I walk into a fukin hard metal song, but the place is still kinda dead. No fucking customers and I even got some Haitian shit to download, man fuck them.

I saunter to my regular spot at the bar, looking at some old ass woman that thinks she is cool.

"Scuse me grandma, I think johnnies calling outside, he is stuck in the well, Why don't you go jump in and die."

Turning to the barkeep,"Who let in that scag, she think this is ozzfest or some shit, Fuck you ho" as the lady leaves.

'You best fuckin have somethin for be boy if your chasin out the bar hags.'

The gruff, aggressive voice of one Hellfire Electric sounds behind Stevie. Hellfire isnt exactly large, in fact hes a shorter man at five foot eight but he is built like a pride fighter, his dead flesh always sporting fresh ink and black hair standing in a spiky mohawk.

Hellfire has his hands on his bullet lined belt. His bare chest covered in scratches, apparently hes had a busy night. His eyes are small and narrow, black pupils with a red iris, whether by contact or something far less temporary...

 "Hells yes, they don't call me Houdini for nothing," as he takes out a few pieces of paper. "I was hunting and pecking on the interwebs when I came across this descrïption of what went down in the heights a few days back. (A descrïption of the bodies by an eyewitness after the assault)," as he nods at the keep for another beer.

"Blim Blam, man where did all the chicas head to, this dive is dead. Guess I can pack up the welcome rug no ones coming a knockin."

"Shit that ho was just trollin, I mean I'd let her suck my dick, but a man has to have standards."

He acts tough enough in the bar, but his relation with Hellfire is definitely a bit different behind closed doors. He relies upon his ego and machismo for the blood dolls he acquires as well as the info he can get and Hellfire is certain this email didn't come by 'hunting and pecking'.

All Stevies shit talking is ignored as hellfire reads over the email. It definitly sounds like Eye of the Storms work. As far as he knows the other packs are laying low, waiting on the Templar they dont know is already awake and moving.

'Good work shithead.'

Hellfire says gruffly.

'Ive got a new assignment for you. I want you to tag up a building for me and use the fucking stencil im gonna give you. Dont get caught because we need the tag to be seen... and ill have two of them barely legal schoolgirl types waiting to gargle your miniature balls when you get back.'

Hellfire folds the email and walks behind the bar, into the underground section of the club modelled after trippy blue caves. This is the Devils Den, this is where the real magic happens.

He expects Stevie to follow, there is no office. Just an open chamber with a carved booth and low table. A young gothling with purple hair and half a skirt lays half on the bench looking ready to die. She was probably dinner.

Hellfire will retrieve the stencil for Stevie, in the negative it looks like a completely random, spiky, almost animalistic shape. It folds out to about three feet across.

'Theres a biker bar out off the highway. They fancy themselves outlaws but all recently got arrested. Tag this up on their building and dont do anything stupid.'

 "Will do Cap'n, ain't nothin for a pro like me," taking the stencil and looking at the lady on the bench.

"Kinky, your so nasty. Man you could of had the big salami first, but I guess you'll never know now," with a snicker at the girl.

With the look from Hellfire he starts back upstairs after putting the stencil in his backpack. He walks back to the bar where someone has taken his seat.

"Whoa little man, I think you failed to see the reserved for someone that will whip your ass if you don't move," as the younger guy stares at him, but still relinquishes the seat. "Now where the fuck did my brew go, hey, yeah you little shit," as the kid starts to bolt with the beverage. Stevie just laughs, "Fuckin animals," looking back at the bartender.

"Well, drugs to deal and work to be done, can't just sit around this circle jerk forever," and starts out the door. He grabs his old Yamaha and revs it. I hate hillbillies. Oh and I need paint, fuck yeah. With that he tears off for the Wal-Mart on the way.