The Red District was a place where shadows danced The 141 were not to be trifled with.īut beneath the veneer of normalcy lurked a darkness that I understood all too well. Two years in this twisted paradise had taught me well. The 141 had designated this space as a "Safe Zone," enforcing a strict no-tolerance policy for any criminal activity. The crime rate in this area was significantly lower compared to the other territories. The first and second floors were my personal quarters, while the ground floor housed the shop, and the third floor served as a storage space. Bought and renovated during my first year in the Red District, it served a dual purpose: my haven and my place of business. The building that housed my shop was a testament to my meticulous planning. The local news blared, its voice droning on about a drug epidemic and the discovery of another body. The scent of a thousand different blooms filled the air, a stark contrast to the stench of the street outside.Īs they browsed through my floral haven, I switched on the radio. I opened the door with a flourish, allowing them to enter. McTavish had herded her son and his purchases towards my shop, her voice a constant stream of anecdotes and childhood tales about her son and two daughters. "Lucy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Johnny offered a weak smile, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "He's the wonderful florist I told you about!" McTavish declared, oblivious to her son's discomfort. "Maa," Johnny groaned, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation. Like his mother, his accent was thick, each word heavy with the rhythm of his homeland. He lumbered towards us, his once-military posture weighed down by a heavy bag of gardening supplies. The old woman's eyes sparkled with excitement as she prattled on about her son, John, a handsome young man with a tired expression etched on his face. I have a new shipment of rare orchids arriving, and I believe you might find them quite fascinating," I suggested, the smile never leaving my face. "Delighted to hear it! Perhaps you should stop by the nursery soon. "The poppies are doing splendidly! I followed your advice to the letter, and they're simply glorious," she beamed, her thick Scottish accent weaving a melody through the air. McTavish, to what do I owe the pleasure?" I inquired, a saccharine sweetness tainting my words. McTavish, a sprightly woman whose smile could rival the sun's brilliance. "Lucy!" A cheery voice pierced the cacophony, drawing my attention away from the morbid scene. And it was in this moral abyss that I, Lucifer, the gardener with a taste for blood, thrived. Here, life was cheap, meaningless, and expendable. Yet, amidst the decay, life clung on, its perverse beauty evident in the raucous laughter spilling out of dingy clubs and the brazen smiles of painted women. Used condoms and discarded syringes lay scattered like fallen soldiers, a testament to the depravity that permeated this place. With a practiced ease, I turned away from the body, its presence now insignificant amidst the detritus of the street. Whispers spoke of their allies - The Liberators, Los Vaqueros, and others who lurked in the shadows, their allegiances as shifting as the sands of the desert. They kept the others in check, a precarious balance maintained through a potent cocktail of intimidation and brutality. The 141, their name whispered with a mix of fear and grudging respect, held the largest territory. Then there were the so-called protectors, self-appointed knights in shining armor who enforced a twisted form of order. El Sin Nombre, the enigmatic drug lord, held sway over the minds and bodies of the desperate, while The Konni Group, a network of human traffickers, treated human lives as mere commodities. The Shadows, notorious for their illegal arms trade, lurked in the shadows, their influence as pervasive as the dampness that clung to the air. Sex, drugs, and violence were the lifeblood of this concrete jungle, each corner carved into fiefdoms ruled by ruthless warlords. A fitting name for this festering wound in the heart of the city, where sin and despair bloomed like grotesque flowers. A chilling satisfaction coursed through me as I watched the red mingle with the grimy rainwater, a macabre dance of life and death. His face, once contorted in fear, was now a pale mask, devoid of color. Rain pattered relentlessly, washing away the last vestiges of life from the man crumpled at my feet. The crimson stain on the cobblestone glistened under the harsh glare of the streetlamp. “The devil disguised himself as an angel to trick me into losing my heart.” Stats: Published: Updated: Words: 12,873 Chapters: 8/? Comments: 18 Kudos: 11 Bookmarks: 2 Hits: 197 John Price Acting as Task Force 141's Parental Figure (Call of Duty).Shepherd (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2).Simon "Ghost" Riley/Original Male Character(s).Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings.
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