Post by Pretty Flacko on Mar 17, 2018 13:23:17 GMT
"Yeah, let me get some fronto and some papers.”
"I don’t have anything for you today, ok? So if you’re not going to buy anything, then get out of my store."
"Not buying? I just asked you for some fronto you weirdo. You sold me fronto four days ago, now you wanna act like you don’t have none for me?"
"Listen, I don’t want any trouble! Just get out of my store, alright?"
"My guy, what’s good with you? You’re the one starting problems with me. You want me to leave? Then do me a favor and give me a loosie; a loosie and a chopped-cheese, and a few of those backwoods I know you got back there. Then I’ll be on my way."
Though he thought Nike’s presence a bother, the man hurriedly prepared his order in acquiescence.
"Alright there you go, now take your stuff and get lost!"
"Tsk, you trippin-"
Nike held his tongue as best he could and exited the front door of the store, walking out to the blaring sound of Flatbush traffic. It was late in the afternoon and the Junction was always busy this time of day. Students would leave the Brooklyn College campus to visit the Starbucks and McDonalds in the area during the reprieve between long classes. If that wasn’t enough, the sidewalks were always packed with people on their way home from work. If you looked down the block to your right, you could see crowds of them vacate the nearby subway, and even feel the vibrations in the ground as the train left the station. Even though he found it annoying to weave through the rabble on his way home, there was a reason Nike always went to this corner bodega. It was because of the street sign posted up on the curb outside the store. The sign read:
It was a quote from a song written by a personal friend of his. He always enjoyed looking at the sign, along with the Junction Target in the backdrop. He would reminisce about the times he and his boys from high school used to post up and smoke on the roof. The young truant made a lot of memories and got into a lot of trouble in this neighborhood. Flatbush had always been Nike’s stomping ground – he knew everybody on the block, even if he didn’t necessarily want to.
However, it was exactly because he was acquainted with everyone that he found it odd that the bodega cashier gave him such attitude. Nike visited the store regularly, at least once every week, and always dealt with the same guy. They didn’t know each other personally, but Nike knew he had to have recognized him for his regular patronage.
*’Take your stuff and go,’ the guy treated me like I was holding the place up, rushed me out of there like he was scared or something.*
Nike was pensive on the way home and briefly lost himself in thought over the matter. He was annoyed and genuinely curious as to why the man would react in such a way. However, before he could arrive at an answer, Nike was roused from his daze by the uneasy feeling of eyes staring at him. As he approached his home in Vanderveer, he noticed that there were surprisingly few people on the street. Meanwhile, the remaining people shot him dirty looks while speaking in hushed whispers. They were looking at him like a dead man walking. It caught him off guard, as he had never experienced this kind of overt animosity before. A week ago, he had no problems, and no enemies. However, when he thought about what had changed since then, things began to make sense. He began to put the pieces together in his mind.
Although he could be a fast-talking loud mouth, Nike generally kept to himself and didn’t often engage in idle chit-chat with other people. However, that wasn’t true for most of the others in his neighborhood – everybody knew each other and a lot of the guys gossiped like teenage girls. If two people ever had beef, Nike knew about it, whether he cared or not. If one of them ended up clapping the other, Nike would know about it. If something big was about to go down, then one way or another, Nike would hear about it. It was through word of mouth that he originally learned about the Bank Heist that took place in Chinatown – the same heist that he participated in just a week prior. By the same token, it was easily possible that word got around to other people about his involvement in the robbery. Although he hadn’t told anybody about the money, his new toys and designer clothes probably gave it away.
*Haha, the old man at the bodega was probably afraid that I would rob him.*
Nike had money now – that’s what had changed. Now, he was involved in something bigger. The organization that sponsored the robbery had welcomed him to their ranks as soldier; he was no longer a run of the mill thug. As with any successful person, envy was bound to turn some of the surrounding people into haters – this was especially true in the projects. Nike’s suspicions were confirmed when he was confronted by two of the more well-known gangbangers on the block. It was these two fools that spread his business around and led the others to make moves against him.
"Hey, Bamz! Look who I found. I ain’t seen this kid in a minute, but look at him now; he walking around like he run things. Where you running to kid? You don’t know how to say what’s up no more?"
"He acting like we stranger’s bro, like we ain’t son him and teach him everything he knows. Why you disrespecting us like that, Nike?"
"I’m here on my way home, minding my business, and you two clowns had to get in my way. And for what? You’re trying to play like we’re old friends; meanwhile you got half of LPG at your back trying to press me. You both treating me like I’m stupid, and you’re calling me disrespectful? What’s really good? Rookie, you look like you got something to say."
"Oh, so you a tough guy now too, huh? You make all this money on the come up, and you don’t want to share that with your boys?"
"Ya’ll two are birds, you're not my boys! Rookie, for real, who do you think you’re talking to? Your bum ass was always walking around the neighborhood trying hop on the spliff for free. And Bamz, you still owe me money! You two really gonna stand there and expect me to give you a hand out just cause you got no bread?"
"Tsk, this little-!!"
"Let’s just see if you still barking after you get flipped!"
After that, there was no more talking. Fists started flying, while other guys in the group attempted to restrain and stab at Nike. Petty as they may be, Nike knew that no one in his neighborhood would try running to the cops to snitch on him. It was an unspoken rule not to get involved with police and heroes, because everybody in that neighborhood had something they wanted to hide. He also realized that Bamz and Rookie were smart enough to clear out the area before confronting him. He was therefore safe to take care of all of them right then and there. Without hesitation, he proceeded to eliminate them one at a time. With his ability of Permeation, Nike would phase through the majority of their attacks and turn their larger numbers against them by causing them to hit and stab each other. Fighting to the death in that warehouse a week ago made him stronger than ever; throwing hands with these chumps was child’s play for him. Without any hesitation, Nike would take advantage of their confusion to unsheathe his swords, Kartas & Grandia. He would proceed to ruthlessly execute slash after slash, back and forth, fatally wounding and killing the bunch of fools who wanted to rob him. He wiped out all of his enemies in one fell swoop.
*Those clowns would have done well to stay in the background and keep their mouths shut. In the end, they were nothing but fodder for my rise to fame.*
Afterwards, Nike would attempt to slink away and head towards his house.
Word Count: 1,430
"I don’t have anything for you today, ok? So if you’re not going to buy anything, then get out of my store."
"Not buying? I just asked you for some fronto you weirdo. You sold me fronto four days ago, now you wanna act like you don’t have none for me?"
"Listen, I don’t want any trouble! Just get out of my store, alright?"
"My guy, what’s good with you? You’re the one starting problems with me. You want me to leave? Then do me a favor and give me a loosie; a loosie and a chopped-cheese, and a few of those backwoods I know you got back there. Then I’ll be on my way."
Though he thought Nike’s presence a bother, the man hurriedly prepared his order in acquiescence.
"Alright there you go, now take your stuff and get lost!"
"Tsk, you trippin-"
Nike held his tongue as best he could and exited the front door of the store, walking out to the blaring sound of Flatbush traffic. It was late in the afternoon and the Junction was always busy this time of day. Students would leave the Brooklyn College campus to visit the Starbucks and McDonalds in the area during the reprieve between long classes. If that wasn’t enough, the sidewalks were always packed with people on their way home from work. If you looked down the block to your right, you could see crowds of them vacate the nearby subway, and even feel the vibrations in the ground as the train left the station. Even though he found it annoying to weave through the rabble on his way home, there was a reason Nike always went to this corner bodega. It was because of the street sign posted up on the curb outside the store. The sign read:
“No interruptions, stereo’s pumpin from the Dungeon, coming live' from Flatbush Junction.”
It was a quote from a song written by a personal friend of his. He always enjoyed looking at the sign, along with the Junction Target in the backdrop. He would reminisce about the times he and his boys from high school used to post up and smoke on the roof. The young truant made a lot of memories and got into a lot of trouble in this neighborhood. Flatbush had always been Nike’s stomping ground – he knew everybody on the block, even if he didn’t necessarily want to.
However, it was exactly because he was acquainted with everyone that he found it odd that the bodega cashier gave him such attitude. Nike visited the store regularly, at least once every week, and always dealt with the same guy. They didn’t know each other personally, but Nike knew he had to have recognized him for his regular patronage.
*’Take your stuff and go,’ the guy treated me like I was holding the place up, rushed me out of there like he was scared or something.*
Nike was pensive on the way home and briefly lost himself in thought over the matter. He was annoyed and genuinely curious as to why the man would react in such a way. However, before he could arrive at an answer, Nike was roused from his daze by the uneasy feeling of eyes staring at him. As he approached his home in Vanderveer, he noticed that there were surprisingly few people on the street. Meanwhile, the remaining people shot him dirty looks while speaking in hushed whispers. They were looking at him like a dead man walking. It caught him off guard, as he had never experienced this kind of overt animosity before. A week ago, he had no problems, and no enemies. However, when he thought about what had changed since then, things began to make sense. He began to put the pieces together in his mind.
Although he could be a fast-talking loud mouth, Nike generally kept to himself and didn’t often engage in idle chit-chat with other people. However, that wasn’t true for most of the others in his neighborhood – everybody knew each other and a lot of the guys gossiped like teenage girls. If two people ever had beef, Nike knew about it, whether he cared or not. If one of them ended up clapping the other, Nike would know about it. If something big was about to go down, then one way or another, Nike would hear about it. It was through word of mouth that he originally learned about the Bank Heist that took place in Chinatown – the same heist that he participated in just a week prior. By the same token, it was easily possible that word got around to other people about his involvement in the robbery. Although he hadn’t told anybody about the money, his new toys and designer clothes probably gave it away.
*Haha, the old man at the bodega was probably afraid that I would rob him.*
Nike had money now – that’s what had changed. Now, he was involved in something bigger. The organization that sponsored the robbery had welcomed him to their ranks as soldier; he was no longer a run of the mill thug. As with any successful person, envy was bound to turn some of the surrounding people into haters – this was especially true in the projects. Nike’s suspicions were confirmed when he was confronted by two of the more well-known gangbangers on the block. It was these two fools that spread his business around and led the others to make moves against him.
"Hey, Bamz! Look who I found. I ain’t seen this kid in a minute, but look at him now; he walking around like he run things. Where you running to kid? You don’t know how to say what’s up no more?"
"He acting like we stranger’s bro, like we ain’t son him and teach him everything he knows. Why you disrespecting us like that, Nike?"
"I’m here on my way home, minding my business, and you two clowns had to get in my way. And for what? You’re trying to play like we’re old friends; meanwhile you got half of LPG at your back trying to press me. You both treating me like I’m stupid, and you’re calling me disrespectful? What’s really good? Rookie, you look like you got something to say."
"Oh, so you a tough guy now too, huh? You make all this money on the come up, and you don’t want to share that with your boys?"
"Ya’ll two are birds, you're not my boys! Rookie, for real, who do you think you’re talking to? Your bum ass was always walking around the neighborhood trying hop on the spliff for free. And Bamz, you still owe me money! You two really gonna stand there and expect me to give you a hand out just cause you got no bread?"
"Tsk, this little-!!"
"Let’s just see if you still barking after you get flipped!"
After that, there was no more talking. Fists started flying, while other guys in the group attempted to restrain and stab at Nike. Petty as they may be, Nike knew that no one in his neighborhood would try running to the cops to snitch on him. It was an unspoken rule not to get involved with police and heroes, because everybody in that neighborhood had something they wanted to hide. He also realized that Bamz and Rookie were smart enough to clear out the area before confronting him. He was therefore safe to take care of all of them right then and there. Without hesitation, he proceeded to eliminate them one at a time. With his ability of Permeation, Nike would phase through the majority of their attacks and turn their larger numbers against them by causing them to hit and stab each other. Fighting to the death in that warehouse a week ago made him stronger than ever; throwing hands with these chumps was child’s play for him. Without any hesitation, Nike would take advantage of their confusion to unsheathe his swords, Kartas & Grandia. He would proceed to ruthlessly execute slash after slash, back and forth, fatally wounding and killing the bunch of fools who wanted to rob him. He wiped out all of his enemies in one fell swoop.
*Those clowns would have done well to stay in the background and keep their mouths shut. In the end, they were nothing but fodder for my rise to fame.*
Afterwards, Nike would attempt to slink away and head towards his house.
Word Count: 1,430
Objective: Kill a Citizen(s) - Complete
