"How'd I got to runnin' with the big shots? Now that's a long story..."
The true Son of Gothic laid on the tilted roof of an abandoned warehouse in South Gothic, in the warm embrace of his leather trenchcoat. Just staring away at his one and only patron saint, Gothic City. From the humble roof you could see the whole of her beauty, the contrast of her architecture and living conditions. The further you got from the warehouse the City gradually turned from dark anr rigid to sleek and crowded. The buildings in the center were so fancy that even the stars reflected in their windows. She was so stunning.
"...I was always an urchin, knew how to carjack before I even muttered my first word, how to run before I knew how to walk. But I guess I have to start with the authors of this masterpiece: My ever so hardly workin' mother and my spineless sh!t of a father. But I don't give him the credit he truly deserves though. He was the big bad Ted "Minced Meat" Crowne afterall! Never heard of the f*&ker? I am not suprised, he was kind of a joke. Just another muscle for the Borgata and a simpleton, really. His four basic functions were: Drink, Eat, Beat and Kill. Now as you can imagine my father carried out orders and tried to not rock the boat too much, thinking that his superiors "might not like that". He got stuck down in the rock bottom and never dared to climb higher. So I got to thank him, thank him for teachin' me what not to be..."
"...I think I was around fifteen or sixteen when 'my career' started, by that time my dad jumped ships and joined one of the newer gangs in the city. But he still didn't climb. That's when even he came to realize what a sorry a**hole he truly is. Just a lackey, good only to batter people into submission...And that he did. He beat on me every god damn day after that realization. *chuckle* On the Christmas Eve, I remember him walking over to me with a santa hat and handing me a coupon for some extra a**whoopin' along with a free ride to Gothic General. The best gift you could wish for from a guy they call 'Minced Meat'. It was a nice vacation, not that it lasted long since we couldn't afford the bills, but it was one of the few nice things I remember from my childhood..."
"...And I remember my arrival home so clearly. It was snowing that day, so hard that you couldn't see your feet. I come home and my momma is in the kitchen facing me with her back, cooking. As per usual, huh? But then I notice. Drip, drip, drip, the crimson droplets falling on the floor. My remember feeling like my world stopped for a second. I force her to look at me. FORCE HER. She didn't want me to know that while I was gone, she was the one who took my place. I think it's fair to say something died in me that day. *sigh*..."
"...I did what every son would. I ran to the old warehouse they used as a hideout as fast as my freshly mended legs carried me, bust through the door, no plan in mind, and first thing I see is the balding f*&ker playing poker by the table with his goons. At this point, I don't give a f*&k. All the anger and hate just cloud my mind, like a bull seeing red. I just take him over the head with a chair and whale on him. Just let all the steam go for once. For me, mom and every person that had the misfortune of dealing with him. Hit after hit, blood and teeth spray into the air and more of my stitches tear. I don't care, I am just lost like in a trance. But I didn't kill him then, I had a bit of conscience back then. A costly mistake later on. -- Never-the-less, as I said I come back to my senses I realize that I almost killed a gang member right in front of his accomplices. But they all just...smirk and it was not a "you gon' die boy" kind of smirk, but a "we all had to start somewhere" kind of smirk..."
"...That was my first gang. I ran with 'em for a good bit, but they were just two-bit mobsters. I didn't see pops for a few weeks then so it was just me and mom at home. For the first time everything was pitch perfect and I realized that I am good at being a crook. Heck, I ran basically ran the operation, but that was before my mistake came to haunt me. Just like before, kitchen and blood, but now mom wasn't standing and no drips, just a puddle of regret. She was dead and he was sitting there waiting for me with a bootle o' whiskey, a toothless grin and a loaded .45..."
"...I think it's fair to say that something died in me that day. And I buried it's remains deep, deeper than anyone would ever dare to search...along with that son of a b!tch..."
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