Prologue:

Jimmy the Lip ran for his life. His feet carried him though the twisting cluttered warehouse while having an occasional stumble when checking for any pursuit. His well worn, faded navy blue suit sported a few new tears and stains; mostly of the sweat kind. He was not used to maintaining such speeds at long distance; actually any real physical activity was not his forte.

Life as an enforcer just required the random act of physical violence; was the work of others in catching those that require the beating he provided. Tipping the scales at over two hundred twenty five pounds, majority being flab, Jimmy was not one for exercise. Though a few moments ago he had been presented a choice; run or die. There was a third option but that road was not one he could travel, so like the coward he was Jimmy ran as the bullets flew.

Gasping for air like a fish long out of water Jimmy focused on one task. He needed to inform his boss, let him know about the danger that was coming. So Jimmy continued moving, gasping for breath as his burning legs carried him.

Finally Jimmy spied an exit, the morning sunlight leaking from underneath the door, and lumbered forward. Barreling forth he struck the door with his bulk flinging open the portal into the sunlight which momentarily blinds him. Halting his mad flight, mainly in hopes of calming his over raced heart, Jimmy waited till his vision cleared. When his sight did returned to normal he instantly spots the two mooks standing calmly before him and his heart accelerated with fear.

The two Italians Family men, true breeds and not a local boy like Jimmy, stood over six feet and weight significantly more then the overweight enforcer but packing muscular frames. Both wore fine woven pinstripe suits, the garments appearing to be imported. Tommy guns faced the enforcer, drawing Jimmy’s eyes to the barrels.

One mook spoke, his voice a deep baritone “Final warning Jimmy, what’s your answer?”

Jimmy’s eyes, wide with terror, darted about while scanning the area – searching for help, for anything. Sweat poured from his forehead and other places about his body. Though eventually loyalty took control of his mouth, before his brain could decide to take the offer “You can not do this, Capo Fredrick will not allow the insult”.

“Wrong answer” replied the other Italian.

A spray of bullets slammed into Jimmy, his body convulsing as if a puppeteer was pulling the strings. After what seemed like minutes his body finally fell backwards, partially inside the building.

The power struggle for Independence Port had begun.

  
**

Independence Port
Crey Cove neighborhood
March 06, 2009
6.38 PM


The sky was tinted with the coming of dusk while the temperature hovered around a balmy 75 degrees. Perfect weather thought Pin-up Girl as she strolled along the sidewalk. Her attire meshed with the outdoor conditions; for she wore white trunks with red trim and similar matched shirt that exposed her midriff. A blue scarf was tied about her neck, the knot hanging low over the V of her shirt. Domino mask, white gloves, and blue stiletto heals completed the ensemble.  

Dressed in a heroine guise, which she did attract many stares from the other pedestrians, Pin-up Girl conveyed an appearance as if she leapt from a 50’s model magazine; though the truth was partially correct.

With a sense of need but not of urgency Pin-up Girl turned left at the corner, which skirted a bakery, and headed farther into the dock district. The reason for her visit to Independence Port was to confer with a contact. Georgia Fields was her name and hopefully can shed some light on a current dilemma.  

Cutting through a vast parking lot between a pair of warehouses a commotion attracted the heroine’s attention. Down towards the end of the left warehouse, where the entrance seems to be, stood two men in dark pinstripe suits and a smaller older gentleman. One of the suits casually held his gun, muzzle pointing downward. The other man, exactly attired, was harassing the older gentleman – verbally and physically.

The finely dressed thug stood close to the older man, his fist holding a wad of shirt which caused the smaller, and terrified, shop owner to stand on his toes. While an argument was taking place the man in the suit did most of the talking. His partner stayed silent throughout.

Pin-up Girl stopped and glanced at the scene with raising anger. No one should be dealing with bullies, especially an innocent minding his business. She knew what was taking place; she had witnessed shake-downs before. If the shop-keep did not hand over payment then events could get ugly.

Rushing forward Pin-up Girl produced a throwing knife, which was held in a specially made harness, and gripped the blade loosely in her right hand. She sprinted, closing the distance. Though while still a good distance away the Family mook happened to glance in her direction then spoke a few words to his partner.

The enforcer that held the shop-keeper roughly flung the man aside then bolted away from the approaching heroine. He vanished around the corner of the building. His partner, gun still pointing downwards, stared for a second then followed. He then also quickly disappeared from sight.

Slowing her stride a bit Pin-up Girl gave the shop-keeper a once over to see if he was alright. Then man was attempting to pick himself up, looking shaken but relieved. Satisfied the heroine resume, now instead of a confrontation a chase ensued.

Gaining speed Pin-up Girl approached the corner of the building. Being no novice she knew that running around the corner could cause her life to end prematurely but also notice that the area was wet, the cement coated with water. She smiled. Nearing the edge of the dampness she crouch down on her left leg, knee jutting outward, while extending her right leg fully – foot angled. Using momentum Pin-up Girl hydro planed past the corner.

As the other side came into view Pin-up Girl saw the mook standing a few dozen yards away. His legs slightly apart as he held the Tommy gun in both hands, barrel sighted on the heroine. Seconds later the weapon vomit bullets. The first few rounds passed harmlessly over the heroine’s head though she knew that a slight angle change would get her killed. Not today though.

As the slide took her past the hail of gunfire Pin-up Girl locked her right foot in place and pushed with her left leg, somersaulting behind a large crate. Landing on both feet she took a breath then glance around the far edge – throwing knife still in hand. Surprised showed as she spied the mook running away, the man heading towards the docks and the rows of freighter containers.

With a quick shake of her head Pin-up Girl followed, her long legs striding effortlessly. As the chase wound through crates and containers the heroine was steadily closing the distance between the mook. As she passed the umpteenth shipping container movement from the sides, upwards, attracted her attention.

Stopping Pin-up Girl just realized that she was in a tunnel of containers, which bottled her in. Each container stood ten feet high, offering an excellent view, for any that stood on top. Someone did now, in the form of six mooks – three on either side, with weapons in hand. They were currently sighting their Tommy guns on the lone heroine. The Family was out for blood.

As Pin-up Girl digested the new threat another pair of mooks came into view from their hiding spots between the containers and stood before her.

All this happened in a blink of an eye and Pin-up Girl realizing she was in trouble burst into action. Her hand darted forward releasing the throwing knife it held. Once the defensive attack was made she completed a backwards leap, bending her body with ease. Landing on one hand she tossed another knife, this time at one of the men standing on the container on the left.

Continuing in one fluid movement, knowing that speed was of the essence, she pushed off with her hand – her body moving left towards the container’s side. During the move Pin-up Girl watches as the hilt of the knife smacks the man right between the eyes. The mook flops to the ground with a small sigh. His buddies tracing the fall giving added advantage to the heroine.

With a clang heeled shoes struck the metallic side and Pin-up Girl allowed her knees to bend then a split second later pushed off. The heroine’s body stretch as she closed onto the opposite container. Her hands grab the end while her legs swung downward but she was not finished yet. She used her feet to propel her body upward then pushed with her hands and completed another somersault.

Landing in-front of a startled mook Pin-up Girl launched a roundhouse kick with her left foot into the man’s midsection. With a painful oof expression the mook straggled backwards a few step; the blow not enough to cause him to collapse but he was gasping for air. Couple more steps backwards then man fell over the side to land on the pavement with a bone jarring thud.

Pin-up Girl simply ignored the man as she risked a quick glance towards the other container. Out of the three mooks only two stood, guns held ready but not firing. The man in the middle lay in a heap, taken out of action by the knife thrown earlier. Satisfied the heroine focused on the mook before her. Grabbing Marlene, one of the two V-42 commando combat knives she used cherishingly, Pin-up Girl sidestepped to the right while sliding her body low. Gun fire pierced the air were her body was.

Stepping forward Pin-up Girl cross-cut with her left hand; spinning Marlene before contact and struck the man in the jaw with the hilt. The mook’ head violently turned with the blow, releasing teeth and spittle. He dropped clutching his face.

Gaining confidence that the odds were moving in her favor Pin-up Girl continue playing offense. As the mook crash to his knees she removed another throwing knife and flung the blade forward at the remaining man. The throw was accurate, striking the man’s gun hand. The blow stuck a nerve causing his fingers to spasm. The gun slowly slid from his grasp. With his free hand the mook made a grab for the falling weapon, taking his eyes from his opponent.

Pin-up Girl taking advantage of the situation, sprints the few steps to get besides the man while making sure the mook stood between her and the Family across the way. Marlene struck, hitting the man behind the ear – with the hilt of course. Without crying out the man slammed downward with a thud; deep into unconsciousness.

Crouching, her trusty blade in front of her body and right hand resting on the twin knife, Lila, Pin-up Girl prepared to deal with the remaining mooks but was surprised to see no one in sight. The other container was devoid of opponents; even the downed man was gone.

Casually standing the heroine returned Marlene to her harness while peering over the edge. No unconscious bodies either. Just piles of spent shells littered the area. Glancing to her right the two bodies were still where they had fallen. Shaking her head in amazement she walked toward the men, one still moaning about his face, and replayed what just happened.

The battle only took seconds but she thought the mooks still had a chance, especially when she was left standing alone. Just typical cowardly criminals she thought; never can tell about those that hide behind guns.

Nimbly hopping down Pin-up Girl decided to push the matter aside; just a chance encounter. Ask Proud Citizen tonight what his opinion would be on the matter. With that thought she went to find someone of authority, in hopes of making sure the Family has a few less men on the streets tomorrow.

  
Grove, under Founder's Fall
March 8th
8.25 AM

The communication hub was empty except for the young woman seated at one of the computer stations. Her fingers wandered about the keyboard as she worked; eyes glued to the display. Ponytails occasionally twitched as her head moved about as she listens to the music pumping from head phones. Another monitor, a few stations down, was dialed into the local station. News was currently being broadcast.

All this was absorbed as Tessa entered the room. She smiled upon noticing the blond girl oblivious to her surrounds; just happy in her own world. She then grinned when noticing that Bella was not doing her homework per agreement but playing a heated game of Asteroids.  

Tessa lightly touched the girl’s shoulder then cleared her throat, dramatically of course. “Finished your studies Bella?”

Bella jumped slightly while yanking off the headphones with one hand while completing a turn on the swivel chair. “Umm hi Tessa” the teenager replies with an infectious smile; hard for one to stay angry with the always perky, carefree girl. “I was just taking a break, a small one”, big smile.

“See that you do” Tessa winks then moves towards the observation platform. Bella giggles then resumes her game; after replugging the head phones into her ear.

Walking up the short stair Tessa stands on the platform, which offered an unobstructed view of the 3-D displays when activated. After activating the holographic monitors her fingers dance over the small control panel as she reads the various numbers, coordinates, and information that scroll past. Her attention stayed focus on the task at hand until the drone from the network feed playing in the background demanded noticed. Tessa froze the relay of statistics on the main screen and focused on the voice of the anchorwoman.

“….escalating in Independence Port. Local authorities seem unable to keep up with the rash of crimes harassing the zone. Per eye-witness and video surveillance members of the Family appear to be involved with the crime spree but with the recovery of a reported 33 deaths with-in the organization the notion is unwarranted. Though sources appear to think a power struggle is involved”

The smartly dressed brunette news woman took her mandatory pause; papers were shuffled around. She resumed speaking “The Freedom Force has made little comment, simply relating that the violence in Independence does not rate high enough for their attention. Though the spokesperson quickly stated that other dire situations demand focus; mainly the continue guerilla tactics by the Rikti. The exact location of their camp is highest priority she confirmed. Also Nemesis movement has increased deep with-in the Shadow Shard but few suggest that Paragon will not suffer any threats from an enemy far outside the city limits. Their opponents suggest….” Tessa tuned out the remaining dialogue.

Mulling over what she just heard Tessa resumed working but now search for information about the trouble in Independence over the last two months. Her current work was pushed aside; the need currently seemed of little importances.

After minutes of digesting various police reports, news clippings, and the dock’s economy charts Tessa folded her hands over her chest and thought. Currently her two biggest hurdles – finding those behind the destruction of Haven and what Kallie was involved in – were currently in a stalemate, with no true lead presenting itself. Maybe she should take a stroll to the Port with Rowr she reflected.

With that final thought Tessa climb down from the platform and went to find her wife.



Independence Port
Justice Quay neighborhood
March 10th
5:45 PM


The hum of machinery reverberated through the room, along side the constant clicking, as the two bill counters cycled. Thousand of dollar bills were stacked next to or placed into the machine, keeping the two accountants busy – if the wizened elder men could be called that. Both men were hunched in-front of the machines focusing on their work and nothing but.

The room was small, just measuring 100 square feet. Two desks, which housed the bill counters, and various sized filling cabinets filled the space. The two men basically sat back to back, their chairs inches from each other. The room was windowless.

Sitting on a wooden chair pressed against the wall next to the only door was an enforcer. Wearing a faded blue tailored suit the man looked like his knee breaking days were years pass. His rifle leans against the wall with in reach. The duty, though hours had already ticked by, was a tedious boring job and the mook once again silently cursed those that gave him the detail for the week.

Suddenly loud voices could be heard from outside of the room then a series of gunshots went off. The dozing mook bolted upright from his chair, knocking his rifle over. Hastily he grabs the weapon and moved to the door. After noticing the two elder men staring with fright he positioned himself in front of the wooden door. With hand on the knob, preparing to turn, bullets ripped though the flimsy wood then into his body. He was dead before hitting the floor.

Silence then followed until the door was flung open. In walked a man whose bulk pretty much filled the doorway. He wore an exquisite white pinstripe Armani suit; his brown leather loafers moved softly. Standing still he surveyed the room, barely noticing the two scared men but soaking in every detail.

Half turning he spoke to his lieutenant hovering by his side. “Grab the cash then torch the rest” said Marico, his speech thickly accented. The Italian born gangster briskly turned and walked towards the exit.

“What about them?” asked the enforcer, who was peering at the accountants.

Marico stopped and replied “Burn the rest” then continue on his way.  



Striga Island
Port Noble neighborhood
McBoardwalk’s Pub
March 12th
8:45 PM

“Union for the Independence Port dockworkers voted for strike today, ending a two week tug-a-war with city officials. The belief being that the power struggle with-in the waterfront neighborhood bears a direct input of forcing the strike. For more on this issue we take you live to Nancy Zapada.”

The television screen, twenty five inches and mounted over a corner of the bar, switched from a shot of the news studio to a location in Independence Port. A smartly dressed woman of eastern descent stands before a warehouse holding a microphone. A group of men with signs milled about behind.

Bob the Moose tunes out the noise and focuses on his drink; a light beer that he finishes with a long swig. Setting down the mug he glanced towards the man next to him, his often partner Ziggy. How he came by the moniker he has no clue thought Bob. “I tell you Ziggy the crap is hitting the fan”

Ziggy, who was shorter and rounder than his partner, just sneered. “To you the crap always hit the fan”. Signaling for another beer the robust man leaned back in his chair.

“Really true this time. I heard that the boys over at Deep Bridge got wiped out, every last one of them” said Bob while picking at his fries. The food at McBoardwalk was not five-star but decent enough though the fish was not really edible, odd for a pub close to the docks.

Leaning forward with wide eyes Ziggy replied “Really? Similar to what happen to Don…” His words trailed off as a commotion sounded from the kitchen. Many of the pub’s patrons turned to look, curious about the noise. The bartender continued filling a mug from the tap, seemly the only one unconcern.

As every head faced to the rear of the establishment no one saw the two men enter; except for one sailor who happened to be looking at the entrance. His eyes widened at the sight of the Tommy guns carried by the suit wearing men; he began to rise.

The shrill blast of a gunshot round broke the brief silence and drew every eye towards the gunmen. Both men wore blue pinstripe suits with matching blue hats. Both mooks appeared almost identical, their weapons pointing towards the patrons. Once attention was gathered the mook on the left spoke “Bob the Moose, your Caporegime had refused. Your service is no longer needed”.

As a few of the patrons tried to rise and scramble away as gunfire erupted, spraying the small room.



Independence Port
Wave Landing neighborhood
March 14th
10:52 PM


Marico walked down the hallway, treading upon beige oak hardwood floor, with eyes focused forward. He passed fine woven tapestries mixed together with oil paintings, though the man has seen it all before and ignored the expensive belongings. Petty displays of wealth meant nothing to Marico, even since he was a child, but the might of power was what attracted the man and the person on the side of the door he approached wield vast authority. Reaching forth Marico open then mahogany door and stepped into the room beyond.

“Report Marico” The words were spoken before the man had a chance to introduce himself though he was far from surprised. He simply moved deeper into the room and stood behind the high back leather chair; the head of the Godfather was hidden behind the high plush back. Past the chair the brick fireplace was lit, a full blaze consumed the wood with-in.

“All is preceding as plan my Godfather.” Despite being addressed in English Marico replied in Italian. Speaking the crude language of this country displeases his tongue. “The fractions that…denied our offer have been removed while the dockyards are currently crippled.” Most politicians and union leaders were easy to sway but those that showed any backbone were persuaded to see the errors of their ways.

“Very well Marico, as always you prove invaluable” replied the Godfather. In respect to his right hand man he also spoke in Italian. A hand came into view to gingerly grab the wineglass resting on the small table next to the chair. The hand, tanned in color, was lined by age but possess strength – vitality.

The liquid filled glass disappeared from sight and the room was plunged into silence but for the crackling of the fire. Moments later Marico spoke, voicing his worry “Our men are beginning to see increase of supers, though not every cursed do-gooder has been disposed. One was allowed to leave.”

With a soft yet commanding voice the Godfather replied “Yes, we always knew that the city’s heroes could be a thorn in our plan. They are like roaches really, numerous and annoying but we do not possess the strength for a confrontation at the moment. Best to complete our plan, assume control before they take notice, then when the purge has been lifted business can resume.” Quiet resumed as the man who started as a street urchin then rose to become the controlling force of Italy’s underworld thought and sipped his wine. Minutes had passed by while Marico patiently waited. Then suddenly the Godfather spoke words that pleased the Underboss greatly.

“Phase two now begins; set events into motion”.