The morning sun rose on the huge sprawling metropolis of Christmere. Its dreary light slowly flooded the dirty river Nova which split the city in two. The west where the sprawling mansions of the mafia began to spring into action, the huge shantytown surrounding them preparing for the onslaught. The east where thousands of identical apartment buildings reached towards the skies. The glint of polished guns flashed for miles as the hood awoke.
Few were watching the light flood into the city, but up in an East Penthouse apartment, Skin Doggy Dog looked out the window with a smile on his face. He’d already been awake for hours; he loved watching the sunrise. Shaking his head, he looked back in his array of mirrors and continued to put on his makeup. Carefully applying the mascara, he watched himself in the mirror, "Looking good dog, yes, you’re looking good". In just under six hours, he was going to die. Of course, he didn’t know that yet.
He was wearing a purple suit, golden chains hanging out of his undone collar. He smiled opening his wide mouth again, three golden teeth glinted back at him. "It is so sweet being me," he thought casually. After spending a further half an hour preparing himself and carefully adjusting his hat, also purple, he made his way out of the Penthouse apartment.
Two men were standing outside, they were both black and wore completely black suits, one stepped forward grinning widely, "My man Skin Doggy Dog, hows it hanging."
He grinned his golden smile back and rose both hands, "Low and lonely ladies, how’s the wind down in the hood."
All three completed a complicated high-five manoeuvre and then snapping back into reality, both men shrugged, "A bitta trouble brewin."
"What?" Dog asked rising his eyebrow theatrically, "Some mutha tryin to make a challenge on the Dog?"
Both looked at each other again, "Some mother fucker has started ploughing round in your patch down in the West Side."
Dog started making for the elevator, "West side? That’s Mickey D town, it’s out of our pissin range. What ladies do we have brushin up the Mafia?"
Again both men looked at each other and headed off after their boss. One opened his suit conscientiously removing a thin file. Opening it, he pointed at a box enclosing four faces out of a hundred, "Four ladies run it…independent like…"
Dog stared, “Listen ladies, I ain’t gonna be cruel but there is no way I’d let four lovely experianced ladies go out west.”
One shook his head quickly, "You cleared a small whore house ages back, its gone smooth and sweet but now they’ve started… servicin’ the enemy so to speak."
Skin Doggy Dog’s face shifted for a moment. Fear had hardly needed to enter his mind for a while. He’d kept most gangs and the police paid off well, his ladies were making splendid business and even his online entrepreneurial enterprise had begun to make money. Life had begun to treat him kindly, but keeping away from the West Side had always been the key to success. This wasn’t good news, "This ain’t what I like to call good news."
Both men nodded hurriedly, "We’ll deal with it boss."
"I think…" Dog mused for a moment. He knew if he sent anyone else they’d crumble, as they always did. If he went to the West, he’d be in danger sure, but if he remembered rightly there were some nice ladies out West. "I think… I’ll make it a personal affair."
The elevator stopped at the lobby of the building. The three made their way out, Dog making his usual extravagant gestures to various contemporaries along the way. A small car was waiting outside, he looked at it critically, "Ladies I hope you ain’t implying what I think you’re implying."
Both grimaced, one walked away frustrated, the other drew Dog close, "Boss, we’re goin into Mickey D town, safety is no problem in de hood, but soon as we start making tracks into mafia ville, who knows, fuck man, its no romp around the bitchin’ tulips out there, it’s a fucking jungle."
Dog stared bemusedly, "So we catch the bus, there ain’t no way I’m driving round in a fucking Swedish porn machine with some White Ass Wigga in the front ass-holder."
The driver had made his way around and was opening the door, "They call me the Dutchman sir, if I may explain, this car is bullet proof, entirely, and its sleek form allows it to skip past the offensive preparations of the West Side. If I may suggest Mr. Pimp Sir, you will get in before any further ado, its protection is surely needed in these trying times."
His guards began moving towards the driver but Dog raised an arm, "Listen Tulip Boy, you carry on with the disrespect and you’ll be finding yourself down on a business if you’re rocking to da Skin Doggy Dog beat."
The strange tall Dutchman nodded a trifle confusedly, "I mean no disrespect, I simply wish to show you the reason your friends chose this car."
"To tell you the truth Tulip Munch I don’t give a sweet lady’s behind, down here in the hood we don’t care for explanations."
"As you wish." The Dutchman said, gesturing towards the car, "You are free to enter at any time." The Dog stared at the car for a while in a kind of numb disbelief. Eventually wrestling his pride aside, he climbed into the car timidly. His two guards climbed into the back, removing small sleek pistols and laying them down on the seat.
As the car began to move away, another old car started moving. Skindog looked over his shoulder critically, "What the fuck is the tail doin’?"
One of his guards smiled, "The old crew boss, Badass Fletcher, the House, Hood Pirate, Yomofo, the whole damn team. They haven’t seen it for years, the West Side is stuff of acid trips. Plus bit of extra muscle never hurt anyone, you know what Mickey D’s like."
Dog grinned, "You fuckers never stop, keep drivin Tulip, could be hopin for a primo mornin’ yet."

Across the Nova in a vast room of an equally vast mansion, Mickey D was sitting down eating his dinner with his family. Mickey D was an interesting character. Although reasonably short, wearing a constantly confused expression and generally taking on the appearance of an accountant, he was the godfather of the entire West Side.
To control and earn complete respect from four factioned families is a mark of extreme genius in itself, but added to the fact he personally escaped fifteen assassination attempts unscathed is a strange testament to his effectiveness. His family was odd to say the least, his wife sat staring at him from the opposite side of the table in obvious disgust. She was a strangely posh woman he met in school, their union to sift peace into the huge Doninio and Aguilia families, a marriage fractious at the best of times. His sons and daughters all tended to take after their mother, Henry, William, Lucy and Anna all on holiday from their private schools in the countryside. All were also staring at their father with masks of disgust. Mickey D was sitting at the head of the table, oblivious to their stares, devouring most of his food in a few bites.
Suddenly a knock on the door stopped his seemingly unstoppable consumption, "What, I’m eating dinner, ain’t there any respect left in the world."
The door creaked open, in sneaked a weasel like man, sliding in making no sound, the door creaked shut. He approached Mickey D like a snake would approach his victim, "Mick, the Dutch has done his job, they’re approaching the bridge now."
Mickey D smiled warmly, "Thanks Nick, who d’ya get on the job?"
The true secret behind Mickey D’s success lay in Weasel. Mickey D was an expert gunman and personally escaped the assassinations, but Weasel was the true brains of the Doninio gang.
The weasel smiled, the grin stretching across his face in an indescribably evil manner, "We’re leading them into the whore’s warehouse, hired Portugal to finish them off."
"Rico Portugal?" Mickey D coughed out a piece of chicken that landed on Nick’s shoe, "I wanted the bastard killed sure, but was Portugal really necessary?"
Nick looked at his shoe with distaste, "Mickey, Skin Doggy Dog is no al dente pasta, there’s a whole gang behind him, thought I’d set the Portuguese on him just to be sure."
Mickey D stared at his food, it looked appetising but he knew this was a place he should be, "Well, guess I better see him off, see ya later honey."
His wife gave him a cold, hard stare; he mumbled a few garbled swearwords and made his way to the door.

The Cheese Hotel was just opening, the four senior ladies of the night as they like to be called were making their way into their office. Georgia, Anika, Natasha and Samone sat opposite each other planning the day’s session. Their business, the Cheese Hotel was the most successful certified massage parlour in the entire East Side. Their muscle, the English man walked in smiling, "Hello ladies."
"Meeting time English." Georgia said, standing and crippling him with a left hook, "Get out."
He gritted his teeth, "Indeed, ladies we have a problem."
They stared at him nervously. Although referred to as the muscle, English tended to take on a more managerial job. Seeking out new clients and keeping in contact with the big families, he only acted as a muscle on the rare occasions it was required, "It seems Anika, your little visits to Mickey D have been noticed by our benefactors on the West, they are coming for a visit."
Samone stared angrily at Anika, "Mickey D?"
Anika stared back, "Problem?"
"You can’t fuck the crime heads, then we get in the middle of it all," Samone shouted, desperately trying to hide her immediate jealousy.
"Fuck Samone, what the fuck do you care, the Weasel is your fucking regular, he fucking visits you like fucking twelve fucking times every fucking day." Georgia angrily shouted back, "Its not your fucking business."
"Language Georgia." The Englishman said frowning, moving in between her and Samone, "Not appropriate for a lady of your prestige."
"Sorry English." Georgia said, attempting to control herself ineffectively, "Samone, I believe that individual clients are a matter of the lady not the business."
"Not crime heads, we can’t, you’re going to fuck it up for everyone now Anika." Samone shouted louder, "This is so stupid, you always ruin everything."
Anika’s patience, which had slowly been extending, seemed to snap visibly. She stood up and grabbed a large book from the table, throwing it as hard as she could at Samone. It hit on her nose, breaking it against her face.
Georgia and Natasha grabbed Anika and held her against the chair, English stared helplessly at Samone gripping her face in pain, "You better go to the nurses office, see if you can’t get that patched up." Samone nodded angrily and gripping her nose made for the door. As she got there, it opened sharply, slamming her against the wall. A short man strode confidently into the room carrying an uzi in his right arm and grinning widely.
As a group the prostitutes stepped back, excluding Samone who was still gripping her arm, which seemed to have bent against itself as she was slammed against the wall. English stepped in front of them, "Portugal?"
"Si England man." The Portuguese man replied, a thick accent making his voice barely understandable, "You and ladies stand against wall, won’t take minute."
He gestured with his uzi. English smiled warmly, in a second the uzi was in his hand and the Portuguese man was unconscious on the floor. The girls stared, he smiled warmly, "You don’t call me the muscle for nothing you know."
Suddenly the door opened again and English turned around. It was Rico. Those who have seen him and survived, the lucky few, have described him with waves of awe and fear. In truth, he was a medium sized to short man, fairly strong looking but nothing especially fearful. Behind him, two smaller Portuguese were standing back gripping guns of various kinds. His eyes switched through the room, his man lying unconscious on the floor, a strange man in a strange suit gripping his man’s gun. In a second, after a quick second check of facts, he launched himself towards English.
English shocked dropped the gun and raised both his arms in defence. He didn’t even see the knife flash out and slice neatly under his guard. Rico quickly and efficiently stabbed English twisting the knife expertly. English tried to fight, but the knife had done its job. He dropped to the ground. Rico smiled, "Don’t mess with the Portuguese."
English felt the stream of life leave him, and watched the world fade away.
Rico smiled and looked up. Georgia had picked up the uzi, tears were in her eyes, "Don’t mess with the English."
The uzi started pumping out a stream of lead, Georgia wiped away the tears with one hand as she expertly steered the gun towards Rico. Bullet after bullet plummeted into his chest, then his head, it only took a few seconds and his body was unrecognisable. Behind him the two Portuguese had already run in terror, the gang was Rico, without him, they’d head back to the farm.
Suddenly Samone screamed out in pain, Georgia had accidentally steered the gun towards her, it had plastered her non-broken arm with bullets. Anika stared at her in sympathy for a moment but eventually decided on looking over at Rico’s dead body. Natasha stared at it in disbelief, "How… how… did they get in… we were completely locked and sealed as usual."
"I don’t know, someone could have forgotten to close it." Anika said, staring absent-mindedly at the corpse.
Georgia ran over to English, his eyes were slowly closing, when he saw her he smiled, "Georgia, you have to tell… the… Dog…"
His breath’s were getting shorter and shorter, Georgia kissed him, her eyes streaming with tears, "Don’t… don’t die."
"No… time… Mickey… coming, Dog…"
English’s eyes slowly faded away, Anika and Natasha realized what was happening and ran over to Georgia. Tears started flowing freely, and even Samone writhing in pain in the corner started crying, although as Anika would reflect later it was probably more out of self-pity.
Suddenly, they heard something from outside. The sound of voices, Anika’s head jolted up, "Mickey." The door swung open, Mickey walked in, flanked by his two bodyguards. The two Portuguese run-aways followed with the Weasel and a few other seedy looking Italian descendants. They all stared at the bloody room, the various bodies, corpses and prostitutes in complete astonishment. Anika ran over to Mickey who embraced her absentmindedly as he took in the scene.
Weasel stared at Rico’s dead body in horror, "Who… what…"
Georgia dropped the spent uzi, and stared in horror at the gang. She knew who they were, the top of the top, the elite of the elite. And she knew that they were all in serious trouble.
Weasel quickly shook off his confusion and slid over to where Mickey was kissing Anika slightly passionately by this stage. "Mike… Mike."
Mickey snapped out of the embrace, "Sorry Annie, gotta deal with something."
Anika looked slightly annoyed and started whining urgently to him, Mickey turned back to Anika and again they locked in a passionate embrace.
"Bloody women." Weasel murmured softly to himself, and suddenly caught a glimpse of a writhing figure on the ground, "Samone?"
She looked upwards out of one bloodied eye, "Nick…"
He stared impassively at her, something inside him told him that this was a time to be loving and sympathetic. But he knew better than to listen to that voice. "Samone, get up."
She got to her feet. Around him, Natasha and Georgia had started to make a move towards her, gripping hastily assembled bandages and splints. As she moved to almost collapse on Weasel he stepped back and slapped her in the face. Although weak, Samone was already collapsing and it just sent her spiralling into the ground into unconsciousness, "I thought I told you not to address me in public, don’t ever disobey the Nick."
As he slid away the two prostitutes stared at him in disbelief. He made his way towards the Portuguese and mobsters, he could see they were nervous. They all knew this was meant to be a trap headed by Rico, he was the key but now he was out of the equation.
They were going to have to face the Dog. Weasel stared at them, there were ten, the two Portuguese looking out of place, four younger unknowns all gripping their guns excitedly, but he smiled as he saw four familiar faces. The Don, gripping his authenticated Nazi machine gun and Shang the hired Taiwanese bodyguard of Dons, his razor sharp robotic arm extending ahead of him. The other two were darker still, Mick Hew known as the Monk, wearing all black and gripping a primitive uzi in one arm and flame thrower in the other and finally his associate, Sister Bettiny as dangerous as she was ugly, gripping a long wrench like gun.
Collectively the group looked ferocious but Weasel knew it wasn’t an assured victory. Skin Doggy Dog and his cronies would be no easy beat. It’d be best, he thought suddenly, if him and Mickey stayed out back while the fighting raged, looking after the prostitutes. "I really am brilliant." He thought to himself smiling.

Skin Doggy Dog woke up suddenly, the car had drifted to a halt. He looked up dreary eyed, "Why‘re we stoppin’ tulip boy?"
His door opened, it was Badass Fletcher, "Dog get your lazy but out of that ugly mutha, I’m disillusioned man, that ain’t no car for you to be cruisin’ in."
His guards shuffled out of the back noisily. The Dutchman smiled invisibly as they got out, looking over at the Dog conversing with Fletcher, "Sir, it has been an honour to be of service, if you require my services again, please have no hesitation in calling."
Skin Doggy Dog turned his head, "What the fuck are you on about, you’ll be picking us up in a few minutes once we get this shit sorted out."
The Dutchman nodded quickly, "Must have slipped my mind Sir."
The Dog shrugged and shuffled his way out of the car, "Fucking Dutch." He mumbled and slammed the door. Waving his arm, the gang quickly congregated in front of him, "Right ladies, this is the West Side, openly hostile area, could be shot at any time and all that bullshit, follow?"
The group nodded slowly in unison, Yomofo stepped forward, "Is there sea near here?"
"What?" Dog replied impatiently.
"Sea…near West?" Yomofo replied, looking perplexed, "Understand sea?"
Dog stared at the small Japanese man, and suddenly clicked, "No Yomofo, no whales today."
He sighed and drew out a gun, "Next best thing, kill people."
Dog nodded a trifle nervously, remembering the "good old times" with his gang all too visibly, "No killing man, this is our business our hood, we are just gonna have a few words with the muscle and prostitute crew, it’ll be sorted in no time."
All nodded again, his two guards stepped in beside him, "Lets go test some prostitutes."
After a brief round of cheering, they made their way down the silent street to the Cheese Hotel. It was quite obvious, the brightly coloured sign flashing almost angrily could be seen for miles around. Skinner looked around for the muscle, he was meant to meet them out the front. He shrugged, never had trusted the English. They had enslaved his people all those years back he thought angrily, he threw open the doors and walked into the huge warehouse.
The mobsters waited patiently until all of the gangsters were in before barring the door silently. The four younger ones encircled them slowly with the older ones standing back cautiously in the bedrooms and the Portuguese on top of a few of the bedrooms as snipers. They knew it would be easy, a quick and simple massacre.
It was the Dog himself who noticed them first, out of the corner of his eye, the glint of a barrel pointing towards him. He turned around and faced his gang, grinning communicating a complex message through a flurry of facial expressions. The whole gang began picking out separate people silently. After a few moments, Dog knew there were no more to spare, he put his hand in his jacket and dived to the floor.
Weasel watched the battle commence with half amusement and half horror. The House was the first to go, his huge frame was plastered with bullets from all directions, with a sickly plop his head was popped open and he fell to the floor. The two Portuguese snipers fell quickly, Weasel cringed as they stood up to try and get a better look at the battle, and were killed by the entrepreneurial black guards of the Dog.
Yomofo launched himself towards the Younger mobsters, he took two down, slashing their throats to pieces before the remaining two finished him off. One of the younger mobsters turned around and screamed at the others to join the fighting, he was answered by Don, waving his gun around and screaming German. This lead to a prolonged argument and soon the initial chaos was quickly replaced by the mobsters screaming at each other and the gangsters making a tactical withdrawal into one of the prostitute’s rooms.
They all sighed in relief but there was someone in the room gripping a gun, it was a thin Asiatic woman with a broad Christmere accent, "Are you guys mobsters, gangsters or clients?"
They all stared at each other nervously, the Hood Pirate immediately took the incentive, "We’re clients miss, got caught up in all the fighting."
"Good, I need some quick cash." The woman replied, taking off all her clothes casually and dropping the gun, "It’ll be 400 dollars for pretty much anything you want."
Hood Pirate got out his wallet but the Dog grabbed him, "Pirate, not the time, nor the place…ok maybe the place, but definitely not the time."
Badass Fletcher drew out his calculator slowly, "Dog, I think I got the positions all worked out like a differential equation, see if you calculate the probabilities of shift between positions to a Poisson Distribution with mean, estimated 4 then we can see a simple and logical trend showing the positions and densities of the opposition."
The Dog stared at Fletcher for a few moments, "What the hell are you on about?"
"Sorry bout that m’ nigga." Fletcher replied nervously, putting his calculator back in his pocket, "Um…the real players are in the Prostitute’s houses parallel…opposite to us," pointing out the window slowly. "We just need to deal with the two idiots standing pretty much in our way. I think, the Don and Shang are in the left house, and the other two were too darkly clothed, could just be the Monk and Nun."
Dog smiled and gave Fletcher a congratulatory headbutt, "Nice Rumster, right you two niggas take out the two forerunners, Pirate and Fletcher deal with the others, I’ll go deal with business we got in here." By the time Fletcher came too, the door had just crashed back into place, he sprung to his feet to follow the others. The lights had been hit, it was almost pitch black, only a shaft of light from outside giving a strange unearthly glow to the entire place.
The gunshots had ceased, an eerie silence spread throughout the huge warehouse. Fletcher felt scared, he was a mathematical person, he didn’t like darkness, it was too uncertain or in layman’s terms, he was afraid of the dark. Suddenly he heard an unbelievably high scream followed by a brief burst of gunfire.
Fletcher made his way cautiously to the source of the sound, it slowly died away but following his calculations he found it. Hood Pirate was crouched over in the customary foetal position, whimpering softly.
Around him Fletcher could just make out shadows, quickly examining them, he realised it was the bulleted bodies of the Don and Shang. The Shang was still moving, Fletcher looked a little closer and recoiled. The Taiwanese man had unfortunately fallen so that his back was pierced against a long bayonet at the end of his gun.
Bulleted in the stomach, he seemed to have sliced himself slowly more and more against the incredibly sharp Bayonet and it had unbelievably sliced almost through his whole body but as Fletcher approached the dead Taiwanese man, it lurched into action.
Fletcher stared in amazement as he hoisted himself up on one of his arms, and began to swing its huge robotic arm in his direction. The gangster drew his gun smoothly and started shooting him but with a sudden rush of horror realised it was having no effect. In fact as he stared at the Taiwanese man’s eyes, he realised something. Shang was an android, the strange steely pupils designed with binocular abilities could be spotted a mile away by an appropriately trained computer engineer.
Running android classes through his head while backing away, he remembered the characteristics of the organic latest model from Taiwan. He quickly dodged around the swinging arm of the android and drew out a switchblade from his pocket. Quickly and efficiently he cut the back of the neck, theoretically severing the controlling mechanisms from its power supply in the back.
As predicted, the android collapsed completely, Fletcher smiled and put his knife back in his pocket. He swaggered back over to the Pirate who had stopped whimpering and now was just lying crouched with his knees tucked into his chest, gripping his groin. Suddenly Fletcher remembered about the Shang series, they had been taken off the production line early because of their rather distressing use of the Taiwanese handshake in fighting.
He stared at the Pirate sadly; knowing nothing could be done and backed away. After a few minutes of crouching uncertainly, he heard a gurgle from his left, moving slowly, he almost tripped over the dead bodies of Skin Doggy Dog’s guards. Through the dim light he could just make out their faces slashed. Grimly removing his weapon, he saw two shadows approaching him.
In a diving roll, he threw himself towards one, expertly guiding the lead issued in his gun into the unknown assailant’s head. It dropped so Fletcher swung his gun around to face the other. The Monk threw his razor sharp crucifix at the same time as Fletcher unloaded a cartilage at him. Both dropped painfully to the ground, the Monk’s chest dotted with bullets, Fletcher pierced in the shoulder. At first he felt victorious but then the fast working poison began to sting and he lay back.
Feeling his death close, he thought about his beautiful wife Hannah, at home with his kids, Gohan and Trunks. Swearing, he cursed Christmere and cursed the West and cursed the gangster life he’d been forced to lead, then as the poison gripped his heart, he died.

Weasel was very nervous by this point. He couldn’t see anything that was happening in the main lobby of the Warehouse. A few gunshots and a few gurgles of death hadn’t seemed very promising. He began pacing, around him Mickey D was still embracing Anika, Samone bandaged almost head to toe was crying loudly and the other two prostitutes were sitting muted in the corner.
He was sweating. It had never got to anything like this, he was for planning, for talking, not actually fighting. If it came down to it, he knew Mickey D would defend him well but he didn’t rate even Mickey higher than the gangsters and pimps of the Westside. If anything it would be two on one, and Weasel knew he wouldn’t have much chance.
Even if he won, the endless war between the sides wasn’t over. There were hundreds of pimps, gang chiefs, Skin Doggy Dog owned most of the East Side but there would be plenty of gangsters who would take his place. He snapped out of contemplation, the door was opening.
Mickey threw Anika aside and drew his gun. Weasel mimicked his action and both pointed their guns towards the opening. Suddenly, the window to the left of the door shattered and in rolled Skin Doggy Dog grabbing the standing Anika roughly and placing his gun against her temple, "Drop your guns or the whore gets to dance with the devil."
Mickey immediately dropped his gun, Weasel shrugged and shot Anika in the head. Blood sprayed all over the Dog’s head and in disbelief, he changed his aim. Before the Weasel could correct his own aim, the Dog emptied the six bullets left in his revolver in the Weasel’s direction.
In an almost Matrix like action, the Weasel dodged three bullets but the next three hit his eye, knee and throat. Gurgling a silent scream, Weasel dropped to the floor where he quietly bled to death. Mickey stared at Anika and stared at Skin Doggy Dog. Both were uncertain what to do next, Mickey had taken the moment of indecision to pick up his gun but with both facing each other, guns pointed, they still were at a loss at what to do.
A moan arose from a bloodied figure on the floor, one of the bullets had ricocheted and hit Samone in the cheek. Choking on her own blood, and no longer able to resist, she let go. Both mobster and pimp stared at the dead girl speechless.
Skin Doggy Dog was the first to speak, "Mickey D, we’ve seriously fucked up some lives today." Mickey D nodded slowly and let his gaze switch to Anika’s dead body, "That whore was my favourite, I loved her more than my wife, no fucking sense going around killing whores."
"I had to do it," Dog replied apologetically, "I wasn’t really going to kill the bitch, this is m’ place, no sense goin’ around destroyin’ assets."
"Wasn’t your fault, that Weasel was a psycho." Mickey D replied angrily, "He fucking embezzled more money out of my businesses than I made, I’d even set up his accidental death next week."
Both again took in the situation, dead bodies lying everywhere, the Dog stared into middle distance, "What the hell ‘re we goin’ to do?"
"Call the end to this?" Mickey D replied, extending his hand, “We’ve been at war for too long.”
Skin Doggy Dog slapped his hand and tried to grip it unsuccessfully, "Sounds like a primo deal." Suddenly the door burst open and in walked a familiar face. He raised a short uzi, and smiled as he put his finger on the trigger, "Goodbye chaps."
Both gangster and mobster started to dive for their guns but he plastered both before they could even move. He smiled, and strode over to their bodies. Mickey D was stone dead he noted happily feeling the bloodied pulse. Wiping his hand carefully on a handkerchief he moved over to the pimp and noticed his eyes were still open.
Skin Doggy Dog stared up at the Dutchman confused, "Why?"
"Crime was never very good for business." He said and added grinning, "And never ever insult the Saab."
Tapping the dying pimp on the nose, the Dutchman stood. He pointed at the two remaining prostitutes, "You two coming?"
Natasha and Georgia looked at each other, the dead bodies, and back at the Dutchman. It had been a long hard day, the two leading factions of the two crime lords of Christmere had been decimated but they were whores, what did they care.
Both stood up timidly and the Dutch extended both his arms, "Come on, I’ll buy you girls lunch."
"Sounds good to me," Georgia replied taking one of his arms.
Tash shrugged and took his other arm, "No sense turning down a free meal."
He smiled and all three walked out of the blood filled office.

Skin Doggy Dog slipped away. He didn’t feel any anger towards the Dutchman, or even disappointment at his death. He didn’t even notice the fact that his clothes were covered in blood. In fact as he stared lifelessly at his body, he didn’t really know what he cared about anymore. Outside the sun was at its peak, it was a beautiful day. The sun shone from the east to the west, the sound of gunfire echoed across the city as the gangs fought to the death, the slow movement of business was interrupted by the endless exploitation of the mobsters. The Saab sped away, into the packed streets of Christmere, where the cars sped back and forth issuing an endless cloud of metallic grunt and sweat.
The Dog floated, taking in the scene in a kind of muted wonder. And in a brief moment of acceptance, intense bright light and ultimate satisfaction, it all ended.
TO BE CONTINUED

CLOSE WINDOW ONCE FINISHED

See a gramatical error a mixed up east and west or something spelling wise, tell me.

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