Note: We're back! No changes to the way things work, Dlvvanzor writes as Matt, and xxbeyondxbirthdayxx writes as Mello. No daily updates this time, although they should be regular ^^


Mello
I violently reopened the door, ripping it off its hinges for good this time, the wood flattening on the ground in a deafening sound, El Niño swipping aside to avoid receiving it on himself, looking at me with despair. Yes, I would have loved him to get it straight in the face. And he knew it.

"Fix it." I spat, before going back to the main room.
So much for wanting to be alone for a much needed chocolate bar. My little treat and me weren't close to get some privacy at the moment.

The man stopped at mid sigh under my glare, knowing all too well the message contained in those two words. Fix it in the next half hour or die a painful death.
Not that I'd really want to kill him, he's one of my best men, but still, he'd end up in a bloody puddle preferably in front of everyone here if he didn't complete the task, just for the example, nonetheless.

El Niño wasn't exactly niño. He was the complete opposite, tall, large, hairy as a bear and strong as a bull, thus the ironic nickname he was given once in the Mafia. Actually, considering the guy's skills at destroying things and ripping people in two, the name of the famous climatic phenomenon suits him well. But I wouldn't expect much of the men here to be educated enough to know of the reference.

The rare people that had dared to express their thoughts about him being my right hand man because I was as skinny and short as he was huge got their heads blown off in no time.
I only used his physical strength because it was funny. And blood doesn't get off leather very well.

You'd never expect a spine snapping being so entertaining, would you?
Well, I do, among other things. There's not much I can find entertaining here anyway. I've seen too much in too little time not to be blasé.

Some say I've got some temper, some anger issues. It's a myth I like to insinuate in my crew. Then, a simple glare, a light hiss, and my underlings are buzzing around me like bees in a hive to satisfy the king. No, not the queen. The last one that called me a fag... well, you know how the story ends.
I am easily angered, true. But I also have a self control that I polished over the years. I didn't get at that rank in the Mafia crying and kicking. Rod Ross, the Big Boss, hired me because I was the most cold blooded killer he's ever seen.
I can knife a baby without a blink. It can even stir a smile out of me. And the ugly man liked that, along with the fact I was sexy enough to satisfy his paedophile inclination. Visually that is, because even him wouldn't take a chance at displeasing me. He may be the boss but 1) he wouldn't risk losing me, I could turn against him and he knows it would be his end, 2) he would end up dead his dick ripped off his body and stuck in his mouth as a warning that I don't climb steps in the Mafia this way.
I got here at 15, and it took me six years to get where I am now. Consider it a very short time when most take a lifetime to do that.

My men had fucked up. Really badly. They were supposed to clean a squat, nothing hard to do. A few junkies, street eyes for one of the rival branches, a few prostitutes, and some higher ranked men managing the whole stuff as well as spending some 'quality time' with the girls. The supposed warning ended up as a cleaning of my own team. Stupid brats had thought they had enough time to fuck around with the bitches before they were gone. And indeed, they were gone now.
Only El Niño came back, the only clever mind of the band. Well, probably not that clever since he came back to the hideout, blurting explanations about this total fuck up in my already irritated ears, handing out his life to me in that confession of a total fail.

There was no man around at that moment so that's probably why I spared his life, playing the temper flare instead as I shouted my way to my room and slammed the door so viciously the hinges broke.
Because I had a reputation to maintain after all.

But this fail was nothing. Nothing compared to the shit that El Niño brought up the next day, when he went back to the squat to finish the job and got talked by Lane, another one of my men, into pleasing me to make up for the previous day's fuck up.

I was sat on one of the couches in the main room, Rod Ross in his usual armchair like a king with an eye on his court, both of us heavily engaged in planning the next mission, that would probably level me into the Mafia boss' right hand position, the one I was coveting since I had joined the Mob, because then I would be one inch from being the boss myself, when the door opened and a very smiley Lane came proudly in followed by a line of girls obviously less pleased than him to be here, El Niño bringing on the rear with a sceptical expression painted on his square face.
The men that were scattered around the room, idling for most of them, left their card games or laptops to greet the prostitutes in a very physical manner, grunting in approbation for Lane's oh-so-great idea not to kill them all but bring some fresh meat in the hideout.

Lane was some kind of newbie, but this wasn't an excuse. The girls screamed as I shot him dead.
El Niño shivered as my gun aimed at his forehead.
"Haven't you told him I don't touch that shit?" I hissed, fastening the security of my Beretta and shoving it back in my leather pants, the huge man exhaling unsteadily in relief.
"Of course I told him you don't do whores, boss, but he said you were like any man and wouldn't refuse a good fuck, especially if you can damage the girl as much as you want. I guess he hadn't grasped how much of a..."
El Niño stopped cold, realising he was about to pronounce the name I was given among the men, name that they thought I didn't know about. Sick bastard. I would have settled for something more glorious, but it was creepy enough to my likings.

Ross raised an eyebrow, his eyes looking back and forth from the special delivery to me, probably awaiting my reaction to what we both just spotted with a look as sceptical as El Niño, who was now shitting in his pants when he knew I had finally noticed what made him so nervous.

Once the men pushed and pulled the prostitutes out of my sight, landing on couches around or in their rooms for privacy, all that was left in front of me was a kid. A malekid.

A junkie, even. A dirty mop of red hair cut in a bowl, greasy and tangled, his skin so grey that he looked more than sick, he looked dead. Chapped lips, cheekbones standing out of a way too skinny face, dark circles under eyes which colour I couldn't even tell, not only because it was not really well lit up here, but they didn't hold any life.

The kid looked like an empty shell, and I suddenly wanted to shake him to hear if his bones would rattle inside.

He wore an evenly dirty striped shirt, torn at the collar, jeans that probably once were blue, and worn out sneakers. What the fuck? Duck-taped Converses. That said pretty much about this kid's situation. Like I needed my men to scrape the pavement and bring the dirt under their nails...

He reeked of cigarette smoke and weed but I suspected he was into more hardcore drugs, the veins on his hands wearing signs of needles holes and so blue and apparent that there was no being mistaken.
He was slightly shorter than me, or maybe it was because he was so hunched, I couldn't tell.

I didn't feel like wasting a bullet on that trash but El Niño'd better have a good explanation for the presence of this bug in the hive because I could really use one for him right now.

"What's that?" I asked El Niño, pointing disgustingly at the redhead with my chin.
El Niño didn't have time to reply, the kid forestalled him.

Matt
I didn't have any money, of course, but there was always at least one girl in my favorite cluster of whores who would let me get in a free squeeze or two.

Junkies and hookers have always just had that kind of symbiotic relationship, I guess. I'd toss them a spare joint and the occasional clean needle and they'd let me feel them up once in a while. They were used to selling their bodies; I was used to selling drugs. They wanted my product, I wanted theirs, but neither of us could afford the other, and so a trade. I supposed that made some kind of sense- trash has to stick together. If we won't look out for each other, who will? I often wondered if they'd let me fuck them if I actually brought them a decent portion of my good stash, but since it was never going to happen I tried not to fantasize about it too much. No use getting hard when I wouldn't be using it.

Of course, I could always accept sex as a payment for my drugs, but a large majority of my regular clientele was guys under fifteen and I couldn't find a way to get excited about that, outside of graciously accepting a blowjob if they were really hankering and didn't have the funds.

When the girls saw me coming, they looked slightly more cheerful than they had a moment before. Drugs will do that to a person, and since it was typical of me to come bearing joints on Wednesdays, they knew what was coming. I had a fresh batch that was particularly pure, and I was hoping one of them would let me finger them for it.

I shuffled over to them, making a mental note to cut back on the horse enough to get some new shoes, because my five-year-old Converse were starting to become more duct-tape than shoe. I'd had them since I'd run away and no one has ever accused Converse of being long-lasting. Maybe I'd get a job. I could start looking tomorrow.

"Hey, Candy," I said to the token blond of the group. She was my personal favorite, older and thin and wire and power and totally at peace with being the filthiest whore I knew, and I knew a lot of them. There was literally nothing she wouldn't do, and pretty much nothing she hadn't done, often for less than a joint.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted me warmly, voice gravel from a decade of multiple packs a day. "What do you have for us today?"

"I present you with the lady Mary Jane," I said grandly, taking a deep bow that made my head spin. Huh, I was dizzy. When was the last time I had eaten?

Flourishing as I straightened up, I presented her with the fat joint.

She smiled, all waxy red lipstick and blue eye shadow, and took it from my outstretched fingers, tucking it between well-displayed tits.

Then she grabbed my wrist and led it towards her skirt.

No ceremony, but that was Candy's way and I didn't have time to dawdle regardless; I was expected at the docks in an hour to sell some pot and then buy some of the good stuff. A smart drug dealer doesn't do the drug he deals. Much.

Then all of a sudden my world was metal and gunpowder and big sweaty guys. My first thought was 'cops,' and I told my legs to run, then remembered that I don't really run well. Anyway, if they had guns, escape probably wasn't an option.

It took me a few beats to realize that Candy and the others hadn't bolted, which they definitely would have if the guys in question were pigs. Some of them were puffing out, advertising the goods.

"Hey, honey, looking for a good time?" one of them called out. It sounded like Chastity.

"Yeah, but not for me."

"I don't think the boss wants-" a freakishly large guy started, but a small guy (small by comparison) interrupted him.

"He's a man, Tiny. Men like fucking. Even if he doesn't like whores, he's gonna like girls he can shred. Hey, you," he addressed Trish, a bitch who I didn't like anyway because she never let me see her famed third nipple.

"Yeah?" she answered warily.

"You're whores, right?"

Had it been someone who wasn't holding a gun, Trish would have given him her equally-famed raised eyebrow. Because, seriously? Duh. "Yessir."

"Good. All of you, get in the car." He added to 'Tiny,' "We'll take them all. See what the boss likes in a woman."

Trish opened her mouth to protest, but there was the gun thing again.

Candy was scared. Really scared. More scared than I'd ever seen her, which is why I knew I should be fucking terrified. Candy didn't get scared. Her fingers clamped down on my wrists painfully. I couldn't decide if she was protecting me from getting shot by running or dragging me into Hell with her.

Whatever her intention, I was ushered into the car with the rest of the hookers.

I hunched over where I sat, hoping it wouldn't become apparent that I had no boobs. Tiny was driving and the little guy was pointing a gun at us, and I had a feeling that the discovery of my true gender would be fatal. Trying to sink into the filthy, torn pleather seats, I squished in between Candy and another girl, who subtly shielded me a bit with their arms. They must have sensed it, too.

We all rode in silence for a while.

Despite the efforts of my prostitutes, it didn't take the man with the gun long to realize that I had some bits he didn't think I had and was missing the ones he liked.

"Wait a minute..." he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't shoot, I'm a hacker!" I blurted.

The eyebrows shot right back up. "...What?"

"I'm a hacker. I can break into computers and stuff. So you shouldn't kill me. Because I might be useful and stuff. Plus I know where to get drugs."

The guys exchanged considering glances. "He and Ross are planning their next job. Seems like a big one. Think they could use a techie?"

"Could always use a techie, Lane," the driver replied. "The boss shot the last one a while ago and we never found a replacement. That's assuming he's not lying to keep us from killing him."

"No, I definitely a hacker," I insisted. "I can hack into anything. Just show me something and I'll hack right into it. Hack, hack, hack." I laughed nervously.

Now their faces weren't considering anymore, just confused, and I'd possibly blown my chance.

"You willing to prove it at gunpoint?" Tiny asked.

"Sure."

"You high, jackass?" demanded Lane.

"A little."

Lane, scratching his head with the barrel of his gun, shrugged and put the safety back on with a click. "Waste of a bullet. Might as well let him prove himself. The boss would get a kick outta shooting him if he's lying. Fucking hates junkies."

Now that I wasn't going to be blown away in the next few minutes, I sighed into my seat. Holy shit, that had been close. Also, fuck, I didn't have anything on me and I had no idea how long this confrontation was going to take. I might miss my appointments at the dock.

Half an hour or so later, they shoved us into a cement room where a man and a woman were sitting, discussing something serious and ignoring the other people in the room.

When we walked in, led by Lane and prodded harshly on by Tiny, the woman looked up, a dangerous sneer coming to her lips. I froze in my tracks.

It didn't matter, though, because suddenly Lane was dead and the girls and I screamed bloody murder. Next the gun was to Tiny's forehead. "Haven't you told him I don't touch that shit?"

Oh. So the scary one was a dude.

The scary one was a dude and Tiny was putty, quivering putty, in front of him. The dude fucking looked like a lady and yet this mountain was reduced to nothing just by his pointing a gun. It looked like Tiny had absolutely no doubt that his life could end right here, right now.

Whoever the blond with the gun was, he was very much in control and very much aware of it. And liked it. He widened his eyes a little and tilted his head, smiling, and shoved his gun into his pants, right in front. That's courage, man.

"Of course I told him you don't do whores, boss, but he said you were like any man and wouldn't refuse a good fuck, especially if you can damage the girl as much as you want. I guess he hadn't grasped how much of a..."

Tiny stopped dead, and a long moment of silence passed between them that meant nothing to me. I don't think Tiny breathed once, and I don't think the crazy one blinked once, just giving him a challenging, wide-eyed glare.

Eventually, the other men floating around the room came and grabbed a hooker or two each, a small greasy one pulling Candy away.

Leaving me in the room with just the huge guy, the crazy psychotic blond who was still staring, and the man in the armchair.

When I was the only one left, the three sets of eyes turned to me. Everyone was looking, but the only person I was aware of was Crazy Fuck. As much as I would have liked to, I couldn't look away from the liquid ice.

"What's that?" he said to Tiny, gesturing with his chin at me.

The disgust in his voice was warranted, but unwelcome.

The huge guy opened his mouth, but I answered before he could, fearing that whatever he said could get me turned into a Lane.

"I'm the new hacker."