Prologue: Death by those you fed

Los Angeles, California

Sirens cried in the streets of Los Angeles on this dark summer night. A police chase was underway as cars weaved past businesses and homes. Blue and white streaks lit up the pitch-black night, causing a brief refuge of light before it all blackened again. Blood and gunpowder flooded the warm summer air from the various shots that scattered through the air, mixing into a disgusting yet comfortable smell. In a small street not far from the lights and gunfire from the police, rushed footsteps could be heard throughout the streets. Sounding stressed, it was clear these footsteps were looking for something or someone.

Limping through the streets, blood pouring out of his side, a young man struggled to escape. He wore designer clothes that were ruined and mangled. Dark red blood poured onto these clothes, acting as a sponge, attempting to contain all that he was losing. The injured man continued to run until his exhausted body gave out, proceeding to collapse onto the ground and crawl, gripping the cold asphalt and shattering his once neat nails, just to go an inch farther. However, his body could not keep up, for although his resolve had far outlived his body, he could not move what was already dying; he had been shot too deep. Without immediate medical attention, it would be hard to ascertain whether he would live.

Ceasing for a moment to catch his breath, the man's vision scattered as his eyes blurred. Slowly, he lost himself and imagined times better, of when he was unstoppable. He sluggishly sat up and leaned his bloody body against the cold, hard wall as he delved into the deepest parts of his memories, murmuring to himself as though someone were facing him. Speaking softly, the man talked to the nonexistent figure facing him, speaking through his cracked lips his innermost thoughts. This is what he said.

"Maybe I should have left when I had the chance. Time after time, I had the opportunity, yet I ignored it. I ignored everything that was happening. You'd be disappointed if you saw me now… It's just a shame I'll never see you again."

Those same rushed steps that were once reverberating off the alley walls were now closer, snapping the young man back into reality. Knowing those after him, it was clear that if caught, he would die. What he needed now was time—to organize and kill those who threatened his existence. And to gain back what was rightfully his. However, he had known these people most of his life. It was his people who were after him. They were always loyal, and even the man doubted whether they would betray him like this. Even now, the young man attempted to use every excuse he had, but it was all for naught.

Family—that was what they always were, but now it matters nothing to them. Reminding himself of the current danger, he attempted to pick himself up one last time; however, his stinging body had the weight of a thousand bulls, causing him to again collapse onto the cold asphalt. With no gun on him, he could not defend himself from the man coming after him. There was nothing to do except leave himself to their mercy.

'I gotta get up! Fuck!"

'I have to move; I have to leave!! But it won't move!!! Why can't I move!?'

Death had grasped onto the man's neck more times than he could process; slowly, with time, he had gotten used to it. However, this time, he knew it was different; death clenched onto his neck harder than ever. Any singular moment of vulnerability could mean death, but his body weakened with every passing moment, and his resolve further crumbled. Defeat slowly inched into the man's mind, plaguing his resolve. And as more time passed, his resolve would grow weaker.

The approaching steps finally arrived, stopping right next to the man. Audible gasps of air could be heard as the one in front of him seemed exhausted. But by this point, too much blood had left his body, and he could no longer look up to check. Chills stung all over as he felt the warmth leave his wound and the cold summer air penetrate in. He had already accepted death and waited to meet those he knew in hell. In front of the young man was a youth who arrived; he stared down at the man briefly before pulling out a gun and aiming it at the man's forehead. Yet he did not fire. Tears rolled down the youth's cheeks as memories flooded his exhausted head. Hesitation flashed over his face as he gently spoke to the man.

"Dios mio jefe, mira lo que paso (God, boss, look what happened). It all went to hell."

"I know."

"You could have stopped this! You could've…why?"

"… Just kill me; I don't have to explain sh*t to you."

The young man finally built the strength to inch his head up towards the youth, and sensing the youth's hesitancy, living seemed plausible. However, by this point, he had long lost his will. For behind all the confusion, exhaustion, and anger, he now knew he wanted to be honest at least once. After every lie, not only to himself but to others, regret finally poured in. If at least now he could be honest, that would be enough before facing those he once lied to. What the young man wanted to get off his chest was something he had wanted to say for so long. That He-

'Hate this life. I didn't want to keep slinging crack onto the streets so they kill me? I just wanted to try and enjoy the fruits of my labor. but it seems I can't even do that. Man, do I really hate this life.

I'm ready to go…'

'I am so tired… Just get it over with.'

It was only a matter of time before this happened, and he most definitely noticed, choosing to ignore it. Less money coming in and continually losing territory left a sour taste in everyone's mouth. They all gradually lost respect, which, in the end, caused his downfall. A man who couldn't fight for his people's needs was useless, and no amount of loyalty could change that. Eventually, a new man stood out—a man who fought for his people. He was not weak, fighting no matter how many died. That was the type of person fit to be their leader, not this pathetic man they once called boss. But for this youth, he still cared about him and called him boss despite how weak he now was; the little amount of loyalty he had left caused hesitation. But in the end, the old has to be thrown out for the new, no matter how attached one is.

"Ay jefe, lo siento… Adios. (ay boss, I'm sorry… Goodbye.)"

"…"

An eternity passed gradually. A cold wind blew through where they were as the moon gently displaced the lifeless clouds blocking its hollow light. Gleaming moonlight then shone down on the two of them, and there, under the soft light, he could see the boss and all his imperfections. Something else was visible, though: the boss's soft smile that blended with the moonlight. It shone as if the boss had been at peace. Now not a single ounce of hate, rage, or revenge stood in the boss's way. He was now ready to pass on and face the consequences of his life. The old boss was gone, and the youth slowly came to terms with that. The boss had lost his ambition—that fire—long ago. Now, only the ashes remained of what he once was.

The youth continued to struggle internally. Even though it had only been a couple of years since he joined high school, he was close with everyone. They gave him a family when he didn't have one. So could he do it? Could he kill family? Time passed slowly as the youth steeled himself… and finally fired the gun!

BANG!!

Gunpowder flooded the air, mixing with the hot scent of blood, creating a disgusting yet magnificent concoction that flooded the senses. The shot rang deep into the alleys, and not a moment later, more came in a distraught and sorrowful fashion.

BANG!!

BANG!!

BANG!!!!

End of Prologue.