It was Stryker. Shit. "What do you want?" I asked him without any preamble. The coarse, vulgar leader of The Black Deaths deserved no courtesy. He had led his human, all boy gang against us, telling them all that we were stealing and selling on their turf. It<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>true, but we were doing it to<span style="font-style: italic">survive</span>. The only reason anyone joined TBD was because they were junkies or wanted to impress their girlfriends. "Well I just came to visit you girlies," he said, exposing his rotten teeth. I didn't bother to correct him; we were not all girls, we had Zeke. "LIke hell you did," I snarled. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"