The Grim Library

"You have all been put under a lot of pressure, haven't you? I know how it must feel. After I've been away for a good ten years or so and a lot has changed, I can see." Brimstone spoke to the leaders of several inner city mobs. They were the few that survived Rufio's massacre that Rufio had taken in, as well as some who'd come out of the Santa Maya incident. Many had come from different walks of life with different and even conflicting backgrounds and motives than one another and often wouldn't meet under the shambling roof of the hotel they were in without bloodshed. But despite their differences each and every one of them had one common burden now that put their disputes under the rug: Rufio Martin. He'd taken their money, their property, their members, and their territory with the relent of a Roman emperor. Even though their ranks had been composed of human and Reaver alike they still weren't a match for Rufio, a point which Brimstone had taken

     "Camptown ladies sing this song, for the, money! Camptown ladies sing this song, for the money now!" X sang to himself as bolted at hypersonic speed from one place to another in Newark to make collections for Rufio. They had been given ample time to recuperate themselves back into their old niches, now it was time to pay dues to the man himself. With a large wind trail following him X was able to hit the casinos, pool halls, strip joints, and other regular gangster hangouts in no time flat. It was just a casual day for him, buttoned up black leather jacket, a pair of blue jeans, and a thick backpack for the money to be made. While the overall outfit was less imposing than his combat gear his sleek red helmet still retained the same haunting look to it as if it were year round Halloween. He wanted the last color his enemies see to be red which is why he wears when business is involved. "Twenty grand, c'mon. Pay up there, Odin, what is the money in your beard? You

On a cold, frigid night on the road a wine delivery truck was en route to their destination. The drivers were tired; making deliveries to and fro all day for their living. It's a job they were comfortable with but nonetheless left them exhausted by the end of each day. Tonight was supposed to be a night just like any other night, but as they approached a car that is blocking the road their routine was about to hit a hairline fracture. The driver honked his horn a couple times before he finally hopped out of the cabin and approached the broken down car. "You's guys need help?" The truck driver asked in a hurry. "Yea, sorry man ma friggin battery died. Ya got a jumper or something, man?" The man in the car replied. "Yea yea, hang on a sec." The driver walking back his truck to check for jumper cables. "Jesus, frickin battery dies but what's that gotta do with you blockin' the road fer everyone else just because you got bad luck?&q

      Three AM in the morning is a fine time to catch up on my reading anyway. The ongoing storm outside raged with intent to destroy my house and raindrops slammed on the exterior. As per usual I couldn't sleep very well, my nightmares have descended into the realms of clinical insanity, deciphering them would take government level cryptology. Everything that came into my mind derailed into a train wreck within seconds. I pondered upping my pill dosage to maybe three a night, but I'd hate to run through them so fast since my only means of getting them is Ray at the behest of an early morning phone call. I grabbed myself a cup of tea and threw myself down onto the sofa. I took slow deliberate sips to help ease my mind as I tried to iron out my current train of thought: the fate of a New Jersey. I barely wriggled my way out of certain death at the cost of Twenty-seven lives and my sleep. I gazed disheartened out the window and let my mind wander backward in history.      Throu