text: [Themes: sci-fi]
  
  You grab your baton, twirling around and slamming your baton into the side of her head. She slams into the wall, and you jam the baton into the head. You slam your foot into her stomach, knocking her backwards before your baton smacks into her head. She's stunned, so it's time to make a decision.
  
  > search for a weapon
  You turn and run, spotting a pair of pistols hanging from holsters on the wall. You stop and grab it, drawing the two pistols and twirling around. You see Thara charging towards you, but now you're in your element. You open fire, rubber bullets slamming into her head and neck as you land the majority of your shots, knocking her to the floor. You aim, unloading the remainders of your clips into her. She yelps as the bullets smash into her, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.
  
  The Doctor enters the room shortly after, carrying his syringe. You walk out of the room, heading back up to the bleachers. You collapse in your seat, breathing a sigh of relief.
  
  "Well done, Mia. I guess those shooting classes paid off," Luc smiles at you.
  
  You see Dead Eye nod at you with a smile, and know you need to talk.
  
  > Later that day...
  You stand next to Dead Eye, outside the arena.
  
  "I've done it. I've found you a job."
  
  "What?" you ask.
  
  "The MacCarthy Family. One of the largest criminal organizations in America. They want you."
  
  "Who are they?" you ask.
  
  A tall man with a suit and bowtie appears from a doorway, smiling.
  
  "Good to meet you. The name's Jack," he says. "I represent the MacCarthy Family. Basically, the largest Mafia left in America, and that's only speaking of us lightly."
  
  "I don't really want to work for a Mafia," you say nervously.
  
  "Mia, let me explain. We've made the world a much better place. We've ended the brutal gang wars that hurt people. Our people don't extort and rob Mom and Pop stores. We don't bully kids or push drugs on them. We give back to the community, acting as a center of income to inject money into the economy."
  
  "You're criminals."
  
  "Well... yes," Jack admits. "But what laws do we break? Sure, we sell drugs, but none more deadly then the alcohol, cigarettes and fast-food pushed by the big corporations. Sure, we employ a large amount of sex workers, but all of them are perfectly willing and happy with their role. Sure, we rob some big banks and chains, but we're barely making a scratch on the profits of some billionaires, and hurting no one else. We forge money, but it's a drop in the bucket that's given back to the community, unlike what's being spent on the wars in the Middle East. We're good people."
  
  "Why do you want me?" you ask.
  
  "Unfortunately, some people aren't... supportive of our ideals. Cops who try to enforce archaic laws that have no place in the modern world. Super-Heroes who want to enforce their conservative ideals on some poor average Joe only trying to make a reasonable trade of money for sex or score a couple of pills. We need... a fixer, if you would. Reasonable hours, thousands of dollars a year in wages, benefits such as free drugs and... services, all for use of your skills. What do you say?"
  
  > Agree
  "OK. I'll join," you say.
  
  "Welcome to the Family, Mia. We have a surprise for you. A gift.
  
  Jack pulls a file from his jacket pocket, and hands it to you.
  
  "Go ahead. Open it."
  
  "You open it, and find a dossier. You begin reading it.
  
  Name: Michael Kingston
  
  Date of Birth: 1/2/1983
  
  Aliases: Crimson Cape
  
  "From our research, we've gathered that he killed both your parents and your younger brother. Feel free to do what you want with that information. It contains his schedule, his place of birth, his allergies, anything one might need in... well, you know."
  
  "Thanks," you say, not knowing what to say.
  
  "I can promise you this, Mia. You look out for us, and the MacCarthy Family will ALWAYS have your back."
  
  > Later that day...
  You stand in your room, packing your backs, as your dorm mates look at you.
  
  "So you'll be a mobster?" Seamus asks.
  
  "Of sorts," you say.
  
  "For the Irish mob?"
  
  "Yes," you nod.
  
  "They asked you, an Asian American, over me, a man who bleeds green?" Seamus asks incredulously.
  
  "Yep," you reply smugly.
  
  "Fuckin' cunts," Seamus sighs. "Best of luck, anyway. I'll miss you."
  
  Luc walks over, wrapping his muscular arms around you, gripping you in a hug.
  
  "I'll miss you, Mia."
  
  "I'll miss you, too," you reply, struggling not to blush.
  
  "Yeah, Mia, best of luck as a mobster. Remember, they don't have to admit they're cops. Also, it's Tim Roth. Tim Roth is clearly the fucking rat," Seamus says.
  
  "Thanks for the advice, Seamus," you smile.
  
  "Good luck, Mia. I'll see you around. Who knows, maybe my employer will have me kill you some day? So today is not the end," Shada says.
  
  "I'll miss you all too. I need to go. I have work to do."
  
  You walk to the door, and smile at all your friends.
  
  "Bye, guys. Best of luck in life."
  
  With that you turn, walking off.
  
  > Continue
  Michael flew over New York City, staring down at the people below. His people. He continued flying, listening for any signs of violence.
  
  "Is that the last of the Coke?"
  
  "Yeah, load up and let's bounce."
  
  Michael turned, and flew towards the sound. He saw two men loading bricks of cocaine into the back of the truck, and dropped to the ground.
  
  "Hands in the air, gentlemen, or your head's are going through the wall," he says.
  
  "Good to see you, Crimson Cape," one of the men grins, hopping into the truck.
  
  The other follows him, slamming the truck door closed. Michael prepared to slam through the back, before a bullet thudded through his chest. He collapsed forward, onto his knees. A pool of blood began growing around him, as he looked up to see a young girl, barely out of her teens, appear in a leather overcoat, carrying a pair of revolvers. Her eye and hand was cybernetic, surprisingly.
  
  "You're the latest hired gun sent to kill me, huh?" he said, spitting blood onto the ground. "Are you proud of your life? Tell me, how much are you being paid?"
  
  "This is personal, Michael," she said, pointing her revolvers at his head.
  
  "Why?" Michael asked, coughing blood.
  
  "You don't know who I am, obviously. How about Alan Taylor? Kevin Min? Jack Min-Taylor? Any of them ring a bell? You killed them. You "super-heroes" cause so much damage, but you don't care. You..."
  
  Michael grabbed the revolver, tearing it from her hands and flinging it across the floor. He grabbed for the other but she elbowed him in the face. He collapsed to the ground, and was quickly kicked in the stomach. The revolver fired, and his head exploded.
  
  "Burn in hell, Crimson Cape," Mia said, spitting on him. "Trent, Harrington, let's go!"
  
  The truck opened, as the two mobsters hopped out.
  
  "Drinks are on me!" Mia smiled, turning and walking away from the crime scene.