Crooked Police!

Since we last checked in, some dodgy doings have been going on in TNT and out. Mills has been confirmed by the FBI as the murderer of James Peterbourgh, the convicted child molester known as 'Stryker'. Two agents set Mills up, and have taken the child Stryker was keeping hostage.

The FBI does not know that two of it's agents are under Stryker's order's, and plan on "getting revenge" for Stryker for imprisoning him for murdering a young girl aged twelve. Last time, Mills barely got away from the clutches of the New York Police, and is now a fugitive on the run.

TNT wise, Nic was injured in a serious accident in a match with Blader Skum. How does Mills feel about this, and that Rollin Thunder is now an enemy of the Dynasty, and fighting Fly in a death match on Mayhem, again in the town of Memphis, Tennessee?

Jeremy was also brutally attacked by an unknown man, which must anger Mills because "The Outlaw" wanted the fight very badly. How could an idiot, a nothing, like this unknown man take "The Outlaw" like a joke, and attack his opponent, because he wants a name for himself?

The scene opens with static, and a FBI warning for Mills's capture. We open in a small motorbike shop, where we focus on the many bikes which stand in the garage, as we see a tall middle aged man sitting with a giant cigar in his  mouth, and a smirk on his face. His black leather jacket stands out in the sun, as the sounds of Vultures fill the air.

Goddamn it, will you chill out?

How the fuck can I chill out, when I am a fugitive now? I didn't kill him, so why are people thinking I did?

Those two crooked FBI agents, they are under Stryker's orders to find you and capture you. You being arrested would have their mission complete. Stryker was a rich guy, his father was a mafia family member, and now he's dead, and the two agents fabricated evidence to make the world think you did it. You were seen on camera talking to Stryker, and knocking him out. But you didn't kill him, and whoever did took the kid he was keeping.

So this is all a grudge on Stryker's part?

Yes, ever since you told the police about his whereabouts, leading to his arrest, he has hated you up to the point he died. He wanted you dead big time, but he never got the chance to get an assassin to do it, he wanted to kill you with his bare hands. But you managed to uphold him, but it didn't stop him from dying.

Goddamn it, who are the agents?

I have no idea, that's the problem. These guys have managed to secure their names so you can't find them and end the whole situation by turning them in. I think they killed James, but I aint sure about that. Listen, you wont be found, they can't hunt you down on TNT grounds because they need a warrant, and the judge has not issued that yet.

What am I going to do, Boycee?

There aint much you CAN do except for hide out, they wont hurt the kid, they cant afford to. You might want to phone your boss and make sure he makes sure no police or FBI agents enter the site.

In an instant, Mills picks up his cell phone and slowly dials a number, as we hear another voice on the line.

Hello?

Hi, may I speak to Marcel please? This is Nicky Mills, and I seriously need his help.

I'm afraid he's not here at the moment, may I take a message?

Yes, tell him to call my cell phone immediately. This is very urgent and life threatening.

Don't tell me, you haven't received your check in the mail, right? You need to call TNT Finance for that enquiry.

NO! I cannot tell you, but Marcel needs to hear this message, I'm serious.

Alright sir, thank you for calling TNT, goodbye now.

The phone line goes dead, and Mills has a peculiar look on his face.

What a bitch, she didn't give two fucks about what I was saying.

I wouldn't worry too much, you need to go down to the central office and speak to Marcel face to face. You also need to cut a promo or something, just to piss off the FBI.

OK, I better run, thanks Boycee.

Yeah doc, come back here after your done.

Mills jumps on the bike and salutes Boycee before driving away, as the scene fades to black.

 

 

 

 

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