels interfered.

Though both corn-rowed men ignored this; thinking it was a car accident.

In less than a minute, stampeding feet rushed toward them from behind, Riley being the first to spin his head around in alert only to have his back thrown against the display window of a store and a firm hand grasp the collar of his tank top. A stranger's arm arm compelled against his throat to keep him pinned.

Three thugs with pistols pointed their barrels at Yohansi as the young boy raised both hands in the air while whimpering.

Riley glared at the hooded man through one eye of burning ire. The assaulter who had him pinned to the wall and a Glock gun to his temple was half-masked by the scarf tied around his mouth. After a moment of silent, chest-heaving tension, the half-concealed man released Riley along with pocketing of his pistol before jerking down the scarf and pulling off the hood.

The man's skin was chocolate brown with a shaved head and an eyebrow piercing, and he was suddenly laughing his head off. "Lookit chu', scaredy cat! God DAMN fucker!" he joshed, shoving Riley in the chest. "You looked like you pissed in yo' diaper!"

Escobar growled, and then shoved him away with both palms. "Don't fuckin' pull that stunt again, Kenyon! That shit ain't funny!" he roared, quite ferociously, but his friend continued to snicker and poke fun at him.

The other thugs had lowered their pistols on the still traumatized Yohansi.

"Aww I'm sorry, nigga…but I jus' couldn't resist." Kenyon patted his arm in false pity. "Esco need a huuug?"

"Esco need ta' smoke a nigga, thas what he need ta do." Riley's scowl never vanished as he turned to begin walking again. "Called me up here jus' fo' a prank ambush? Ha-Ha-Ha, REAL hilarious bullshit, Kenyon. You should win a damn Oscar fo' most prankster nigga o' the year while you at it." He muttered in piqued sarcasm.

Kenyon watched his closet friend walk away from him with a quick blink. "Escobar! Stop actin' like a lil' hoe, man." His hand firmly gripped the side of his shoulder to stop him, but Riley heatedly wrenched out of his grip.

"Get offa me, man!" Riley demanded strictly, still looking ahead.

"Look, look, I'm SORRY aiight? It was jus' a lil' ' fun an' games, man. Ain't like I pulled the trigga or some shit! So no hard feelin's, coo'?" he followed along side his friend with a small frown. "Aye…" the back of his hand hit against Riley's chest to grab his attention, doing it twice a little harder to imply that he was ordering it. "Aye motherfucka, look…"

Ultimately Riley turned to him; however his glare had never lightened up. "The hell you want now?"

Kenyon shoved an invitation into Riley's torso, skimming both avenues. "Be 'dere at 11, aiight? I's a party goin' on at the old abandoned hotel down in Southridge." Before long a smirk replaced the frown on Kenyon's face. "You need ta loosen up, Escobar! You too tense! This'll lighten yo' mood…I promise you gon' like it. There gon' be some pussy up in dis motherfucka too.—And don't worry, they ain't apart of Slickback's Trick Ranch." He winked with a smirk.

Riley's eyebrow lifted and then stared down on the dirt-tainted parchment of its location.

Kenyon slapped his shoulder with his palm of assurance. "You'll like it, take mah word fo' it. Some'in good is goin' down fo' you ta'night. Peace, Cat." With another wink and a lazy shoulder-bump handshake, Kenyon turned from Riley and passed Yohansi by. "Wassup, lil' bro?" he playfully smacked the cheek on the still wide-eyed face of his younger brother before hopping back into his unmarked car with his followers.

Riley watched silently as the car sped off into the night and towards the location of the party and eventually disappearing along the vanishing point of the road. He stared down on the parchment, wondering if he should attend for a distraction for his mind. With an inward, angry sigh, he stuffed the invitation down into his jacket pocket and headed into the same direction.

Yohansi at last flinched out of his trauma and shook off the effect with an afterwards grin. "W-Was you scared? Man I wasn't scared one BIT!" he continued to grin in fakery as he chased after Riley.

Location: Southridge (11:30pm)

"Daaamn! Lookit all da' honeys!" the slightly squeaky voice of Yohansi bellowed and yet drowned out in the blaring music, "Er'Body in Da Club Gettin' Tipsy".

The hotel was definitely abandoned years ago, but it wasn't in horrible condition either. Darkened rooms and halls with flashing colorful lights that landed in blemishes on the jerking bodies of dancing people, yes parties were always dated at this spacious and immensely popular Inn.

Yohansi stood beside Riley as he practically eye-raped each and every woman dressed in club-banging clothing. "Wooo, dis be the shit right here—Sup baby?" He greeted one who disgustedly brushed him by. "Well…U-Uh, call me!" he raised a timid hand before nudging Riley. "Chicks man… 'dey can't keep they minds off they Chomper."

Riley raised both eyebrows at the name. " 'Chomper'?"

"Yeeeah, das mah STREET name!"

For a moment Riley just stared before shaking his head at it. "Ya' know what, I ain't even gon' ask, lil' nigga…" he stepped forward to make a hasty travel between grooving couples and singles along with the many women who struck their seductive smiles at him in lustful senses.

Occasionally he had to tug away wandering hands that roamed in marked off territories with a few curses at the meager-dressed women with a tint of pink on his cheeks. Their forwardness and scantiness caused his theories to conclude that they WERE apart of a Pimp's stable.

"Escobar! There go mah bonafided motherfucka!" Kenyon shouted over the noise, sitting on a couch with his long-term girlfriend on his lap.

Riley quickly roamed over to him while shoving more people away. There was no need to introduce Kenyon's girlfriend and Riley to one another, for they had already met a few months ago. Riley didn't care too much even so, but she at the most wasn't promiscuous.

"Glad you could make it, dawg." Kenyon grinned, a little drunkenly.

"Yeah, yeah." Escobar murmured plainly without too much care, eyes scanning around.

Kenyon whispered something into the eardrum on his lover's, and she stood from his lap to do whatever task he ordered. "Ehe, anyway…lookin' fo' some bitches, Esco?"

"Psh, naw nigga I'm…" his sentence had trailed the moment his olive eyes rested on the group of black men feet away. His eyeballs jutted as he suddenly stopped his breath from escaping up his airways.

"Nigga you gon' hafta make yo' chick take a STDs test or some shit if you eva DO fin' one, cuz you can't pick off buffalo and say every hoe got some sexually transmit…" Kenyon blinked multiple times as he trailed off, and finally followed Riley's widened gaze.

There, in the distance and being blocked by the thousands of people, stood four of T-Pain's men this time. The recognizable "TERROR" was tattooed on each back of the head and along their powerfully brawny arms. They were surrounded by drinks and licentious women, but the most fearful detail was the fact that their eyes were surveying the hotel as if searching for something or most likely someone.

Riley took a heavy step back and was just about to flee until he bumped brutally into Kenyon who at the same time gripped both his shoulders to hold him still.

"Look, chill out, nigga! Chill out! I's ONLY the nigga's men, an' er'body know those are his new recruits! They don't even know a sht about chu, so chill out and stop actin' like a lil' !" Kenyon rasped, Riley staring back into his eyes. "Here, take a sip of 'dis ta take yo mind off it—Aye, Boquesia!" he snapped his fingers for his girlfriend to come to him with a drink, and then shoved a fancy wine-glass of vodka into his companion's palm.

Riley had been a little more sensible during the past few months, and knew when danger had outnumbered his gun ammunition, but this did not mean his obstinate side had been banished. Gradually that stubborn glare fixated on his face before he peered over his shoulder to see them looking elsewhere. Kenyon dropped his palms at his sides and watched them as well.

As Riley observed the men, he couldn't help but focus all his attention on the girl pushing through T-Pain's four-numbered crew. His orbs glimmered with a quick flash of interest, though maybe it was because she resembled himself all too significantly.

...Should he panic if she was--

"A-Aye, aye…" Riley gripped the chest of Kenyon's shirt with his free hand, eyes still entranced on the girl. "Who's that right 'dere?"

"Eh?" Kenyon directed his eyes to the caramel-skinned woman with the pale green eyes and ginger cornrows in decorations of accessories.

Her brown hair was a long ponytail of cornrows touching her thigh and loose curls styled in front of her ears. Her lips were tiny but plump, her nose was cute, her eyebrows were light brown and arched, but her green eyes were less than pleasant. She looked unapproachable, but she was nice to stare at.

Yohansi too came by his brother's side, blinking widely. "Oooh, 'DOUBLE D's!—OW!" he held his punched arm with a pout. "What? I'm jus' sayin'! I wish she would turn aroun' so I could see that ass! I wanna see her wit all her clothes off!—OW! STOP HITTIN' ME!"

'Fuck, she looks familiar, and that ain't cause she got mah face.' "So…you KNOW her, Kenyon?"

"Why? You plannin' ta hit her from tha' back, nigga?" Kenyon answered seriously to Riley's question.

Riley frowned, not amused. ""Pft, yeeeeah right…I ain't THAT interested."

"If you ain't gon' tell Esco 'den tell me befo' I go grab her seven digits!" Yohansi whined, tugging on his brother's sleeve.

Kenyon murmured the name of the female into his ear.

"Ohh fo' reals? DAS her?!" Yohansi's tongue dangled out of his mouth like a K-9. "I'MA GO SMACK DAT…ALL ON THE FLOO'!"

"NO, you gon' get fucked up, thas' what chu gon' do!" Kenyon jerked the short boy back by the back of his neck collar.

"Maaan…aiight, fine, fine…but do 'dey jiggle all nasty an' shit?" Yohansi shifted his eyes back and forth, being the most perverted teenager you could come across, or at least one of them.

But his brother strangely answered, "Naw, they don't. Push-up bras help a lot."

"…Ugghh nigga, why you watchin' 'em?"

"…WHY YOU EVEN ASKIN'?!"

"CUZ I'M CURIOUS AND SOMEWHAT DESPERATE, NIGGA!!"

Kenyon stared appallingly. "…Nigg', we need ta find you a girl QUICK befo' you start hittin' on anime drawin's on paper like er'body else."

Riley took a huge gulp of his booze to finish off the entire glass and left the two brothers to argue with both his eyes still focused on the female. 'I remember her...I know I fuckin' do…' he kept on his trademark frown, browsing the room since he had currently lost track of her until he exited it and looked down one of the hallways.

Escobar blinked to feel the sudden heavy aura weigh on his shoulders and turned his head to his right, immediately locking his eyes on her those few feet away.

She was standing in the hall by herself, sipping vodka, her head off in space and her legs crossed. Gradually she turned her attention to him with her lips puckered against the rim of the wineglass, and her eyes widened just briefly to come across her male look-alike, almost in slight fear. After a few passing seconds, they just gazed; her eyeing him up and down, him getting stiff in the legs. She looked approachable at some point, unsure and fidgety, shy even, but then she had looked seductive once he had blinked.

"You happen to catch eye of something you like," She cozied her back up against the wall and smirked like a cat behind her shoulder, her eyelashes low and cutting. "Or had you followed me here?" She hovered the glass against her curled lips, chuckling through her teeth, trailing her tongue along the rim and leaving saliva in her path.

"U-Uh, naw, naw I...I didn't come here ta' flirt, I...came for somethin' more important…" Riley grinned nervously to where it was highlighted in his voice. Why the hell did he come over here again?

She closed her eyes, sighing irritantly, "What's more important than a one night stand? Do share."

"I got a few questions I need to ask about somethin' personal."

Her eyes snapped open, and were suddenly burning into his loins. "Then I suggest you turn yo' 'curious George' eyes somewhere else before they'll be oozing with red in the next five seconds. I don't take questions."

With an almost horrified mind murmur, 'Dis hoe's BIPOLAR!' Riley could feel the gulp straining to slip down his tight throat as he lifted his hands in defense. "H-Hol' up, hol' up, damn! I jus' wanted ta know ONE thing, aiight?" Quickly he spat his inquiry out, "Y-You Anjelika...? Anjelika, uh...I forgot the last name, but..."

One hand was trembling on her wineglass as she walked toward him with a dark air vibing off her.

"Uh…I rememba when I was younger on the news channel about a bunch o' murders in a flaming apartment buildin' that went down in LA, and only one little girl survived. They showed her picture an' everythin'…Anjelika, right? You jus'...yo' eyes and stuff..." he was talking with his hands. "...sh-she wore that glare."

Indeed, she had been that familiar girl that was all over the news broadcast for a week straight. But it was awfully hilarious why he even cared to store her name in is his memory bank. Yet somehow, that's not where he ONLY remembered seeing her face from...

Anjelika's expression softened at the slightest, but a few seconds later, Riley felt something cold and a razor-sharp being pressed on his stomach, daring him to say another word or even twitch so that it could stab him until his intestines spilled over his shoes in a flooding of blood and stomach.

"Who...the fuck are you?" Anjelika's breath was on his face, her heavy-lidded eyes were red with liquid and hate-fueled, and the knife in her hand was pressing harder on the flesh to the brink of ripping it open. "Who the fuck sent you to stroll up here and try ta' lead me into some kind of false sense of security so you can put my head on a stake?"

Riley's firm fingers attached themselves around her wrist to keep her from jabbing her weapon into him. His face was devoid of any intimidation, but scrunched in surprise and sudden anger, "...Oh you her, ain't you? Oh you her. That murderer chick who took out all the hardcores."

"And you one of 'dem fuckers, ain't you?" Her upper lip was quivering and right now, he didn't know what she was going on about. "You one of them fuckers! I should rip your throat out and put it on a motherfuckin' plate--"

"...I hate to break it to you, but you don't fucking scare me," Riley's hand squeezed her wrist feelingless so that the knife fell to the ground, her fingers spread out like a fan. "I dare you ta' kill me right now..." Riley's own breath seethed across the skin of her own face as he closed in threateningly. "I'ma give you five seconds to pick that knife up and stab me out, you psychopathic bitch--"

A severe and unforgiving slap whipped out across his already bruised cheek. Riley's pupils had dilated as the sting burned into his skin, lips parted from unbelievable shock, for even drops of blood had flung from his mouth. A few dancing couples paused to intake the action with humorous grins or expressions of interest.

"You don't know ANTYHING," with a snarl of vicious temper, Anjelika threatened him with the knife on his throat, "If you ever…disrespect me again…the next time I see yo' face from even a mile away," she leaned in and slid her tongue along his ear before whispering hotly, "...Your blood will be on my knife."

Searching his disgusted but never terrified eyes, she jerked away from him and turned to walk, eyes aflame with rage and despair.

Riley growled like a mutt and spat out the thick red liquid through the side of his mouth. "…Satan's Compton Anjel...now I know i's you..." he muttered under his very breath in a raspy tone, sniffing up any blood that had clogged his nostril.

"DAAA-YUUUM!" Yohansi tittered, staring at Riley in shock since he had been observing for some time. "Esco you jus' got PIMP SLAPPED BY A HOE, mah nigga!"

Kenyon only had his eyebrows arched. "S'prised he didn't get SHOT. She mus' like you a LOT, because you just gave her the chance to fuckin' murder you!"

"Oh yeah, nigga, callin' me a motherfucker and stickin' a knife in mah gut, yeah I'd definitely say she sprung ova me." Riley scowled, spitting spats of blood onto the wretched ground ever so often.

Anjelika stared back over her shoulder through the corner of her eye at her replica before it narrowed dangerously.

It was disturbingly fascinating and enraging to him how anyone at all could chop a person up into chunks of blood and meat the way people like her did, and not feel any emotions while doing it, but maybe sick enjoyment. It didn't matter if she had a hard life, there was no excuse.

"Yo, RILEY!" Kenyon continuously tugged on his friend's arm to wake him from the possession of red seethe.

Riley's malicious attitude eased as he turned his head to Kenyon just with a bit of annoyance. "WHAT, nigga?"

"T-Pain and some mo' of his crew jus' walked in, so maybe it IS best that we "skedaddle" NOW!"

Riley watched as the terrorist gang banger himself stood at the end of the hallway with a few of his best men, though fortunately his eyes were examining the many prostitutes that stood against the walls.

Anjelika and T-Pain stole a glance from at each other while she had been shoving through those prostitutes, and just for that second, it seemed that something had either sparked or a message was being sent through. Before that second that had lasted for decades was up, T-Pain's sturdy fingers reached out and latched onto her wrist, leaning himself into her ear and brushing his lips against its drum while whispering unknown words to her while she listened intently, using the same hand to trail down her lower back.

The female of a thug flung his palm off her body before it had reached too low, giving him a weak glare as if she couldn't protest or do a single thing to him. The man himself only smirked and for some reason giving her a brief nod as his smirk melted into a line of seriousness. Anjelika brushed past him and his men.

Kenyon released Escobar's arm shakily and rushed to find Yohansi who had apparently vanished. "Aw …where the fuck's Yohansi?!"

Riley's eyes continued to concentrate on T-Pain who had his back turned while shoving an unknown object into the palm of one of his men, Riley pushing a frantic Kenyon lightly as he dashed back inside the room. "Aye, we gon' hafta fin' him on our way out, cuz I think the bastard nigga jus' used his "spidy sense" or somethin' on our asses!"

"R-Right!" he gave a shaky nod.