The next day,
anwhile at the white house,
In the grandeur of the Oval Office in which history was made ti and ti again, Franklin Roosevelt sat behind his resolute desk reading it, his gaze fixed on the newspaper before him. Bold letters proclaid, 'One Small Step for Man, One Giant Leap for Mutantkind.' Beneath the headline, a photograph of Ricky's smug face grinned back at him, an almost silent mockery that so audaciously showed his smug face not to him, but to the world.
It was as if Ricky had pulled back the curtains on himself, orchestrating a grand reveal in the most narcissistic manner possible.
His sheer audacity shattering the equilibrium that was so carefully set for their way of lives, forcing everyone around him to confront his presence and, for better or worse, truly consider him.
Once Roosevelt had seen enough of that smug smile, his gaze trailed downward to a column recounting the massacre allegedly orchestrated by Dewey and the suicide of Hawkins, reportedly consud by guilt.
Eventually, Franklin set the paper down with a deliberate motion as his steely gaze shifted to his cabinet, clasping his hands tightly together, the tension in his knuckles mirroring the weight of the unfolding crisis.
"How?" Franklin uttered the single word, his voice heavy with restrained fury.
It ignited a wave of discomfort and dread in the n seated before his desk, the sa advisors who had assured him, with misplaced confidence, that none of this would co to pass.
"Mr. President-"
"HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?" Franklin roared, his voice reverberating through the
room.
He slamd his fist onto the desk with a resounding thud, silencing any attempt at excuses before they could be uttered.
His glare sliced through the air, an invisible blade poised at the throats of each man before him.
One by one, they swallowed hard, the weight of his unspoken demand for accountability pressing heavily upon them.
"We did everything you asked, we put a judge that would favor Mr. Dewey, the best civil lawyer in the state-"
"AND WE LOST, AGAIN!" Franklin bellowed, his voice cracking under the strain of frustration.
He clutched his forehead, grappling with the burgeoning enigma that was Ricky Luciano, a force, a cockroach that seemingly never died no matter what they threw at him.
It felt as though Ricky would crawl out of every rubble, every disaster thrown at him, unscathed and defiant.
The relentless resilience wasn't just grating on Franklin's nerves, it was beginning to shake the very foundation of his presidency.
When people think of a presidency, they cling to the misguided notion that a legacy is defined by the ti spent in office.
But presidents, officials, and politicians understand the truth: a legacy isn't cented in the present.
It's forged in the reflections of a nation, fifty years down the line, when history decides whether they were visionary leaders or cautionary tales.
Franklin D. Roosevelt was one of those individuals deeply obsessed with his legacy and image.
This fixation shaped every decision he made, every word he spoke, molding his presidency into one ticulously crafted for the history books.
Before the war, before that great war that triumphed over everything that Franklin D. Roosevelt had done, he was known for sothing called the 'New Deal'.
Franklin D. Roosevelt's presidency had already left an indelible mark on the nation and his legacy was slowly being built upon this revolutionary bill.
His New Deal had brought both hope and controversy, reshaping the relationship between the governnt and the Arican people.
In the short term, New Deal programs provided much-needed relief, lifting the lives of those crushed by the weight of the Great Depression.
But in the long run, they established a lasting precedent, firmly embedding the federal governnt as a central player in the nation's economic and social affairs, an influence that would continue to shape the country for generations to co.
It was why even now, Franklin D. Roosevelt was considered a champion of the working class, a president who cared deeply about ordinary Aricans as his Fireside Chats, a series of evening radio addresses given by Franklin D. Roosevelt, fostered a sense of personal connection and trust.
For all he was, Franklin was a visionary of a president but before the outbreak of World War II, Roosevelt's foreign policy was focused on maintaining isolationism, reflecting the general mood of the Arican public.
However, he subtly prepared the nation for the possibility of involvent by strengthening the military and supporting allies like Britain through programs like Lend-Lease, which faced criticism from isolationists.
As widespread as the applause for his actions was, so too were the voices of his critics.
They accused him of overreach, branding him a socialist or even a dictator for the
unprecedented expansion of federal power.
Business leaders, in particular, resented his regulatory policies, viewing them as a threat to the autonomy and profitability they had long enjoyed.
It was because of these powerful critics, the very sa who sought to dismantle everything
Franklin D. Roosevelt had built, that they began searching for any chink in his armor.
What they were slowly discovering, however, was that the threat ca from an unexpected
source: Ricky Luciano.
Which actually started to force the actual president's hand.
"From now on, all decisions involving Ricky Luciano will run through ," Franklin commanded, his voice steady but firm as it was ti for him to fully step in.
"Civil unrest during this ti will be detrintal to Arica." Franklin's cabinet nodded in agreent, understanding the gravity of the situation and the necessity of this new directive. "File an appeal with a different lawyer for the Supre Court." Franklin ordered, his tone unwavering.
"Tell them to push every case they have to steamroll this one through. We must crush him thoroughly." Franklin knew that cases like these typically took around a year to resolve, but he couldn't afford to wait that long as this situation was far too urgent, wasting even a second could destroy his polling.
His presidency couldn't be defined by a blunder involving a re mutant, nor could it set a precedent for civil unrest.
Franklin saw the bigger picture, a vision stretching far into the distance.
Arica needed unity under him now more than ever, especially as the shadow of war lood
on the horizon.
The stakes were higher than personal vendettas; the survival of the nation itself was at risk and there was only one man who could lead the way.
"I want this trial to be over in a month. Do you all understand?" Franklin's voice was firm, his hands resting above his desk as he shot a demanding glare at the n before him.
Franklin was well aware of the weight of his words as he didn't need to say more since they would bow to his will, and they would get the job done.
"Yes, Mr. President."
anwhile in an undisclosed location,
"So, he managed to co out victorious?" A man wearing a Nazi symbol asked, his eyes
narrowing as he studied the paper with an unsettling curiosity.
"Shaw, this is no ti for admiration. We have a vote to consider," a woman with blonde hair
said, her smile warm but her tone laced with a hint of snark.
"Such an interesting specin." a man in white mused, holding up the picture of Ricky walking on air and pulling the image right next to his eyes.
Selene smiled gracefully, her eyes glinting with quiet amusent at the spectacle as she
leaned on her hand.
"Settle down, Nathaniel, you're drooling," Selene quipped with a playful smile. Nathaniel chuckled, wiping his mouth before casually slapping the picture down on the counter and
leaning back in his seat.
"Well, is there anyone here who opposes his induction into the Hellfire Club?" Nathaniel asked, his gaze sweeping over the room.
Selene side-eyed the woman in white, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her eyes
spoke volus.
"If there's ever a ti to make a snarky comnt, Emma, then this would be it," Selene said, her words sounding innocent, but the passive-aggressive edge was sharp enough to pierce Emma's calm deanor.
"I'm actually saving it for a particularly nasty creature, rather hideous and frail, one that preys on the innocence of small children, and spend all my ti remarking on all the flaws IT has," Emma fired back, her voice laced with venom while passively directing it at her.
Selene let out a hollow laugh, the sound dripping with mockery, while Shaw cleared his throat, sensing the growing tension.
"Then, let us send him an official invention when the hellfire ball arrives, all in favor?"
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"All against."
"Then I guess we should expect Ricky Luciano's arrival."
anwhile, across the United States, the shocking revelation quickly spread, echoing through
every corner of the country, Ricky Luciano had successfully won his case.
Many tried to paint his victory as shady, but it was hard to do so when he had boldly ventured
into enemy territory and erged victorious.
The sheer audacity of his success left little room for doubt; no matter the narrative they tried
to craft, Ricky had proven himself a force to be reckoned with.
The commission, especially, was on edge as Joe began sharpening his knives, preparing for
the worst.
The others watched closely, waiting to see his next move, as an ergency eting was about
to be called.
But that was all put on hold by a bold, almost outrageous move that would forever seal the
fate of Joe and one other.
"Take care of it. You're already in too deep to refuse," Joe naced into the phone, his voice
low and threatening.
As he placed the receiver down, a chilling smile spread across his face, one that knew that this
was the only way of really standing a chance.
"Who was it, boss?" Joe's right-hand man, Pinky Salvatore, asked from the side, his chest
puffed with self-assuredness.
Pinky was steady, level-headed, and the perfect counterbalance to Joe's erratic and psychotic
tendencies.
For all of Joe's volatility, it was Pinky's unwavering loyalty and calm deanor that made him indispensable or at least, that's what others thought.
But Pinky hadn't earned Joe's trust through obedience alone but through his sheer brutality
that solidified his position.
Nicknad "Pinky" after his preferred thod of handling overdue debts, chopping off the
pinky fingers of those who dared ask for an extension, he was the most feared and effective loan shark in the Bonanno family which rarely ever let a debt go unpaid. "Nevermind that, how is the situation?" Joe waved his hand, dispelling the topic and asking only for Pinky to hesitate.
"It isn't good, the dirty money is flowing but when we go to clean in-"
BAM
Joe's fist slamd on his desk, a vein protruding from his forehead as that budding rpoblem
occurred once more.
"Those f*cking pinkertons." Joe seethed, his voice a low whisper laced with venom as Pinky closed his eyes and nodded, the weight of their failed plan settling heavily between them.
It had been Joe's sche all along, sending the Pinkertons under the guise of targeting
Marshall.
But the true purpose was far more calculated: to test Ricky.
There were many ways this could have played out, and Joe had accounted for most of them.
If the Pinkertons survived, they'd report back to him, allowing Joe to assess Ricky's strength
and weaknesses firsthand.
If they were killed, their deaths would beco ammunition, a perfect tool for leverage
against Ricky.
But what Joe hadn't foreseen, what no one could have anticipated from the Ricky they all thought they knew, was that he didn't just fend them off, he flipped them.
That reckless image Ricky once carried wasn't just a ans to prove to those closest to him
that he had changed, it had also beco a weapon for his enemies, a blade they were all too eager to wield against him.
But as ti passed, they were beginning to realize a harsh truth: Ricky wasn't the sa man
they thought they knew.
He had changed.
And in their case, it wasn't for the better.
"They've been aggressive," Pinky began, his voice steady but laced with frustration.
"Disrupting our business without breaking any laws. Delaying the production chains,
ssing with the money drops, everything we usually hire them to fend off, they're turning
around and using against us. And the worst part?" Pinky paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"We can't touch them, because it's all 'legal." Pinky continued, his tone sharpening,
highlighting why their hands were effectively tied when it ca to dealing with the
Pinkertons.
However, it was the underlying ssage behind the Pinkertons' actions that made Joe seethe,
practically steaming from his ears.
The Pinkertons weren't just hired guns, they were the enforcers of the wealthy elite, the relentless hounds unleashed whenever the rich needed dirty work done.
They had a history of crushing union strikes, intimidating workers, and dismantling any
semblance of fair treatnt for the downtrodden.
To put it bluntly, the Pinkertons were the hired dogs of the rich, and that's what infuriated Joe
the
most.
Their actions didn't just threaten his operations; they carried a veiled warning. If Joe decided to retaliate and take them out, he wouldn't just be crossing swords with so
rcenaries, he'd be declaring war on the upper echelon of society, the sa wealthy class that funded them.
And therein lay the real danger since going after the Pinkertons wasn't just about handling a
nuisance; it risked alienating powerful allies or, worse, making enemies of the people who had the resources to make his life a living hell.
Joe wasn't afraid of a fight, but a battle too soon against the rich could destabilize everything
he'd built.
The only way Joe could take any action was if the Pinkertons crossed the line, but these
weren't amateurs.
The Pinkertons had been playing this ga for decades, and they had perfected the art of not
only not stepping on that line, but tight roping it.
"Impede them for now, pull so of our goons off the protection racket and guard duty to put
bodies in front of them," Joe ordered swiftly, Pinky nodding before he let out a wicked smile. "I'll handle Slick."
It was just then that a mob boss within the Commission, soone of Joe's caliber, looked upon the crackling of the fire, his eyes narrowing as the flas danced.
The warmth from the fire seed to mock the cold calculations swirling in his mind.
"Boss, he said he'd take care of it for a favor-" One of the grunts walked toward the highly respected man, his figure cloaked in the shadows.
The low light barely illuminated his hardened features, but the weight of his presence was
unmistakable.
"Do it, just make sure it's taken care of." So hours later at Alina's Residence,
At Alina's house, a dinner was being held where Marco served his family a cuisine he was
trying to perfect, the warm glow of the dining room contrasting sharply with the darkness creeping around the house.
As laughter echoed through the walls, a growing sense of unease took hold outside. n, like shadows in the night, silently surrounded the house, their guns glinting under the
pale moonlight as deadly eyes locked onto the peaceful scene within, each figure poised, waiting.
Marco, unaware of the looming threat, continued to serve Moxie another helping of mac and cheese, his hands steady, focused on perfecting the al.
But in that mont, one of the n raised his gun, the cold tal aid at the unsuspecting
cook.
Ti seed to slow as the atmosphere shifted from warmth and comfort to impending danger. SPLAT
A large chunk was suddenly torn from one of the n, his mouth opening in a silent scream,
but a decayed hand swiftly clamped over it, muffling his terror.
Chaos erupted in an instant, contrary to the peaceful dinner inside, outside it was turning into
a deadly nightmare.
The hitn who had once been poised and nacing were now silently overwheld, their
weapons useless against the unseen threat.
Ten hitn were completely overwheld by the fifty crawlers recently displaced and
unearthed around Alina's house.
They all tried to raise their guns, desperately firing into the night, but for every hitman, there
were five zombies tearing into their flesh.
One by one, their bodies gruesoly disappeared into the shadows, dragged into the night by
forces beyond their comprehension.
"W-What the hell!" One shouted, seeing eight of his brother, his friends, gruesoly ripped
apart in what felt like seconds.
"Rico, we gott-" One of the n looked towards the young and frightened Rico, reaching out
only for the Zombies to suddenly grab him.
"Rico?" The man forced an unnerving smile, looking upon the young man who fell to his
knees in horror at what was happening before him.
"AHHHHHHHHHH-" The man's scream echoed into the night, a desperate cry for help that was abruptly silenced as a rotting hand reached up and ripped into his throat with sickening
precision.
Blood sprayed out in a violent burst, coating the nearby ground in crimson as the zombie yanked his throat apart, ripping through muscle like it was just paper.
The man's eyes widened in terror, his hands clutching at the empty space where his voice once was, his desperate attempt to breathe cut short by the relentless tearing of his flesh. The zombies were unyielding, relentless, their jaws working in synchrony to pull him apart.
The flesh of his arms, his torso, his legs, each part was thodically torn away, bones snapping under the weight of the undead assault as each of the zombies pulled their part of it to the shadows to feast on.
All the while the man's screams turned into a wet, choking gasp, his body twitching as the crawlers dug deeper into him, pulling out chunks of at with terrifying efficiency. His limbs, once strong and defiant, were now nothing more than ragged stumps, discarded as
the zombies feasted on what remained of him.
Rico sat there, speechless, his eyes wide in horror as he watched the carnage unfold before
him.
His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of disbelief and disgust gripping him as the once-feared hitman who had been his uncle was reduced to a bloody heap of flesh and bone. However this ti, the family having a warm al inside heard that blood curdling shout that
made their skin crawl.
"Ma, get them!" Marco shouted, his voice raw with panic as he turned and sprinted toward
the broom closet.
His heart pounded in his chest as he yanked open the door, grabbing the double-barrel
shotgun from its place.
He didn't pause to think, moving instinctively to defend his family from the chaos unfolding
outside.
But he had no idea just how much worse things were about to beco as the n who had
co to destroy them would have welcod a quick death by his gun. "Momma?" Moxie tilted his head, his voice filled with confusion as he looked up at her.
Alina quickly scooped him into her arms, pulling the bewildered Sophia close to her side.
She tightened her grip on the children, her protective instincts kicking in as she scanned for
any possible escape and rushed toward the basent. anwhile, Marco's hands were slick with sweat as he'd never killed anyone, never even held
a gun before.
The weight of the double barrel shotgun felt foreign in his grasp, the cold tal
uncomfortably heavy as his fingers fumbled for a steady grip.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat deafening as he slowly made his way to the front
door.
BAM
"YOU F*CKING BASTARDS, I DARE YOU-huh?" Marco's voice bood, kicking the door open
as his finger was tightening on the trigger as he pointed the double barrel shotgun toward
what he thought was an intruder.
But instead of a looming threat, only a single leaf danced in the wind, fluttering in front of
him.
His brow furrowed as his gaze swept across the empty space, and with a confused grunt, he
slowly lowered the gun.
There was nothing. No signs of anyone. No sounds.
Stepping cautiously onto the porch, Marco continued his search, but still, nothing seed out
of place.
His chest tightened, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, but the tension in the air
felt
wrong. Without a word, he let the shotgun fall to his shoulder and walked back inside the house.
With a scowl etched on his face, Marco moved to the landline, his fingers trembling slightly as
The dialed a number.
"Who may I connect you with- "
"Slick, ###-#### and tell em it's Marco." Marco said, his voice edged with urgency as he
recited the ergency number Ricky had given to Alina. She had never used it, but Marco wasn't about to let hesitation get in his way as it was a
number that, in the back of his mind, he had always known could be a lifeline, sothing he'd
never thought he'd actually need, but here he was.
"What's up Marco, you guys low on cash?" Ricky picked up the phone, sitting on the edge of
the bed as Ravne laid panting behind him, completely naked. "Listen, I wouldn't usually call you but I heard a scream and I need you to co down here,
make sure the coast is-"
"What happened?" Ricky's voice cut through the silence as he appeared through the portal,
his posture nonchalant despite the situation.
He was only in his boxers, but the gravity of the situation was never lost on him since if his kid
was nearby, no threat was mild.
Marco quickly explained the chaos, his words spilling out in rapid succession, telling him how
they were having a al until they heard this blood curdling scream and it set them all off.
Snap
Ricky snapped his fingers sharply, the sound echoing in the quiet night and slowly, the shadows seed to stir as zombies began to erge, their grotesque forms moving with eerie precision.
Ricky had warned them that they were given zombie guards but Marco didn't think he was
actually serious, unnerved at the re sight of them. Watching, two zombies erged from the darkness, each holding not an unconscious man,
but an injured cat in their decayed hands.
The animal's limp body hung between them, blood staining its fur but behind them, Rico's
form was dragged, his mouth covered by one of the zombies as his limbs were pinned firmly
to the ground, helpless and squirming.
"Wait-no, I'm sure it was a man screaming!" Marco's face reddened in embarrassnt, seeing the cat let out simring wails at the gash in its stomach. "Hey man I'm not judging, but way to go all out with the shotgun." Ricky laughed, nudging
Marco's shoulder as he ducked his head at this turn of events. "Aye don't get down on yourself since next ti, it might not be a cat." Ricky patted his head,
his eyes looking towards the bushes and making eye contact with Rico before turning the
young kid away from the grueling scene ahead of him.
"But hey, don't hesitate to call , even if it's just for an injured cat, got it?" Ricky smirked,
giving Marco a knowing look.
Marco nodded silently, his face flushing in embarrassnt before he glanced back at him and
trying to find the right words to say.
"Thanks, Ricky, for coming here so fast." Marco rubbed the back of his neck, his voice sincere.
Ricky responded with a simple thumbs-up, his expression stoic but acknowledging the
gratitude.
"No problem, man. Call anyti." Ricky smiled, watching Marco nod and walk back into
the house.
But as soon as Marco disappeared inside, Ricky's smile imdiately vanished, replaced by a
cold, rageful look.
Ricky could have told Marco the truth, could have pulled him into the ss that was his world,
but he couldn't.
Moxie was going to be dragged into Ricky's world, whether he liked it or not, simply because
he was his son.
But Marco reminded him too much of Rocco and couldn't bear to see that light in Marco's eyes
fade the way it had with Rocco.
Marco was a good kid; passionate about cooking, focused on his craft but Ricky knew the kid
had a weakness, a vulnerability.
If Marco ever learned the full extent of what had transpired, Ricky was sure he'd abandon his
dream of becoming a chef to take on the weight of protecting his mother, his family. Ricky wouldn't let that happen as he wasn't about to let Marco's life be consud by this.
Ricky was strong enough to bear the burden for both of them, and as he turned to look at the
crying Rico, he realized he was ruthless enough, too.
Snap
A portal materialized next to Rico and without hesitation, the zombies that had been pinning
him down shifted into action.
Their eyes, vacant and cold, locked onto the young man as they dragged him toward the
swirling vortex.
He cried out, desperate, but his cries were drowned by the rotted hands placed on his throat as
Ricky followed the scene.
They threw him into the portal with a force that left him gasping for breath, and without a
mont's hesitation, the zombies returned to their programd task.
The crawlers, the uncommon ones, were almost like living machines.
Their movents were precise, instinctual, chanical in the way they executed their tasks.
Their minds were nothing more than echoes of their commands, unshakable in their
obedience.
The orders that were given by Ricky were clear and absolute:
-Guard Alina and her family with your lives.
-Ensure at least one survives.
Ricky stepped barefoot into the portal, the cool, unseen ground beneath him feeling strangely
grounding.
He spared a brief glance at the crawlers, their grotesque forms frozen in place, their tasks
complete.
A subtle nod of acknowledgnt passed between him and the undead creatures, an unspoken
recognition of their efficient brutality.
His gaze then shifted downward, focusing on the sniveling young man before him.
The boy trembled, his face pale and contorted in fear, his body shaking with the weight of the
terror he'd just experienced.
Ricky stood tall, silent and composed, towering over him like a predator eyeing its prey.
"P-Please, please don't kill -ARGH!" Rico begged, he pleaded while grabbing Ricky's foot
only for the other to press against his head.
"Do you think of as so f*cking chump?" Ricky's voice was low, venomous, as he
crouched down, his smile twisted with a cruel edge.
"What? Did you think I was just gonna let you walk out of here after you ca after my girl"
Ricky let out a dry, humorless chuckle that echoed in the silence of the room, the sound
almost mocking.
Rico's sobs grew louder, the weight of Ricky's words sinking in as every breath felt like a
struggle, the terror pressing in on him from all sides.
The
laughter echoing from Ricky's mouth, empty and cold, only deepened his panic, making
his body shake harder with fear.
"There's only two options for you." Ricky's voice was hateful, filled to its brim with only
anger as he pressed his bare foot firmly onto Rico's head, pinning him down.
"A quick and painless death or a long, drawn-out, agonizing one. Choose." Rico's body trembled beneath the weight of Ricky's foot, his breath shallow as fear gripped
him as his mouth opened, but no words ca.
"JESUS F*CKING CHRIST, STOP CRYING ABOUT HOW YOUR LIFE IS OVER AND ANSWER !" Ricky yelled, his voice booming into Rico's ringing ears as the young man bellowed out. "Quick and painless~" Rico cried, unbelieving that his life was really about to be snipped out
but he couldn't face like a man, his weeping coming out even louder.
Sigh
"Unbelievable, you co to kill a family or abduct them or whatever, and you're crying,
really?" Ricky pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling incredibly annoyed only for it to deepen
at a pool of yellow liquid forming beneath him.
"OH CO ON!" Ricky yelled out, embarrassed for this young mobster who was cradled into a
ball surrounded into a pool of his own piss.
"I-I-I'm s-s-s-s-sorry-" Rico sniffled out, stuttering through the sobs as Ricky wiped his
hand across his face.
SIGH
"Just tell who sent you, let's get this over with." Ricky sighed out heavily, feeling that this
had gone on further than it should and he had barely t this guy.
SNIFF
SNIFF
SNIFF
"I-I was sent by Mr. Nitti from the Nitti family- "
"You're kidding, that wimp?" Ricky laughed, shaking his head in disbelief while slicking his
hand through his hair.
Out of all the mob bosses in the Commission, he never expected Frank Nitti to be the one to
make the first move against him.
Living in Al Capone's shadow for so long, Frank had always been the type of guy who could
only look up at the big figures, never quite stepping into the lilight himself.
Yet, seemingly overnight, he suddenly beca the boss of the biggest cri organization in
Chicago.
"I'm sorry, I just can't believe it. Hold on," Ricky said honestly, his voice laced with disbelief. Without another word, he opened a portal and stepped through, leaving Rico sniffling in the
silence, completely alone in the dim light.
Minutes later, Ricky returned, Chester in tow, his body still slack with exhaustion, his face
frozen in the quiet serenity of sleep.
The mont they stepped through the portal, however, the calm was shattered as Chester's
eyes snapped open as he was suddenly thrust into whatever chaotic situation this was.
"Why is there a young man crying in a puddle of what I assu to be, piss?" Chester tilted his
head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Rico, who was curled up on the floor, his face
twisted in sha and fear.
The sight of the trembling young man seed almost pitiful, but Chester's voice was laced
with a hint of curiosity, his tone cold and detached, as if he were rely observing a strange
specin rather than the ss before him. "It's because I'm gonna kill him once all this is done." Ricky said to Chester, his voice calm
but filled with an unsettling finality as he turned to Rico, his tone turning furious.
"But he's too much of a chicken-sh*t coward to stop pissing and crying everywhere!" Ricky
yelled, deaning the young man further which only worsened the situation in its entirety. Rico's whines grew louder, his body shaking as the weight of Ricky's words hit him, but
nothing could escape the looming dread that hung in the air. "I'M SORRY!" Rico sobbed, his voice echoing through the cavernous warehouse, his tears
falling like a river of regret and pooling into the piss lake that was his own undoing. Chester flapped his wings above Rico, his eyes locked onto the young man's, and in an instant, Rico's pupils dilated.
Ricky slowly approached, his footsteps deliberate, until he stopped just inches away from the
puddle of tears and urine that Rico had beco. "Who sent you?"
"Frank Nitti."
"No seriously, who sent you?"
"Frank Nitti."
"No but like, urgh, did Joe ask Frank Nitti-"
"No."
"There's no way it was Frank Nitti."
"It was Frank Nitti."
"Well, I guess it was Frank Nitti." Ricky stood up, rubbing his chin before nodding to himself.
"Can I go back to sleep now?" Chester asked, perching on his shoulder on Ricky was lost in
thought.
"Yeah, go nuts." Ricky, clearly in his one world, replied half-hazardly to Chester who shook
his head and flew back into the portal. 10 minutes later,
A car drove towards Chicago though it wasn't the letter informing Frank Nitti of the
ergency eting of the commission taking place but instead, Ricky.
"I understand why you are going on this grand quest to quell the burning thirst of vengeance,
but why am I here?"
And Alexander.
The gerbil, having heard the reason behind Ricky's relentless pursuit, understood completely
why he was driving toward Frank Nitti's residence with such fury.
However, Alexander knew they were just ordinary n, humans, whom Ricky could easily
handle on his own.
"For the company?" Ricky asked Alexander, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he figured it
would be a bit odd, and honestly, kind of cringy, if he went in alone.
"Fair enough."
Author's Note: hey guys, thanks alot for the understanding and for being so cool with
shifting the chapters for this week. I'm feeling way better and other than a gross ass cough, I'm fine, anyways hope you enjoy!
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