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 Blackbird: Poison

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BronzyisBad



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PostSubject: Blackbird: Poison   Sun Jun 26, 2016 11:45 am

Blackbird: Poison

Blackbird #1
Chicago, Illinois
January 2007
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Sun Jun 26, 2016 2:28 pm


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
11:44 PM

Snow crunched beneath the dark boots crossing over the rooftop as bright yellow eyes stared down toward the warehouse. A solitary sigh came drom the dark mask behind the goggles, breath visible and it slowly slinked up into the sky. Blackbird crouched on the edge of the building's top, looking down at the nearby warehouse. The windows were few and far between, but the lights were on and it seemed like business was going. One of Made Man's places? He'd chased the trail of dead addicts and cowardly dealers to here, and this is where he thought the coke line might end. He rappelled down to the street using his grapple gun, before he made his way into the small industrial estate where the warehouse lay, ducking around alleyways and dark corners. There were a couple of guards posted around, but they didn't seem that dangerous. New boys without a piece or even a stick to defend themselves with. Not there for anything but looking tough, and sometimes that was enough.

He eventually reached the fence around the warehouse, climbing onto it and using the extra height to leap up onto the edge of the place's roof, hoisting himelf up and moving quietly across. Wasn't many entrances, but...these panels weren't all that secure. He applied enough strength on a pull of one to manage to yank it off without much noise, placing it gently aside as he looked down, the harsh and staring goggles watching the various men shuffle around carrying large plastic bags. That wasn't fake snow in there, not that you'd need it with Chicago's weather. He lowered himself down onto the thin-beamed rafters above the single light source of the place, quietly sliding the roof panel back into place.

Blackbird silently creeped along the beams, now above the single large bulb that dimly lit the place as he continued to stare a hole into the traffickers below, though it wasn't the same staring others were so fond of. Motherfuckers. His fist clenched as he thought of the people dead from this toxin they were flowing through the streets. Of Tanisha McDonald, the 'just a hooker' that was leaving behind a son. Blackbird got the feeling he might meet him again in this line of work in about 20 years, if he was still alive then. No more. Got to cut off the Scorpion's tail. He reached down, one of his knives easily slipping into his hand. He reached up with his other and adjusted his goggles, the brightness of the eyes seeming to dim while the knife slashed through the cable holding the bulb in place, a smashing of glass the single noise the men below heard before the place went pitch black. Lock the door, prevent escape. There's got to be a leader, a Lieutenant. Always is. Find out who Made Man is. He did just that, leaping down and jamming it shut as there was panic and confusion around him.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Mon Jun 27, 2016 3:42 am

The approach to the warehouse was a dark one, hardly patrolled, and filled with cover. A quick survey reveals to supreme senses that there are few patrols in this approach, those that are are fraught with the fresh meat, the first timers, unarmed and barely alert. All typical Americans, one wearing clothing fresh from the laundry, another who spilled cheap liquor on his about four days ago, and this is only what the smell tells. They are easy to subvert. Climbing onto the roof and in through a loose roofing panel, Blackbird finds himself in the primary room of the warehouse, in the rafters above the large area. Bellow would be an assembly line of tables and workers, not so much a production plant as a packing one. It would seem that from here shipments of coke make their way to the dealers of the city, and eventually into the bodies of addicts and the disheveled masses of Chicago. Many non-combatants are bellow, those packaging the product and working the line. All unarmed, more than a few with fast beating hearts and sweaty skin, they're nervous even to just be here. Besides them, there are a handful of guards. These are more heavy security than those outside, eleven thugs, nine armed with handguns and three with sub machine guns. Being a warehouse intended for storage, there isn't much in the way of layout within the building. Besides the main room, there is a large observation room/office on the opposite side of the warehouse up a short flight of stairs. It's more difficult to detect the contents of this room past the noise and smells from the assembly line bellow, but focusing for a moment cuts through the static.

Within that room, several flies congregate around a two day old slice of rotting left out pizza, a cheap light bulb buzzes, nearing it's expiration, and a man argues with someone on the phone. He's a slightly older man, somewhere in his thirties, he wears a new pressed suit, black, judging by the smell of the clothing dye, he's armed with a pearl gripped Colt 1911 Government Model in 10mm, but most important, he's a Sicilian judging by his accent. Common lore on the street is that Made Man wiped out the Italian mob when he hit the scene in the 80's, but made a pact with some of the elite businessmen of that mob to join him or die. If anyone is the boss in this place, it's that guy. The phone argument is inconsequential, something about missed deadlines or some such, though the Sicilian is the one threatening whoever else is on the phone. Without any cover between Blackbird and this mobster, there is only one viable approach. A few cut wires and the single light illuminating the room goes out, everything is dark. The production line is halted and the blinded guards bellow go on alert, raising their weapons.

"Hey, hell happened to the lights?"

"I dunno' man, I didn't touch shit."

"Shit... Hey, none of you fuckers on the line move until we sort this. I see anyone out of their chair, you're fuckin' dead before you can even feel sorry about it."

The time to act is now, dead bolting the large front door of the warehouse leaves no avenue for reinforcements, or escape...

"The hell was that?"

"What?"

"I swear I heard something"

"Shut the fuck up, probably just the breakers going funny again."
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Mon Jun 27, 2016 11:30 am


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
11:49 PM

Blackbird felt all that was going on in the room as he focused, as though he was reaching out and touching. It was difficult to devise a quick plan with eleven armed men, but panic and the nervousness of the various men on the line meant their calmness would erode real quick, if he had anything to do about it. He moved quietly across the rafters and silently dropped down in a corner of the room. More dangerous weapons first. He crouched around, moving around a large box one of the men with a submachine gun stood next to, his arm wrapping around the man's throat as his other synched with his hand at the bicep, the fingers of that hand pressing on the man's as he kicked his legs out from behind him, causing him to fumble and drop his weapon as he was dragged behind the large box and choked out, left unconscious behind it. Blackbird knew it wasn't going to be as simple as being able to just wake him up from the state, which may contribute to the panic. He quickly got his hands on the weapon, disassembling it in seconds, his old training coming back to him as he left it in pieces.

He quickly did the same for the second man, wrapping his whole arm around the man' neck and bending him back into a reverse facelock as he used his other hand to yank away the man's weapon. He did not hide him as well intentionally, disassembling his weapon as well. The third man was next as Blackbird creeped up behind him, a good distance from his fellows. He was able to disarm the man, but he was more on guard than expected, and had a second to cry out before he was knocked unconscious quickly from strikes to the temple, Blackbird grappling up into the rafters once again with a hold on his weapon. He disassembled it up there, leaving the parts up on the rafters as he knew the bodies would be seen now, as was his intent.

Might panic. Old boy over there might come out and start screaming. Stupid fucks might even blame each other. Lot of guns to defend this poison, though. Made Man's no joke. Just paranoid? Or does he have competitors? Blackbird's eyes narrowed at the thought. He pondered over how many super-criminals might be under this guy's control. What connections he might have. Does he know about me? He had to accept that as a likely possibility, though he hadn't had anyone sent after him yet. He quietened down, listening for heartbeats and panic or whispering conversations. Only one that he really needed was the boss - he'd avoid anyone's death if possible, but nine handguns made that a bit more tricky.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Mon Jun 27, 2016 12:25 pm

There is no sound.

At least from the perspective of the thugs abound, the killers with red on their hands and their boots on the throat of this city, choking it with extortion and sedating it with drugs at the same time. The first submachinegunner goes down without ever really knowing what was happening. The second befalls much of the same fate only seconds later, the combined noises in succession rousing attention from the remaining men.

"Fuck's that?! Hey, who's out there!"

"I told you, if any of you stand up, I'm gonna put you on the fuckin' ground with six shots in the ass!"

"No man! This didn't sound like that!"

By the time the third man is dealt with, the leader above exits his office, throwing open the thin door with a clatter. His accent is even more obvious as he shouts across the warehouse.

Sicilian: "We don't have time for this shit! Find the problem, and fix it, before I decide you're the fuckin' problem, and fix you!"

"Yeah, on it."

A change in the air is felt, the room becomes only slightly warmer on such a minuscule level that nobody could notice, followed by a soft hum and the sound of electricity, a flashlight. With the light, one of the pistol thugs first sweeps the very frightened workers before shining his light to the edges of the warehouse. The light catches a glimmer of polished metal, which the thug focuses on.

"The hell?"

The light pans up from the disassembled MP5 to the unconscious body of a higher ranking thug, it's shortly followed by the sound and feeling of more flashlights turning on, about five of the remaining nine are equipped with lights which illuminate the majority of the warehouse, although leaves gaps.

"Fuck! We got a body here! It's Vic!"

Sicilian: "What, is e'dead?"

"Nah, he's out cold though... His gun's all, taken apart."

"I got another one over here! Donny is out cold! Fuck man, how'd this happen? His gun is all fucked too."

"Marcus too!"

Sicilian: "|Whoa whoa whoa, how many of their are you left? Nine? e'took out our fuckin' big guns... Sweep the fuckin' area, if you find fuckin' anbody standing who aint onna' us, you put lead through his fuckin' skull, got it? No pussy shit, no hesitation. That clear?"

The rest of the room responds a few at a time.

"Yeah, boss."

The remaining thugs go on alert patrol mode, searching about the ground level of the warehouse.

"Jesus, I hope this aint that bird freak".
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Mon Jun 27, 2016 12:52 pm


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
11:52 PM

It didn't take long for the flashlights to come out. Better equipped than usual. Must've shelled out a lot more than typical. Blackbird didn't seem to panic though, as he simply waited. Until a good group of five were moving together. Then, he reached down to his belt, pulling out a small pellet. He pressed on it and threw it down in the middle of the men with force, leaping down as it did. Smoke exploded from the pellet and engulfed the men, causing terrible coughing and lack of vision. Blackbird grabbed the nearest man to him's arm with the hand that was holding his weapon. Within seconds he had straightened it out and brought his own forearm down on it in the middle, bending and breaking it as the man yowled in pain, Blackbird's leg extending out and kicking him in the ribs, knocking him to the ground and forcing the air right out of him. He quickly moved to the next man, who was caught off guard, but still struggled. Blackbird kicked into his leg hard enough to cause a crack, breaking his leg and forcing him onto one knee.

The goon had made enough noise to alert his friend behind the dark figure, who turned to try and get a better look. Not willing to allow it, Blackbird simply brought his elbow up and back as it collided with the man's nose, causing an explosion of blood from his face he fell to the ground, unconscious. Blackbird had the other man's arm straightened out, stepping over it and lowering him further as he straddled his arm, the smoke beginning to clear. Blackbird realized the two last men would be able to see him once it had, and he grabbed ahold of the man's hand and fingers, manipulating it to make him fire off two shots toward his friends, one catching a knee and the other hitting the last man's shoulder. Blackbird gripped his wrist again, bringing it up so his own weight in the middle of the arm caused it to snap; he quickly followed up by kicking his boot up backwards into the man's face, knocking him cold as the smoke dissipated.

Blackbird dashed and dodged around the warehouse, flashlights getting full view of him as he narrowly avoided bullets. He was fast enough that some seemed unable to keep up with him, and soon after he seemed to have disappeared again, actually having retreated to on top of the small office that the Sicilian had been occupying previously. He kept the number of available gunmen in his head, plotting his next move and waiting to see how the supposed gangsters react from here. Boss resembles Tommy Faraci. Old Sicilian top guy in the 80's before Made Man came on the scene. Might be him, might not. I'll ask him later.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 10:36 am

"Alright, you five with me, the rest of you, stick around, watch the workers, don't let shit sneak up on you."

A group of five armed thugs break off from the pack and make their way down the warehouse in a loose formation, looking just about everywhere, except up. An audible pop then the fizzle of smoke and the men are engulfed in a gray, choking haze, flashlights shining through the cloud. The rest of the warehouse turns it's attention to the ball of smoke, weapons raised, but nobody shoots. Shouts of agony and struggle emit from the cloud, followed by two gunshots and a solid 'whump!' noise. When the smoke rests, five men lay on the ground, either unconscious or well on their way to being there, and a sixth standing above them. There is a short moment of silence as the thugs stare down the yellow eyed black mask before them in full view of two flashlights, too long to be comfortable for the Sicilian.

Sicilian: "What are ya' doin'?! Shoot the fuck!"

A hail of small arms fire erupts from the four remaining mobsters, but the man in the mask before them is far too fast for any average shooter. Light flashes through the warehouse as gunfire and flashlights rapidly follow him through his evasive maneuvers, but eventually loose him in the forest of boxes and rafters. Once again after the building is silent, and two flashlights scan the area, now looking above as well.

"I lost him!"

"Me too! How'd he fuckin' do that?!"

Sicilian: "You four, are fucked. Fucked in the FUCKIN' HEAD if you think any of you are gonna exit this building alive if this freak gets outa' here! Find him! I gotta' make a fuckin' call..."

The Sicilian angrily paces back into his office, slamming the door. It's flimsy locking mechanism can be heard, followed by the sound of blinds as he lowers them in vain over the windows of the office. He pulls out his phone, and begins to dial a number whilst flashlights search the building again, one just barely scraping over the top of the office on which Blackbird resides, only slightly missing him.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 11:23 am


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
11:55 PM

Too close. Watch the flashlights. Blackbird considered his options, plans and possibilities running through his mind. There weren't any other armed assailants in there other than the four he saw and the Sicilian below him; any others in the building were unarmed and used for ferrying the coke he saw earlier. Might've even been just slaves. He seemed to have an idea cross his mind as he saw the men slowly group together and stick close, as though forming a four man circle to watch for his approach. They may have been mobsters, but they didn't seem like old guard, and if he didn't have to kill them, there wasn't much of a point. He reached down to one of his pouches, pulling out a small cylindrical grenade. Stinger grenade. Like fragmentation, but with rubber. Bluetooth can complain later.

He pulled the pin, and the cylinder went flying. It clinked quietly inbetween the various men, going off before they could get away from it, likely being struck by the rubber 'shrapnel' and being incapacitated via pain or concussion. Either way, Blackbird held still. He knew the Sicilian was still beneath him, and may have not actually realized where the grenade came from with how dark it was. He decided to first listen in on this phone call, crouching low on the roof as he listened, and thoughts continued to pester him. Who the hell is Made Man? Where does he operate? Can't take the risk that this bastard might know, I have to find out. The big cheese probably has Great White, Phoenix, other 'supers' in his pocket. He winced at the thought of what could come of people victimized by just those two, nevermind their compatriots.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 11:50 am

The rubber grenade explodes, sending mobsters and workers alike sailing back. Those workers who are not in the immediate danger zone break their orders and duck for cover, scurrying away. When the dust settles, the remaining mobsters are down, along with three of the workers. By now loud banging can be heard on the locked door, as the unarmed thugs from outside try to get in. Focusing through this noise, Blackbird hears what happens in the room bellow him. Metal sliding against leather, a mechanical click, the faint smell of sweat on steel, the Sicilian has drawn his pistol, moreover, he's nervous. He paces away from any of the windows in his room, holding his pistol in front of him, just as the call goes through. The man on the phone is Irish, Northern Irish, from somewhere around Ballymena, judging by his accent.

???: "What now, Tommy?"

Tommy: "He's here man, fuckin' Blackbird is here. Shit's real this time, he hit one of the processing spots."

???: "It /just/ him?"

Tommy: "Who the fuck else would be here?"

???: "...Good luck, Tommy."

Tommy: "The fuck do you mean?"

???: "I mean you're on you're own, Tom. Nobody can help you now but yourself."

The call is ended, and clearly Tommy is not pleased. He slings his phone onto the floor with vigor and shouts.

Tommy: "That mic fuck! Alright you freaky bastard, I know you can hear me! So why don't we settle this like men!"
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 12:21 pm


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
12:00 AM

Blackbird listened quietly, taking note of the accent, the voice and where it could be from. It sounded older, Northern Irish. The Irish Mob being under Made Man's 'umbrella' seemed even more likely. He almost smirked as he heard the Sicilian beneath him trying to taunt him into his sights. He could feel the weakness of the roof below him, and he moved above his target's location standing still for a moment as he suddenly punched through and reached with both hands, smashing a large hole in the wall as he grabbed the Sicilian by the throat and his wrist, forcing the gun away from himself. He actually hoisted the man up through the hole and held him in front of his face, intense yellow eyes staring into the well-dressed man's own. Blackbird was unmoved as gunshots went off from the pistol next to him, going up past him and toward the roof. "If you insist."

He yanked the man's weapon from his hand and used his other around his throat to toss him, landing him onto another part of the roof as it collapsed beneath his weight and the force, sending him onto the floor of the office. Blackbird dropped down in front of him, making sure he was between the Sicilian and the phone. He would scour that later. He raised the man's handgun, before emptying the magazine out of it and pulling back on it, the bullet in the chamber ejecting as he caught it, quickly flicking it away. Within seconds, he had disassembled the weapon, and dropped the pieces in front of the Sicilian.

Blackbird cracked his neck from side to side, still seeming to stare unblinkingly at the man. "Who is Made Man, and where is he?" He figured he'd make the first question easy. If Tommy here wanted a fight, he'd gladly give him one. He would enjoy it, too. Maybe more than he should. He continued to stare a whole through the man, completely unflinching in his stance.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 12:38 pm

Whoever built this warehouse didn't do a very good job. Cheap sheet metal, even cheaper construction. The man is hoisted up and through the roof whilst struggling, kicking and flailing his legs in the grip, dumping three shots into the ceiling before the monster taunts him and tosses him back through the roof onto the floor. He wasn't quite sure when, but somewhere along the way Tommy lost his gun. Through the pain in his back and his momentarily dazed vision, he spies Blackbird take it apart in seconds and toss it away, raising his hands to the man in a surrendering manner.

Tommy: "Agh! Alright, alright, I get the idea man... No need t'do anything, dramatic..."

The mobster adjusts himself a bit, hands still held out, though he props himself up a slight bit against the wall. Something rustles in his coat pocket, metal and plastic, tensed energy, a bit of compressed air, something spring loaded.

Tommy: "But uh, thing is... I dunno that. Heh, uh, nobody does."
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 12:55 pm


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
12:03 AM

Blackbird remained still, not saying a word as the man in the suit struggled in a dazed mannner to his feet. He clearly wasn't sharing the nervous laugh of the man in front of him, as he stared down toward him and seemed to keep eye contact, the goggles on his face that resembled a large bird-like eye giving no indication of a single blink. He focused, hearing and almost feeling what rustled around his the man's pocket. His brow furrowed beneath the mask, clearly not the amused sort.

He sighed, as though the man's reluctance to say anything was just an inconvenience. "Yeah. Yeah, you do." He stepped a little closer, figuring that the Sicilian would be anxious to go for his backup weapon - he'd seen the state of his men in the smoke and if he thought he stood a chance in a fist fight, Blackbird would gladly take that. "Because, if you don't, I'm going to use that knife in your coat pocket to slice your fucking nose off and shove it so far up your ass you can smell what you had for breakfast a week ago." He continued stepping close, as though uncaring about the knife he seemed to know of, though he was prepared for it. "Ten seconds."
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 1:04 pm

Tommy backs up a step against the wall, clearly with nowhere to go. He's clearly not the type to be intimidated easily, but he's clearly not stupid either. He'd gingerly hold open half of his coat, and indeed what is in the inner pocket there is a switchblade. He'd gingerly take the blade out, holding it by only two fingers as a sign of submission. Rapidly things switch from 10 to 100 as the Sicilian firmly grips the knife and jabs it at Blackbirds gut as he nears. He's fast, very fast, fast enough that he would have probably stabbed most people in this situation. In a split second the blade of the weapon is extended from the handle and at full length, though Blackbird had plenty of warning before hand. The tensing of the man's muscles, a skip in his heart beat, the sound of the knife sliding across his palm as he gripped it properly.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Tue Jun 28, 2016 8:46 pm


Blackbird
January 15th, 2007
12:03 AM

Always the same thing with wiseguys. Doesn't matter. He's just making it harder on himself. Blackbird had felt his unusual pattern of sweat and the tensing of his muscles, the strange movement and dilation of his eyes. He wasn't about to get the drop on him, and he could fault him for trying. Blackbird moved at a speed beyond what the mobster could really respond to; he was suddenly at the side of him, and with his arm already straightened out, Blackbird got a grip on his wrist and shoulder, controlling the movement of his body as he spun him to the side and down, smashing the bridge of his nose off the side of a nearby table, forcing him on to his knees with the pain. He spun almost gracefully around the man's arm and used the momentum to grab ahold of his head and drive his knee into his face, knocking him back into a slumped position against the wall. He'd be conscious. In a lot of pain, but conscious nonetheless.

Blackbird reached down slowly, his fingers slipping around the switchblade on the floor that had fallen from the Sicilian's hands. He seemed to hold it in front of his gaze, spinning it as he seemed very dextrous and familiar with this sort of weapon. The blade gleamed under the dim light of the office which had surprisingly stayed where it was, the intimidating dark figure slowly stepping toward the man in the suit as he gripped the blade a little harder. "Now." He stopped just in front of the man, the blade inches from his face as he moved closer. "Let's talk."
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Thu Jun 30, 2016 4:12 pm

Tommy Talked, in his own convoluted way, explaining events loosely through tales of hearsay and personal experience, everything he knew about the Made Man.

Before 1982 Chicago was run by the Italian mob since the days of Al Capone, and within a span of six months, Made Man had ended that dynasty spanning sixty years. This isn't news. Made Man is legend on the streets of Chicago, his triumph over the Italian mafia and the subjugation of the rest the meat of the story. Nobody knows exactly how he did it, and few from inside the Italian mob survived the war. And here, one of those very mobsters who had seen it first hand was talking. Bluetooth was right about this place, "a trove of poison and truth" he called it. For the six months that war raged in Chicago, nobody in the Italian mob even knew who they were fighting. The attacks were so fast and spread out, carried out almost daily that the mob could do nothing besides try to hold the line. Illegal money printing operations went up in smoke, drug stockpiles were consumed by fire, the slaves of human trafficking set free. By the end of October 1982, the mob's own headquarters was attacked, and the infamous Capone mansion burnt down. All the while, nobody in the city or the mob knew who, or what was doing this. A month later, an individual came forth whom called himself the Made Man, and took claim. Of course, no one ever saw the made man. The closest anyone had been was a phone call, but he had his methods. People under his authority rounded up the remains of the mob, about twenty six or so gangsters and gave them the option to toss out their thirst for vengeance, and to take on a new boss. Out of the twenty six, five said no and were shot on the spot. After, the remaining twenty one opted to join the new gang, taking up the positions of Lieutenants in the mob. Just as they had organized the Italian mob, they now did the same for the new mob. An inner circle was formed, those being the only ones whom were allowed to see or speak with Made Man, and those whom ensured his orders were carried out. The circle was made of twelve members, modeled after the Knights of the Round Table of old legend. Each was known by their knight name, and on rare occasion their own name, and were essential in the subjugation of the remaining mobs. Members of the round table came and went, but as the remaining mobs were taken in in a sort of crime empire, their own leaders always had a seat at the round table. Of made man, this was all Tommy knew. He had heard his voice once when he was offered to join the new mob or die, but beyond that, he only ever dealt with 'higher ups' in the hierarchy of the mob. Tommy's primary contact was one woman, Harmona Claudia, another remaining member of the Italian mob, also known as 'Sir Kay' as a member of the Round Table. Claudia was responsible for commanding and overseeing the entire drug operation of Chicago as one of the many business arms of the mob. The drug trade, being the most lucrative of the business ventures in the city, was operated entirely by Made Man's own mafia, rather than one of the others such as the Russians or Chinese. Even the full extent of the drug trade was unknown to Tommy, but what was is the fact that the product entered the city via the docks, specifically Pier 12, and was sometimes shipped in from Detroit across the great lakes. This was everything that had been squeezed out of Tommy, and what was left of the man too resembled a dried sponge. Beaten, bloodied, but alive at least.

January 16th, 2007
10:00 PM

Night again, back to work. During the day, Bluetooth tracked down the company which owns Pier 12, a small time shipping and distribution company called Manuel Freight and Light Transport. It's owner, Louis Manuel, had been listed dead since 1995 in everything besides official company records and shipping manifests. The Harbormasters own freight list showed Pier 12 to be taking in 'domestic goods' from ports across the Great Lakes, including Detroit. It was also listed as a private dock under security, more than suspicious for a warehouse company.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Mon Aug 01, 2016 1:27 pm


Blackbird
January 16th, 2007

A solitary figure watched from a nearby rooftop, though he was more listening than anything. When Blackbird was still, and focused, he could hear all kinds of things at long-distance. He could pick out different conversations, footsteps, the various noises from around the dock giving him clues as to what he could expect. He listened for the rustle of weapons in men's pockets, the clicking of holsters, or perhaps there wasn't anyone armed here tonight. He wouldn't have to be so quiet, if that were the case. But there was bound to be some kind of leader here - he doubted it was Claudia. Progressive times or not, he didn't think a bunch of mobsters would let some italian broad, no matter how intimidating she may be, be known as their head. Whether she actually ran the show, there'd be a figure he could take that would shake the morale of the others. One of the twenty-one, or some kind of ex-military. It was always something like that. Chicago's sentinel sighed, realizing how much time had passed as he waited here. Finch is late. Again. Well, whatever. The kid could catch up later, there was work to do.

Blackbird made his approach, staying on ground level this time as he slinked around the nooks and crannies of the dock. He was easily faster than these wiseguys, and too many of them relied on their sigh, anyway. He got closer to what he thought was the central office; it looked important enough. Crouching behind a box, he listened. For anyone approaching, any kind of voice or notable noise. He still wondered about the man with the Irish accent. He didn't sound like he had been in Chicago long. There was usually a way to tell between a real Irishman and a Chicago Irishman, at least for someone who really listened. He had himself a plan, a roadmap so to speak; each 'Knight' had to be dealt with, they likely operated independent of each other. It was going to be a long time before Made Man's stink was off this city, but he would wash it clean if it killed him. It just might.
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PostSubject: Re: Blackbird: Poison   Today at 3:57 pm

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Blackbird: Poison
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