▶ Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust (closed)

Blood and dislodged teeth scattered the pavement of the abandoned warehouse. Asian men in suits laid toppled—some in a makeshift mound, while others hung over railings with blood cascading from open gashes. Juelz Santana stood over the carnage—arms and legs illuminating a faint blue hue as giant chunks of pavement around him seemed to be missing. Crawling away from the bloodied Kingpin would be the leading factor of this little rag-tag group of Triad Elites. Like a phantom, he vanished and appeared directly in front of the broken and bruised leader.

"Where is he..."

Santana spoke in an eerie tone as he lifted the Elite up by his black locks. The man squirmed in pain as Juelz' Conqueror's Brand bestowed divine judgement on the sinful soul. No words could be exchanged due to the shock and fear the man was undergoing this very instant. He just witnessed his entire guard get annihilated by a single boy—a child who shouldn't even have known they were here. A thousand and one questions rushed through the head of the Elite until Juelz finally grew impatient.

The finishing blow...

Crashing through the 3^rd story window, the cocaine connoisseur landed upon the old pavement, leaving behind a crater as he did so. He slowly rose to his feet as he glanced around the abandoned and dark district. He was covered head to toe in the blood of his enemies as he took a step forward. That step caused a jolt of pain to surge through his body—he ceased all movements and collapsed to a single knee.

"Now is not the time..."

Breaking the eerie silence of the abandoned warehouse district, the roaring engines of exotic and powerful vehicles raced in his general direction—the sound of skidding tires served ass concrete proof. None apart of his faction should know of his location or vindicator-esque intentions this faithful night. So the roaring engines and sliding tires were more than likely not racing to assist him and that was one risk he was not willing to take at this very moment. Juelz rose to his feet with grinding teeth associated with a grunt. Utilizing what remaining energy he had, the teenager sprinted with all his might over to the moldy and rotting docks of the district.

There, floating in the water, resided an abandoned yacht on the verge of sinking. Without a second thought he leaped into the moldy deck, hugging his exhausted body among the boards and listening as the squadron of cars came to a slow crawl.

Who the fuck are these guys...?