Posted by Anonymous on 2013/07/25 under Games Alfred wandered down the street at a lazy pace, nodding in greeting now and then at pretty girls who passed .His mind wasn’t really focused on the though, he needed to find a new gang, he had been previously working for the Vargas family ,he was the best hitman in their mafia force to boot, but they acted as if they owned him. Alfred F. Jones was owned by no one. But he did need to find work. A few gangs had offered nonchalantly but none really caught his eye. Turing onto a fairly empty street he spotted it, a van. Most people would just continue on their way and think nothing but Alfred knew better than that, an unmarked van meant trouble which the American was not in the mood to deal with. He took a quick left into an alley, catching the cold glare on the man sitting in the driver seat on the van. Damnit. His pace quicken as he heard an engine roar to life on the street he had just left. S*** not good. He knocked boxes, crates and trashcans into the path, his walk turning into a jog. He skidded as a stop as the other end of the alley was blocked by an identical van, turning to run he saw the original van had blocked that exit as well. Gang members seemed to flood the alley way as the blond searched with his eyes for any escape route. A big looking guy approached him “ey string bean” he said laughing as he looked Alfred up and down. “I can’t believe a knock off, everyday, ordinary punk like you is the notorious American gunslinger that’s been running round shooting up all our best guys” he said with another laugh motioning for the other street rats to laugh with him. Alfred chuckled his unmistakable roar of laughter. “And I can’t believe the [insert family name here] family sent this crowd of wimps, losers and good for nothing street scum after someone as high class as me” he said, pretending like he was inspecting hid nails. This little remark earned him a few death threats and boos from the audience of gang members. “Now if you’ll excuse I have got to get going, I have a batch of cupcakes waiting for me at home, tata” he said, waving them off as he begun to push his way through the crowd. Almost out of the jumble of people , almost home free, until he felt a firm hand clasp the back of his shirt collar, pulling him back into the mod of people. Damnit. Within a minute he had at least four guys on him , restraining him from reaching for one of him many guns. He felt a large bat come down over his head and a warm liquid running down his temple before everything went black. The black haze lasted only a moment but when it lifted his hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound so he couldn’t run, A dirty rag covered his eyes, blocking his vision, ‘where the f*** are my glasses?’ he wondered, never mind he didn’t care right now . He was going left, into the second van. As the engine roared to life Alfred began making up a map of where he was and where he was going. The van began it’s trek to wherever it may be taking the American. ‘1 2 3 4′ he counted the seconds between each turn and bump and smell, Alfred may not act like it but he had an impeccable memory, thought the use of small recorder chip in his bracelet that he was mumbling into helped as well. ’35, left turn. Smell pasta’ , just like even other damn place in this country his thought to himself. ’14 15 16 right turn, onto venizla street’, he heard a thump next to him of someone sitting down and a sickening crackle, welp there went his glasses. After various other turns and twists the air start to smell salty and he heard a seagull caw, he was at the pier. Before he knew it, he was being lifted over some brutes head as the blue eyed man began thrashing and shouting “Put me down ya bastard!” he yelled “quiet down damnit! and stop squirming so much” he said back rather irritated. “hahaha funny those are the exact same words I said to you mama last night!” The American laughed but was quickly silenced back a rough slap to the jaw and another dirty rag over his mouth. Alfred was dropped onto a cold cement floor, perfect probably one of those warehouses that the [insert family name here] proudly owned. It just so happened Alfred had led a raid job onto these warehouses last spring, oops. He listened intently to the thugs conversation “So can we just kill him now?” one ,particularly deep voice said “no!” snapped back another The black haze lasted only a moment but when it lifted his hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound so he couldn’t run, A dirty rag covered his eyes, blocking his vision, ‘where the f*** are my glasses?’ he wondered, never mind he didn’t care right now . He was going left, into the second van. As the engine roared to life Alfred began making up a map of where he was and where he was going. The van began it’s trek to wherever it may be taking the American. ‘1 2 3 4′ he counted the seconds between each turn and bump and smell, Alfred may not act like it but he had an impeccable memory, thought the use of small recorder chip in his bracelet that he was mumbling into helped as well. ’35, left turn. Smell pasta’ , just like even other damn place in this country his thought to himself. ’14 15 16 right turn, onto venizla street’, he heard a thump next to him of someone sitting down and a sickening crackle, welp there went his glasses. After various other turns and twists the air start to smell salty and he heard a seagull caw, he was at the pier. Before he knew it, he was being lifted over some brutes head as the blue eyed man began thrashing and shouting “Put me down ya bastard!” he yelled “quiet down damnit! and stop squirming so much” he said back rather irritated. “hahaha funny those are the exact same words I said to you mama last night!” The American laughed but was quickly silenced back a rough slap to the jaw and another dirty rag over his mouth. Alfred was dropped onto a cold cement floor, perfect probably one of those warehouses that the Sardelli’s proudly owned. It just so happened Alfred had led a raid job onto these warehouses last spring, oops. He listened intently to the thugs conversation “So can we just kill him now?” one ,particularly deep voice said “no!” snapped back another “we need him alive as a barder card with them vargasas.” damnit, looks like these brutes didn’t know his contract with Romano and Feliciano laid torn to bits in the prized shredder of lovino’s back in that stuffy little office, damnit. He moved his head back and forth, wrinkling his nose, trying to get the gag out of his mouth. Maybe if he could just tell them that he was no longer affiliated with the Vargas family they would just let him go, unlikely but it was his best shot at the moment. He heard a pair of heavy boot clanking towards him, he was pretty sure ever damn person in this country wore boots considering Italy was the world’s best in boot production. He him self preferred a nice pair of nikes or vans, much better for bolting, if the going ever got too tough and he had to scram. A big boot shaped dug into his stomach sending him onto his back in pain “f***er!” he yelled through the rags even though all they probably heard was “fugraph!” A wave of laughter washed over Alfred causing his blood to boil. “The boss called, said to take your guns, so you’re gonna be a good boy and let us, or else you won’t see the light of day again” he added another few insults in Italian probably along the lines of American trash and obese pig. He was used to it, for some reason most locals weren’t very happy with an American moving into their country, even though stampedes of tourists traveled though there every day. They began undoing the tie of the rag that was over his eyes. He squinted into the light before his eyes focused, or at least focused as much as they could, his glasses with still lying, smashing to s*** in the back of that van. He shot death glares as cold as ice to the his captors, the blue orbs sending chills down their spines though they did their best to ignore them. One was tall and skinny, I don’t mean just skinny, I mean he was legit emaciated, Skin tight over the bones so you could see every curve and bend his skeleton made. Alfred could easily snap him like a stick. The second was big, hug, gigantic, but not because he was over weight but because of the sheer muscle that covered his body, He would probably be Alfred’s toughest opponent is his escape from this warehouse, but still no probably for the young hitman. The third who stood between the two was right in the middle, not to buff, but not a string bean either, he was probably the mastermind behind the when,where and how of Alfred’s kidnapping, but the order to do so probably came from one of the [insert family name here] themselves, maybe even the family head, the boss. The three men turned their head as the heavy clanking of yet another pair of boots came stomping across the room. The three bow their head like kicked puppies at the sight of this well polished man, suit, fedora, and warm smile that was filled with hidden ice “it’s ok fellas i’ll take from here” he said with barely any force but the three were gone in an instant, like bats outta hell. This man was the boss. ((Gang boss! or member! or savoir of Alfred! or anyone person really! X Hitman!Alfred F. Jones. Anything goes! If you don’t like please disconnect and sorry about the length ^^” by no means does your response have to be like this. my gmail is [email protected] if we get disconnected, thank you! ^^”))