|In A Pinch, We Lynch [PC/NPC Hit]
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|Author:||Samaad Jackson [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:42 pm ]|
|Post subject:||In A Pinch, We Lynch [PC/NPC Hit]|
Playin' Tha Race Card
You know, race is the deciding factor in so many things in our life. Blacks get affirmitave action, whites get the same thing that they had been getting for hundreds of years, and the mix between the two struggles to find their true identities. Race determines where we live, what we eat, who we associate with, what kind of jobs we get, and how we live our lives in general. Martin Luther King made a speech that can be echoed in schools to this very day, yet no one truly listened. No, black is still black, and white is still white. Blacks hate whites, whites hate blacks. Nothing had arose from that speech, no one had evolved. The same fucking white cracker bastards that thought they owned the world, continued to terrorize the black race to this very day. Blacks, aside from your average street hood, didn't have a single way to fight back. Sure someone may rise once in a while and get a revenge for a particular act, but the majority of the time they'd just wind up dead themselves. No, never were there any true organized attacks to get revenge for the brothers that had gone out at the hands of the white man who killed them for the color of their skin.
All that however, was all about to change. The Nazi faggots fucked with the wrong family this time around. Whether they expected it or not, they were about to get a taste of what happens when you fuck with the family of a Hardcore G from that Krainz Woodz motherfuckin' Kingz.
|Author:||Clyde Hampton [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:43 pm ]|
God has blessed us all with some form of talent. Some have beautiful voices, but donâ€™t utilize or pursue the gift; some are born with grace, charm, and rhythm, but wonâ€™t dance. They are unmotivated like the uncultivated beautiful flower that grows in the wilderness that got trampled and just withered away. One thing was for sure; Uncâ€™ C had a gift. He had a wonderful gift that many didnâ€™t get blessed with, and he wasnâ€™t going to let it go to waste.
Murder; itâ€™s a touchy subject. The human life was so fragile, and could be taking away by the pull of a trigger, or the swing of a knife. Clyde was never a big fan of murder; he would rather use his gift of finesse than to take a humanâ€™s life. Sometimes, there was no avoiding murder, and Clyde knew this. Sitting at the bar, the retired pimp looked at the front page of a newspaper; â€œTwo African-American Men Murdered in Brightmoorâ€
|Author:||Samaad Jackson [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:44 pm ]|
Getting Tha News
The news had hit Samaad like a ton of bricks. Here he had been chillin' wit' his boys on the streets, laughin' at the punk ass crabs who had been keepin' their pinchers outta Krainz Woodz, when his uncle came over. Now the two of them had a nice relationship, and outta all his family, it was always Uncle C who had understood why Samaad had turned to the streets. When Uncle C first delievered the news, Samaad couldn't show his emotion. The first words out of his mouth had been those vowing revenge. Now, as he wandered the street by himself, hands in his pockets looking down at the ground, he felt his mind haze up with sadness. Joseph and Kareem had both been good cats. Samaad had always been older than them, so he considered it a personal responsiblity to watch out for them. He had always sent money to 'em back home. Visited from time to time, and schooled these boys on the art of survivin' on the streets.
About a year back, Joseph had gotten his long time girlfriend pregnant. He had no money, no job, and no education. He was lost and confused about what to do, so he turned to the bottle. A month passed with Joseph terrorizing everything in his path. In that month Joseph squandered what few job oppertunities he had, lost the mother of his child, and isoloated himself from all those who knew and loved him. When Samaad recieved news of all this, he attempted to call his cousin, but Joseph refused to talk to him. For about a day, Samaad decided to let Joseph do what he wanted to do. 'Fuck him' was the term Samaad had used. Still, after letting the anger simmer down, 'Big Knockout' realized he had a responsibility as this niggas cousin to watch out for him. A day later, Samaad had arrived at Brightmoor, and kicked in the door of the broken ass crib Joseph had been staying at. Joseph (With a bottle of whiskey in his hand) stumbled up, but his state of mind prevented from him being able to do anything serious. Within seconds of entering, Samaad delievered a powerful shot to his cousin's head, and knocked him to the ground. Reaching into his waistband, Samaad had retrieved his Desert Eagle, and put it into Joseph's mouth.
"You wanna be dead nigga?" Samaad recalled asking. "...cuz if you do, you're headin' on the right track. Shit, me blastin' you right now would just speed up the process...". A few pistol whips later, Joseph was in teers blubbering about shit that Samaad couldn't even understand. Samaad stayed with Joseph for the next week, making sure he'd get the proper attention. When Joseph recovered, it was as if he grew a new personality. He instantly got a job, got the mother of his soon to be born child back, and truly straigtened his life around. When the baby came, he was showered with gifts from his loving pops, and treated with more care and respect than Joseph had ever shown anyone. His death came too soon, and the fact that he had managed to turn his life around so well, made this death sting much, much more.
Kareem unlike his older brother had always been a good kid. Homeboy had gotten fairly good grades, and was on his way to Michigan next year on a full football scholarship. Being the first one outta this branch of the family to get into an elite University, everyone planned big things for Kareem. He'd be a doctor, no a lawyer, no the first black president. Unfortunately it wasn't in god's plans for him to be any of those things. On one night, fate intervened and sent this promising young cat with a future like no other, to a sad and humiliating death accompanied by his brother and baby nephew.
Baby Sha'reef, that's the one that broke Samaad's heart the most. Stumbing, Samaad caught himself on a nearby stop sign pole, and put his hands to his eyes. Baby Sha'reef had been born with an irregular heart condition. The doctors predicted that there was only a ten percent chance that the boy would survive past his first two weeks. Because Joseph hadn't had the dough, Samaad had paid for second, third, and fourth opinions from various doctors, all whom agreed that it was unlikely the baby would live. After turning to his faith, Joseph prayed each and every day that his baby survive. On the fourteenth day, the second week of Sha'reef's existance he lapsed into a coma. The doctors rushed to him, yet he majestically woke up without anything being done to him. When tests were ran on him, they found that somehow the heart condition was no longer there. Even the most skeptical doctors had agreed that this was some sort of miracle. Now, months later, that strong baby, after all his struggle, after the fight he had put up like the realest Gangsta on the streets, found himself dead with his skull busted in by some pussy ass bitches who chose to pick on a baby a third of their size.
Samaad couldn't fight it any longer, letting out a shout, he began hitting anything in his site. The mailbox, the pole, the brick building in front of him, everything. Finally, Samaad stop. Breathing heavily, the Hardcore G stared at his bloodied knuckles, before putting them down to his sides, and going to his apartment.
All of the homies were out, so it was just him. After contemplating the right moves, Samaad realized he wouldn't be able to do this alone. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a cell phone, and chirped two niggas he knew would be down to help him out. Bryan and Franklin came to the crib within an hour, and sat down across from Samaad. Both looked at him questioningly, seeing he was clearly angrier than he had been earlier that day.
"My fam in B-More.." Samaad began, "...I gotta find out who got 'em. They was all good niggas..went down for the count too motherfuckin' early. I need ya'll to help me though..I ain't sure how to go 'bout this.."
The three highest ranked G's in the KWK sat quietly in the room, considering their options. Finally, Franklin spoke up.
Franklin: " If we can find out where they got taken at, we'd at least have a place to start homie..."
"Yeah..you're right.." Samaad admitted, kicking himself that he hadn't thought of it.
Reaching into his pocket, Samaad removed his phone once again, and dialed up his auntie in Brightmoor. One long conversation later, Samaad had all the details.
"From what the pigs told Aunt T, they was seen abducted at this blockbuster, and the next time they were seen was when they was found dead.."
Bryan: "Alright..so here's what we gotta do. 'Maad, go get wit' ya connections up in North Detroit, get us a borrowed ride, some vests, and a bunch of ammunition fo' the straps.". As Samaad nodded to this, Bryan turned to Franklin. "..you homie, take big Rob and one of ya boys, and roll on down to B-More and see what you can find out at that blockbuster. If you find anything, or anyone we can press on, bring 'em to my crib and we'll get it done..."
Everyone nodded, and got up outta their seat, and headed to the door. Whoever had killed Samaad's fam had fucked with the wrong niggas, and they'd about to see why.
|Author:||Franklin Kennedy [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:45 pm ]|
[size=92]Gatherin' Tha Intel
One thing that the hood was renowned for was the way these cats handled themselves on family business. Turned out that a cousin of Samaadâ€™s was practically lynched in a Blockbuster store and the innocent nigga went down for the count. Naturally when Samaad and they homies got word of this they were off to light up any punk that got in the way, and thatâ€™s where Franklin came in. He was sent up into Brightmoor with Samaadâ€™s boy Robert an up and coming King and good old [i]â€œGlock Handsâ€
|Author:||Samaad Jackson [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:47 pm ]|
Strappin' Up, Gearin' Up, Whippin' Up, and Preparin' to Lock Down
The Escalade came to a full stop outside of Jimmy's Warehouse in North Detroit, and Samaad along with Dre and Tavon exited the vehicle. Robert had gone out with Big Franklin to handle their shit in Detroit, so Samaad felt a slightly exposed without his main muscle around. Still, business was business, and with or without Rob that business would be handled. The big mother fucker watchin' the door saw them comin' from a mile away, and grinned as he extended his hand out.
Doorman: "My niggas 'Maad, T, and Dre..where ya'll been at?"
"'ey homie, you know us...always got somethin' to handle. 'ey though, is Jimmy in today. It's important.."
The cat at the door suddenly got a straight face, and shook his head at Samaad.
Doorman: "'ey now homie, you know the rules. Jimmy done paid you back when he helped ya'll wit' 'em Mexicans in Brightmoor, you and him is even now...he ain't in debt to you no mo'...
"I know..but this is important. I'LL owe him for this one.."
The doorman took a deep breath in, before shaking his head and telling Samaad to hold on. Dissapearing into the warehouse, he re-appeared moments later without the Italian weasel himself, Jimmy. Jimmy offered Samaad a smile, and extended his hand.
Jimmy: "Samaad, fellas, to what do I owe this visit?"
"Business homie, you got anywhere we can go talk.."
Jimmy bit his lip, and eyed Samaad. Finally, he nodded his head. Motioning with his hand for Samaad to follow, he began walking.
Jimmy: "Let's go to my office, leave your homies here..."
Shooting the fellas a look, Samaad made sure they stopped in their tracks. Although Dre could be seen getting a little tense about being excluded, Tavon pulled him back and gave Samaad a nod. Times like these was when Samaad most realized why Tavon was his best man, and the heart of his squad. Following Jimmy into his office, Samaad shut the door behind them and watched Jimmy sat down. Once he did, Jimmy motioned for Samaad to take a seat across from him, a request that 'Big Knockout' obliged.
Jimmy: "So Samaad, what can I do for you?"
Taking a deep breath in, Samaad decided to let Jimmy know the bare minimum as far as details went.
"Basically, me and the homies are pullin' a job soon, and we're gonna need ya help. We need an untraceable ride, some vests, and some ammunition for the AK's..."
Leaning back in his leather chair, Jimmy eyed Samaad closely.
Jimmy: "You understand though Samaad, that after helping you with those Mexicans, I'm out of debt to you and the Kingz. If you want my help, it'll cost you."
Jimmy: "A hundred grand to cover all expenses, and I'll furfull all of your requsts. You'll get ammunition, vests, the car, and at the end we'll break the car into little pieces for you. The usual, but it'll cost one hundred G's.."
"You outta your mind Jimmy? I ain't givin' you nothin' that even resembles a hundred motherfuckin' Gs...". Maybe it was the emotion from losing his family, maybe it was something else, but Samaad suddenly felt the anger blow up within him. "...when your ass was gettin' hit harder than pussy in a whorehouse you done came to me with no motherfuckin' cash to help you. Me and my boys helped you as FAVOR. We ain't charged ya ass, we just asked thatcha remember what we did for ya if we ever needed ya help. Now I'm comin' to you, and you fuckin' gonna charge me?".
Samaad rose up out of his seat, and started heading for the door angrily, when another thought hit him. Reaching into his waistband, Samaad retrieved his Beretta. Taking aim at Jimmy, he could see the weasle of an Italian man's eyes nearly roll up into the top of his head.
"Now Jimmy, I'mma ask you this one more motherfuckin' time. Will you, or will you not help me as a favor to me?"
Finally, Jimmy gave in. Truth was, he could've easily set Samaad up with a bum ride, or tipped off the police, but he wouldn't do it. Whether he admitted it or not, Jimmy understood that by doing this favor for Samaad, Samaad was now in HIS debt. Having a Hardcore G owe you a little somethin' somethin' was money in the fucking bank.
Jimmy: "Fine..go get Malik to give you what you need. Call me later when you're going to need my help for breaking the car."
As Samaad placed the gun back into his waistband, and turned his back to Jimmy getting ready to step out, Jimmy called out to him.
Jimmy: "Wait a second Samaad..."
As Samaad turned around back to Jimmy, he raised his head a little bit and waited for him to speak.
Jimmy: "This isn't because you put a gun to me...make sure you get that through your head. And if you EVER, put a gun to me again, you won't be walking about out of this place."
Samaad had to laugh. To the average person this wouldnt've been funny, but for some reason Samaad just busted up. He had rescued this little bitch nigga from cats that would've torn him to pieces, and all of a sudden Jimmy was a G? Haha..if homeboy wasn't bendin' over backwards and giving Samaad everything he needed, he'd woulda had two in his skull long ago.
Turning back around, Samaad pulled the office door open, and headed out. Once outside, he met up with Malik and explained to him everything that he'd need. After Malik listened to the whole list, he called up Jimmy to verify everything that had been told him. Once it was, he got a few of his boys to set things up. An hour later, Malik handed over the keys to a 2004 Black Caddilac Escalade to Samaad. Within the car were six bulletproof vests, tons of ammunition for Desert Eagles, Berettas, Glocks, and PPKs. Inside was also ammunition for AK's and Uzis, as well as four plain black bags to carry anything needed in.
When Samaad got the keys to the car, he walked back outside and told Tavon and Dre everything that had gone down. Once the story was complete, Samaad gave Tavon keys to the old Escalade, and watched his boys drive off. Samaad then proceeded to get into the new Escalade and drive off as well.
|Author:||Bryan Williams [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:48 pm ]|
[size=92]Breakin' Crackers to Little Pieces
[i]â€œMade by a woman, I was raised by a woman, so I never love a bitch, but I stay by my womenâ€
|Author:||Samaad Jackson [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:49 pm ]|
It's game time baby..After disposing of the remains of the dumb cracker that gave up his homies when he was gonna die anyway, Samaad, Franklin, and Bryan all made their way back to Samaad's apartment. As soon as they entered the apartment, they saw Dre, Tavon, and DeMarius on the floor cleanin' out the straps that they'd be bringing along. Emerging from the bedroom was Robert, dressed in black jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a black ski mask resting on the top of his head so that it looked like a beanie. On his hands were black leather gloves, and on his feet comfortable black kicks. Walking over to one of the straps that lay on the floor, he picked it up and grinned.
Robert: "Haha...that's why I'm talkin' 'bout nigga.."
"Don't hurtcha self now.." Samaad joked.
Picking up the bag, Samaad tossed it to Robert, who in turn shoved his AK into it. From the bathroom emerged Maurice 'Ice' Thompson, the ol' school G who was as cool of an assassin as they come. Maurice was dressed identically to Robert, all black, G wear. Samaad shot him a grin as he checked out the straps they'd be using.
"What ya think homie..?"
Maurice: "Oh I don't know.." he replied, coming over and picking up an AK. After measuring and aiming it a bit, he placed it too in a bag and grinned at Samaad, "...I think I can get used to it though.."
Samaad decided that he didn't need to wait any longer. Making his way into the bedroom, Samaad took out his own Gangsta wear. Putting his black jeans, black tee, black sweatshirt, black gloves, and black ski mask on, Samaad's outift matched that of Robert's and Maurice's exactly. As Samaad laced up his black kicks, he realized that he was missing something. Reaching into the drawer by his bed, Samaad retrieved a thin silver chain with a cross pendent on it. Putting it around his neck, Samaad kissed the cross, and recalled as his cousin Joseph had given it to him when Joseph was in deep prayer for his son. Looking up at the ceiling, Samaad shook his head.
"I'mma get 'em for ya my nigga..."
Standing up off the bed, Samaad shoved his Beretta into his waistband, and made his way out of the bedroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bryan going in, to change into his gear, but Samaad was too busy to fully notice. Kneeling down on one knee, Samaad picked up an AK. Aiming it at the TV, Samaad felt that feeling inside of him again. That feeling comforted him, that feeling was the feeling that he always got when he was about to take somebody's life.
Ten minutes later, both Franklin and Bryan had dressed up in their own black gear. Each one of them wore gloves, and matching black clothes. Robert, Tavon, Dre, Demarius, Maurice, Franklin, Samaad, and Bryan stood in the middle of the living room like true soldiers, ready to go out to battle, each dressed in their specific war gear. As they headed for the door, Samaad picked up the black bag containing all the shit that they'd need, and caught a glimpse of the clock. It was almost eleven, pefect. Hopefully, they'd be there sometime in the night, catch these bitch ass crackers off guard.
As they piled into the 'new' Escalade outside, they looked at each other and said a quick prayer. Finally, Samaad looked at the drivers seat.
"Alright Tavon, let's roll..."
Within seconds, the 2004 Caddilac Escalade was off, heading to war in Brightmoor, Detroit.
|Author:||Franklin Kennedy [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:52 pm ]|
[size=92]Nazi Nightcap - Part 1
Brightmoor was a neighborhood turning into another one of the â€˜greatsâ€™ when it came to shitholes. Pimps and drug dealers tore this once quiet middle class neighborhood into one of deceit, degradation and bums. Most of the families round here werenâ€™t single parent they were usually 0 parent. Franklinâ€™s own cousin grew up like this, working like dog from that age of 12. Youâ€™d think all these diseased and addicted cases would turn Franklin away from a life of crime, but the opposite happened; he wanted to control it all. Now when he got wind of a new crew of Nazi copy cat skinheaded cats trying to start their own â€˜reign of terrorâ€™ Franklin was more than happy to put them into his own gas chamber. He wasnâ€™t on this freedom fighter style mission alone though; he was rolling with Samaad, Bryan and the rest of the KWK homies on this.
After riding through the slummiest areas of Brightmoor they were coming up a block or two off that apartment they were heading to when Franklin forced a stop. There was this lone prostitute working her corner, dicks were her bread and butter. Franklin was in the passenger seat after a little shifting in the car as they halted the vehicle. [b]â€œEy, bitch. Wanna earn a little paper? Hop in the back.â€
|Author:||Bryan Williams [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:52 pm ]|
[size=92]Nazi Nightcap Part 2
Tonight was time for the crackers to crumble. All the men in the vehicle had the same thing on their mind; murder. They were armed to the teeth with weaponry, and were the governments worst nightmare; niggaâ€™s with guns. Bryan had his black bandana tied around his face, as the other men rocked masks. Bryan was hood, what could he say. He would rather roll with his flag, and a nigga couldnâ€™t get mad at him for it. They all had cruel intentions on their minds, but were concentrated nonetheless. Tonight, the crackaâ€™s would get what was coming to them. They would kill the naziâ€™s, but not just for Samaadâ€™s dearly departed family, but for the black community as a whole. I know every brother wanted to put a bullet through a naziâ€™s skull, and couldnâ€™t denie it. [i]â€œDamn, I jesâ€™ wanna kill those muhâ€™fuckaâ€™sâ€¦â€
|Author:||Samaad Jackson [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:54 pm ]|
Nazi Nightcap Part 3
Damn, here they were, ready for everythin' and anything. For some damn reason, throughout the entire ride Samaad couldn't hear anyone talking or anything, but Against All Odds kept replaying in his head. Not the whole song, nah just a little bit of. 'Dressed in fatigues black jeans and boots, disapeared in the crowd all you seen was troops'. That pretty much summerized the little group that they had. Here they were, dressed in fatigues and dissapearing into the crowd 'til the moment of attack, at which point they'd rise back up and blast the niggas that had done wrong by 'em. Before Samaad had a chance to contemplate any more of it, they had come to a stop outside the decided location, the apartment of Derek Vineyard and Ian Ramsden. The dumb ho was let out of the car first, and Franklin went out with her. As they made their way to the door, Samaad shot 'Baby Heart' a look. He had wondered if he had made a mistake by bringing this young blood along the mission, but decided that they didn't have a choice. When Franklin reached the right place on the steps, the crew filed out of the car with a quickness. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, the first shots had been fired, and Franklin had fallen back to watchdog while the rest of the homies went in for a piece of cracker.
Fire came from all over, well actually it mostly came from Big Rob haha. Nigga was firing with a viciousness that most had never seen before. Bullets were splattering all over the room, and Nazi faggots were divin' for cover left and right. Unfortunately, the majority of them didn't find cover, nah they found their heads gettin' knocked of via Bryan, Maurice and Samaad. Finally, only two of their cats remained. Because they were firing back with their bullshit pistols, Samaad and Rob took cover on one side, while Maurice and Bryan took cover on the other. While Robert and Samaad reloaded, Bryan and Maurice decided to take shit into their own hands. Two seconds later, both Nazis were dead and ready to be buried, leaving only one cat. Haha..yeah buddy, this white boy was Samaad's.
Now Samaad couldn't be too sure about what it was, but he just had this feeling. Now 'Big KO' had never been a religious cat, but he some knew that this cat had something to do wit' his fam's death. Maybe he wasn't the triggerman, maybe he was the driver, but this bitch ass nigga had somethin' to do with it, and just for that, he'd get blasted the fuck away.
Giving Robert a nod, Samaad took a deep break, and waited. As Robert unleashed fire in the general direction of where Ian was standing, Samaad rose up and took quick aim. After getting the faggot Nazi in his sights, Samaad pulled the trigger. Instantly, three bullets found their way into Ian's body, causing two holes to open up in his throat, and one on his cheek. Ian dropped his weapon, and stumbled back, giving Samaad exactly the oppertunity he was looking for. Rising up from his spot, Samaad let shots rip from his AK hitting Ian in his hands, knees, and thighs. Samaad didn't aim for the chest or head for a reason, he wanted this nigga to suffer. As Ian lay with holes in his neck, arms, and legs, Samaad walked over to him, keeping his AK aimed. Biting his lip, he attempted to decide on how to best go about the situation. Ah well, he didn't want his bitch to get bored while he was waiting, so Samaad let a bullet fly straight into homeboy's crotch. God knows that the target was small, but Samaad was fairly certaintly it had hit the mark. Not that Ian could scream or anything, nah the bullets in his throat pretty much prevented that. 'Fuck it', aiming the gun at Ian's head, Samaad let the remaining bullets go into his skull, leaving a hole the size of two fifty cent pieces above his right eye. Now that he was dead, Samaad turned to his niggas.
"Alright...lets fall out.."
As all of them began to make their way out of the room, Samaad waited, wanting to be the last one to exit to make sure nothing was left behind that could incriminate them. Seeing that there was nothing there, Samaad started to make his way out of the room when something stopped him. Taking a look over his shoulder, Samaad looked at Ian who lay in a puddle of blood. Something was missing from him. Jogging over to the corpse, Samaad took something out of his pocket, and left it with Ian. A little token of his appreciation.
Minutes later, the Escalade was speeding to Jimmy's place, realizing that they had to get there to be scotch free. The drive took a few hours, but finally they arrived at the warehouse. Jimmy's man opened the door for them, and they entered through it. Getting out of the car, they watched as Jimmy's men took it apart piece by piece, and eventually nothing was left of their 'attack ride'.
While this was going on, one at a time, Samaad and his fellas went into the restroom and changed into street clothes that had been left at the warehouse earlier. By the time the last piece of the car was taken off, they were back in their streetclothes and looking like your average innocent hoodsta. After the car was done with, they were led to the furnace who's fire was burning brightly. One by one, they threw all of their black gear in their and watched it burn. As the last strand of the last mask burnt, so did the last piece of evidence that could incriminate them in this homicide.
After everything was done with, the crew went outside and waited for Mark Gunz to arrive in the old Escalade. Once he did, the gang hopped on in, and headed back to Krainz where they were dropped off at their respective cribs.
Back in the apartment, the Nazi skinheads were laying in a pool of blood on the floor, nothing setting one apart from the other. Actually, that wasn't entirely accurate. All of the skinheads EXCEPT Ian lay in a puddle of blood, with nothing distinguishing them from their faggot friends, Ian on the other hand, had a little treat left behind by Samaad. On top of Ian's face, rested one green bandana.
This bandana wouldn't means shit to any fed, but to the streets, it'd mean a whole lot. To feds, they'd find this thinking they struck gold. They'd run DNA checks, prints checks, and whatever else checks the pigs like to run. They won't find shit however, considering it had always been touched with gloves, and had never been on the inside of Samaad's streetclothes. Pigs aside though, on the streets this flag would be recognized as work of the KWK, and let motherfuckers know who truly ran these streets. That flag, signified that this wasn't a hit by some lucky ass punks, nah this was the work of true professionals, street professionals, Hoodstaz, Gangstaz...Kingz.
|Author:||Samaad Jackson [ Sat Mar 04, 2006 9:56 pm ]|
-Ian Ramsden Dead
-The NPC Derek Vineyard Dead..we don't want Guartini dead since he shifted from the gay side and onto an Italian character
-All of Guartini's NPCs Dead. Even though he's Italian now, your NPCs are still your NPCs
-The Apartment to be torn up and destroyed
-No evidence due to masks, gloves, and everything being burned and taken apart later
|Author:||Anthony Guartini [ Sun Mar 05, 2006 1:58 am ]|
Just a few notes:
1: Excellent job guys
2: I approve the death of my NPCs and destruction to the apartment
|Author:||Mr. T. [ Sun Mar 05, 2006 5:44 pm ]|
No arrest flag,
I like tag team stories... I like interaction between people... I liked the story.
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