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Quirky Row Chapter 34: Ride or Die
🕑 Added 2025-02-28 17:00:06 +0000 UTCChapter 34: Ride or Die
(Wednesday, November 24th, 2123)
“Cheers to another successful mission, everyone!” Playa said, hoisting a beer bottle into the air.
“CHEERS!” his Saints cried back, lifting their own bottles in a faux-salute.
The operation yesterday had gone off without a hitch. As far as the public knew, the villains had suffered a resounding defeat. Two gangs had their income crippled, and the heroes milked the attention for all it was worth.
The only real negative outcome had been the death of one of the heroes at the hands of the Sons of Samedi. Stampede had tried to tangle with the General and gotten himself killed for the trouble.
It was unfortunate, but thankfully the media was spinning it as an act of aggression from the Sons, and the Saints had nothing to do with it. Having built up plenty of goodwill amongst the people had also seen a lot of sympathy for the 'loss' of the drugs.
‘Losing’ to Silver Swan might have damaged a bit of his street cred, but not by much, and it was a sacrifice Playa would gladly make if it meant getting a leg up on the competition.
‘Of course, they’ll find out about the fact we didn’t lose nearly as many drugs as the Sons did soon enough, once we flood the streets with our own brand of Loa Dust,’ Playa thought smugly to himself. And while they were at it, he’d also make sure this fact was leaked to the press after the fact. Nothing quite like revealing the Saints had bamboozled everyone to boost one’s reputation!
“Think it’s a little early to be drinking?” Pierce asked, looking around at the celebrating Saints.
“Nah, it’s half-past two, that means it’s Happy Hour, according to Stilwater’s municipal by-laws,” Shaundi replied, swiping a bottle for herself.
“Dare I ask how you know that?” Johnny asked her.
“Well, I did major in Law at Stilwater U. Before I got into the party scene,” Shaundi snorted. Everyone stared at her in disbelief.
“What? You don’t think I could be a lawyer?” she asked, glaring at them.
“Yes,” Playa said bluntly, Johnny and Pierce nodding in agreement without hesitation. The other, newer members of the Inner Circle were a bit slower to nod along, but they all did.
“Ah, fuck you guys!” Shaundi growled, knocking back the contents of her bottle.
“Anyone else have any startling revelations to share?” Playa asked his Inner Circle dryly.
“Um, I'm in a sexual relationship with a gimp, and his wife," Jean-Paul offered. "And their neighbors..."
"And I really, really like cheese," Pierce claimed. "Like, seriously, I think I might have a problem. Is it possible to be addicted to dairy products?"
"It was a rhetorical question, I didn't actually want to hear about your problems or sex lives," Playa deadpanned, causing people to cough awkwardly and get back to drinking.
As the party continued, Playa got a text on his phone. Answering it, he frowned in annoyance.
“Who’s that?” Johnny asked.
“My dry cleanings ready,” Playa sighed. “Gotta go get it.”
“Can’t you wait? The party’s really getting started!” Mink pouted.
“Nah, the dry cleaner I use is very particular about that. You pick it up the day it’s ready or he ‘accidentally’ loses your ticket, meaning you need to wait a few more days while he ‘finds it.’ And he closes at four thirty for the day so I need to get going now,” Playa explained.
“Sounds terrible,” Jean-Paul grunted. “Why the heck do you use him?”
“Because Mr. Bubbles is the best damn dry cleaner in Stilwater,” Playa replied. “Nobody can remove blood from clothes like he can. Hell, he’s so good at his job that back before the Saints stepped onto the scene, none of the Big Three, not even those psychos in Los Carnales, would mess with him because of how good his services were.”
“Yeah. No issues with the gangs these days either since he’s still located in Saints Rows. Not even Ultor could get that old man to move,” Johnny laughed.
“All right, I’m off,” Playa said, getting up. “Keep the party going without me, I should be back in an hour or so.”
He left the Mission and got into one of his cars, driving merrily down into the old Saints Row district. It had changed significantly since Ultor had moved in. It was cleaner, sure, but all the good people were gone, replaced by stuck-up snobs and bastards with law and business degrees shoved up their asses.
Finding a place to park was as nightmarish as ever, though, although nowadays the streets were filled with fancy-pants cars and limos instead of beat-up clunkers.
As he headed to the dry cleaners, his phone started ringing, and he quickly answered it after checking the caller ID.
“Shaundi! What’s up?” he asked.
“I just got word from a few of my guys on the street that the Sons are up to something,” Shaundi informed him. “Think they’re gearing up for some shit because he saw a couple of their remaining bases bustling with activity.”
“Hmm. We all expected them to do something soon. They can’t exactly take that hit the heroes gave them lying down. But since they can’t go after the heroes openly, the Sons are going to try and hit us to take back their drugs. Double the guard on the warehouses and make sure the cops who patrol near out areas are properly bribed to go after and arrest anybody wearing green,” Playa ordered.
“Gotcha,” Shaundi replied. “Sending some texts now!”
“Wonderful. Anything else to report?” Playa asked Shaundi as he walked down the street.
“Yeah, one last thing. After my, uh, ‘incident’ with Veteran Child, I racked my brain for any other spots the Sons might be hoarding drugs. Then I recalled something when one of the boys brought in Sushi for the party and it triggered a memory,” Shaundi said.
“Go on,” Playa urged.
“I know where one of their bases is,” Shaundi revealed. “It’s not where they make the drugs, but it is where they move ‘em around. They have a couple factories where they smuggle their drugs through the city. One of which is a fish packing plant.”
“Interesting choice,” Playa muttered.
“Right? I went there on a date with VC once. Spent the whole night stuffing bags of Loa Dust into frozen fish. Good times,” Shaundi chuckled.
“Alright, sounds like a good place to hit. Send some Saints to rough up the workers and take whatever they have lying around.”
“Can do!” she said cheerfully. “I’ll get right on that!”
Shaundi hung up, and Playa put away his phone before continuing his pleasant stroll through Stilwater. Sure, he ran into a couple flashers, and somebody had tried to sell him bootleg DVDs (even though nobody used DVDs anymore!), but it was all part of the Stilwater experience!
But as he was minding his own business on his way to pick up his dry cleaning, a green limo pulled up to the curb and screeched to a halt. A green-shirted thug rushed out, fist reared back to take a swing at Playa. The Son’s arm was covered in thorny protrusions that looked nasty, and probably wouldn’t feel good to be hit by.
However, Playa wasn’t worried as he swiftly drew his revolver from its hiding spot tucked into his waistband, and fired it into the goon’s chest.
A massive red hole explosively opened in his torso, and people began to scream and run for cover.
Two more Sons of Samedi burst out of the car. One had chains coming from his head like metallic dreadlocks, while the other had bright red eyes that glowed and pulsed eerily.
‘Only three goons to try and take me down? I’m insulted,’ he noted idly as he raised his gun to put them down, but staggered as a wave of vertigo hit him. As the red-eyed Son approached, the feeling of disorientation got worse.
‘Shit… did I get drugged? Hypnotized?!’ Playa wondered in confusion as his vision started to fade. He tried to aim his revolver at the Sons rushing him, but wasn’t able to pull the trigger in time due to his digits feeling like thick sausages attached to his hands.
He fell to the ground, unable to resist as the Sons grabbed him and dragged his sorry ass over to the limo before tossing him in. They then got in as well, sandwiching him between them like a pair of bookends.
The limo then drove off, leaving the body of the dead Son behind as if he was nothing more than a piece of trash.
“Greetings,” a smooth baritone said to Playa as he blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision and adjust to the green-tinted lighting of the limo.
“The General?” Playa muttered, squinting at the speaker. The bald Black man in a green suit nodded, a cigar in his hand. Beside him, a Black man in a green doo rag holding a skull-topped staff observed the conversation with dead eyes.
“The one and only,” he replied. “This is the first, and last, time we shall be meeting with each other.”
“You have a weirdly pleasant voice,” Playa admitted. “Not what I expected.”
“And you have an excellent taste in weapons,” the General said, ignoring the flattery as he picked up Playa’s revolver.
“Thanks,” Playa drawled, only to be slapped upside the head by one of the men who’d manhandled him into the vehicle.
“What a lovely piece,” the General continued as he admired Playa’s custom-built revolver. “I think I’ll keep it as a trophy.”
Playa scowled at him. His arms were being pinned by the two goons on either side of him, meaning he couldn’t summon the gun back to him use it to solve this problem right then and there.
“Oh, and don’t bother trying to use your Quirk in here,” the General said with a smirk, mistaking Playa’s glare and twitchy limbs for something else. “I have taken care of that issue.”
“You took away everyone’s sense of smell, huh?” Playa guessed, causing the bald Haitian man to stiffen.
“How did you know?” he demanded.
“Vetty Boy and his crew had the same thing happen to them,” Playa snorted. “And the Goat told me about it, too. He doesn’t like you.”
“It doesn’t matter in the end,” the General spat out. He then took a drag from his cigar, and blew a thick cloud of smoke into Playa’s face, causing the purple-themed gang boss to cough in an attempt to clear it away.
“Ah, not a fan of cigars, I take it?” the General asked in a mocking tone. “Perhaps this will be more your style.”
He then nodded at Mr. Sunshine, who took out a handful of powder and blew it into Playa’s face. The leader of the Saints choked on the substance, but wasn’t able to avoid getting some of it into his mouth and nose.
“Normally, Loa Dust is to be smoked,” the General said conversationally as Playa hacked and coughed. “This is because it is a bit too… potent if ingested in powder form.”
“Wh-why?” Playa gasped out, already feeling the tendrils of intoxication creeping in, dulling his senses. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Your mind will open to new experiences! You will see the world like never before! And then you will die,” the General said. “You’ve caused me a lot of problems, but it is only fair I let you go out... mostly painlessly. One leader of men to another.”
“Guess not… Hey… Hey… Your name… what is it?” Playa demanded, slurring his words a bit as he looked over at the man next to the General.
“They call me Mr. Sunshine,” the General’s second-in-command replied.
“That’s a lovely name, so jealous!” Playa slurred. “But what’s your first name? Or is it ‘Mister?’”
As he chattered away, Playa struggled to get his mind and body to work properly. He still had some control, but he was rapidly losing it. Being hotboxed inside the limo wasn’t helping either. He had to get out! Thus, the air in the enclosed space started to smell sickly sweet all of a sudden.
‘Good thing the Sons can’t smell anything, or they’d notice something was up,’ Playa thought to himself.
“Hey… Mr. Sunny-D?” Playa asked. “Didja know that medical nitroglycerin smells like burnt caramel? The pure stuff doesn’t, though. I just like the smell.”
Mr. Sunshine’s eyes narrowed while the General’s eyes widened, the two realizing what he was referring to.
“Kill him!” the General shouted, and the two men on other side of Playa pulled out guns to shoot him.
At the same time, Playa flung his right hand out at the General, flicking several droplets of an oily, colorless liquid he’d generated from his palms.
Mr. Sunshine tackled the General out of the way in the nick of time, and the droplets splattered against the back of the General’s seat. On the other side of which just so happened to be where the driver was.
The pure nitroglycerin exploded against the divider, blowing it apart and killing the driver. The limo immediately began to swerve, and as it did so, Playa lunged at one of the gunmen, grappling them and tackling them out of the out-of-control vehicle.
As the General’s fancy ride crashed into a lamppost, a mailbox, and a fire hydrant before finally coming to a stop in the side of a bakery, Playa used the body of the unfortunate grunt to cushion his fall, using their body to protect his own from the road as they tumbled across the asphalt.
When they finally come to a halt, Playa shakily rose to his feet with a groan, all while car horns and police sirens blared, which really messed with his drug-addled head.
“Damn, so loud… gonna kick yer ass…” Playa vowed. “Just have ta walk back and find my ride home.”
He did a little stretch and then began to walk away down the street, making sure to summon his gun back to his side.
Yet he barely made it more than a few blocks before a hero cornered him, jumping in front of the swaying supervillain, hand out in a ‘stop’ motion.
“Halt, villain!” he cried. “You are under arrest!”
“Do you know who I am?” Playa asked. “Actually, ‘who are you’ is a better question.”
“How can you not know me?! I am-!”
“Don’t care!” Playa grunted, punching him in the face and knocking him out cold with a single blow. He then continued to stagger down the street, trying to find his way back to base.
The next group to corner him were none other than the Sons of Samedi, two green-painted cars speeding down the road towards him in an attempt to run Playa over.
With a groan, Playa opened fire, shooting wildly at them while also scurrying off towards the sidewalk. One bullet miraculously hit a tire, causing the car to immediately wipe out, slamming into the car beside it. Both vehicles then flipped over.
“Whoa,” Playa muttered in awe, the sight made all the more impressive by the Loa Dust clouding his mind.
His phone started ringing, ruining the moment, and Playa sighed and reached into his pocket, taking it out. The screen was badly cracked from the fall he’d taken earlier, but it stilled worked.
“Hello?” he asked, trying to force his voice to sound normal. Never answer the phone drunk or high, or if you had no choice, at least sound sober. He’d learned that lesson in college.
“PLAYA! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”
“Shaundi?” he muttered, recoiling a bit with a wince as his lieutenant’s voice blared through the speaker.
“Yes, it’s me! Get your ass over here! The Sons have found the Mission and they have fucking rocket launchers!” Shaundi shouted urgently, fear lacing her tone.
“How’d they find ya, exactly?” Playa asked, frowning in bewilderment.
“Veteran Child must have told ‘em, or made a note of it, after he kidnapped me,” Shaundi replied with an angry snarl.
“Makes sense. They seem dumb, but the Sonnies are surprisingly clever when it suits them. Like when they kidnapped me earlier,” Playa muttered, before being distracted by something shiny nearby. “Oooo! A butterfly!”
“What the-? Playa, the hell is going on?! Where are you, we’re being attacked!” Shaundi shrieked.
“It’s fine, Shaundi! It’s fine!” he assured her. “Hey, Shaundi… did you ever realize just how beautiful the world is?”
“Oh. My. God. Are you high?!” Shaundi gasped in disbelief as she realized what was happening.
“Little bit,” Playa admitted. "General caught me. Got away, though."
“So this is how I die, huh?” Shaundi muttered. “Never thought I’d see the day…”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry! Johnny’s there with ya, and he’s got the best superpower of all!” Playa assured her.
“What? But Johnny doesn’t-”
“His superpower is ‘guns.’ All of them. You guys will be fine,” Playa said, waving off her concerns. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to hitch a ride back to the base before I crash.”
The sound of a car horn brought him back to the present, and he glared at the person who was honking at him. So what if he was standing there in the middle of the road? He had right of way!
“Oi! Loser! Get outta the street!” the driver shouted at him.
“Hey! I’m not a loser!” Playa growled, waving his gun about.
“Oh yeah?! You think a big gun makes you a big man?!” the driver retorted.
“No! I have a job and everything!” Playa shot back. “And I’m like six foot one, so I’m already a big man! Don’t need a gun for that!”
“Well good for you! But I’m in a hurry and you’re blocking the way!”
“Oh, right, sorry ‘bout that,” Playa muttered. “Hey, uh, could I bum a ride? I don’t remember where I parked my car…”
“Sure, whatever, as long as it gets you off the street,” the driver grunted, opening up the door to his passenger side seat.
Playa staggered over and got inside, fumbling with the seatbelt a bit before successfully buckling up.
“The hell happened to you, buddy?” the driver asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the scratches and bleary red eyes Playa was sporting.
“Eh, got kidnapped, drugged, escaped, made a bit of a mess… the usual,” Playa replied.
“Wait, hang on… are you Skunk?!”
“That’s my name! Don’t wear it out!” Playa giggled, before frowning. “Aww, I don’t have my gas mask… can you keep a secret? Don’t tell anyone who I am?”
“Uh, sure,” the driver agreed.
“Great! Can you drop me off at, uh, Bavogian Plaza?” Playa requested.
“Yeah, that’s near where I’m going.”
“Yay!” Playa cheered. “Oh, and uh, I’m sorry about any bullet holes your nice car might get in the future.”
“Thanks?” the driver muttered, before driving off. “Is that… likely to happen?”
“Yes,” Playa said flatly, and the Stilwater resident sighed.
“I suppose it was about time for a few new ones,” he grumbled. He then put pedal to the metal and shot down the street, weaving between traffic and gunning through stoplights.
Yet it wasn’t long before green cars began to pop up near by, zooming around searching for Playa. None had realized he’d been picked up by a random driver just yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they caught a glimpse of the infamous supervillain stoned out of his mind in a 2111 grey Capshaw.
“I think they tweaked onto us,” Playa mumbled, glancing out the window. It was hard to tell through the haze in his head, but there was a green blob closing in on them too fast to be normal. It soon revealed itself to be a Nordberg with the Sons’ tags all over it.
The Nordberg then slammed into the Capshaw’s rear bumper, trying to run it off the road. The driver – who Playa still didn’t know the name of – swore loudly and swerved, trying to avoid the car on his tail, but the Nordberg doggedly kept pursuing.
“Oh, shit,” the driver grunted. “We’re still only halfway to the Plaza!”
“Don’t worry, I got this,” Playa assured him, rolling down the window before pointing his gun out of his, firing wildly at the Sons.
Most of them missed, but one bullet went through the windshield, hitting the driver in the chest and killing him instantly, and the car swerved and rammed into a bus stop.
But the Son must have sent a call out before that, because less than a minute later, a green Bulldog peeled out from a nearby street and made a beeline for the Capshaw, knocking a couple other cars out of the way in the process.
“Hang on!” Playa’s driver shouted, pulling off a sick drift that sent them skidding down a street, but it successfully let them escape as the Bulldog had to turn around to chase after them.
However, before the Sons could catch up, the Bulldog crashed and came to a halt. Not because of poor driving, but due to ramming straight into an amber colored wall that’d sprung up in the middle of the street, blocking it’s path.
“Oh, neat! Amber is here!” the driver exclaimed as he saw the Number 7 heroine kicking ass and taking name as she brutalized the Sons of Samedi in the Bulldog. But then he paled as he recalled who was with in. “Oh, shit! Amber is here!”
The driver then glanced at Playa, who was still out of it, his gun out of ammo as well as it kept clicking.
“Shoulda brought more bullets,” Playa grumbled, glaring at his gun as if it’d betrayed him.
“Damn it, I’m totally going to jail!” the guy wept.
“No worries! I’ll just break you out,” Playa assured him.
“Thanks. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” the driver sniffed.
“No problem!” Playa laughed. “Also, look out for the banana!”
“Banana?” the driver wondered, before returning his eyes to road. “BANANA!”
Banana Loco, one of the more unusual heroes in Stilwater, was driving his banana-yellow car at them.
“Halt, villains!” he called out. “Surrender and you won’t have pineapples shoved where the sun don’t shine!”
Both Playa and the driver shuddered, and the latter decided he was going to risk it. Instead of stopping, he accelerated. Even as mushy apples slammed into the windshield of the Capshaw, smearing it with juice and making it impossible to see out of, the driver refused to quit and shot past Banana Loco, narrowly missing him by a hair as he swung out into a different lane.
The hero let out a shout and tried to shove a pear up the car’s tailpipe, but they were going way too fast at that point. Of course, this also meant that when the Capshaw hit a pothole, it immediately spun out of control.
Thanks to what only could be described as pure luck or divine intervention, the car did not crash. Instead, it mounted the sidewalk and slid across some freshly laid cement, spraying it everywhere before getting stuck and coming to a swift, if jarring, halt.
“Might want to work on your parking skills,” Playa commented with a manic cackle as the two staggered out of the car. He then glanced over as police sirens rang through the air. “Sorry about this.”
“Sorry ‘bout what?” his former driver asked, only to yelp as he was grabbed by the gang boss and dragged in front of him while pressing the revolver against the forehead.
“Don’t move, piggies!” Playa called out as cop cars pulled up around him. “I’ve got a hostage!”
At first, the civilian the leader of the Saints had more or less abducted gasped, hurt by the betrayal. But then he remembered the gun being pointed at his head was empty, and he realized the supervillain was trying to protect him. If the driver was a victim in this instance, he couldn’t get punished!
“Y-yeah! Help! He attacked me and forced me to drive him around!” the guy stammered out, playing it up.
“Release the civilian!” Banana Loco demanded, driving up a moment later, several fruits hovering around his head menacingly.
“Never! Oh, and uh, does anyone smell roses?” Playa asked, sniffing the air curiously. “Wait, I think that’s me…”
“What? No! Now release him, or-!” Banana Loco stopped, and blinked in disbelief as he finally registered just who it was. “Hang on… is that… it’s Skunk! He’s not wearing his costume, but that’s definitely him!”
“Shit, they recognized me,” the supervillain grimaced. “Smoke bomb!”
He then released a torrent of white smoke from his body, obscuring him and his ‘hostage.’ He then shoved the driver forward into the hero, distracting the law enforcement, which gave him a chance to book it and run away.
As the hero and cops coughed helplessly while the smokescreen aided his get away, Playa slipped down a side alley, panting a bit as he came to a stop, recovering his breath.
“I don’t get it, I should have sobered up by now,” Playa groaned out, rubbing his forehead. Something was wrong. He’d taken drugs before, and none of his highs had ever lasted this long. Was pure Loa Dust really that potent?
“There he is! Get him!”
He didn’t have long to ponder this however as another group of Sons spotted him and rushed forwards down the very same alleyway he’d just ducked into. With a groan of annoyance, Playa unleashed another obscuring cloud of gaseous mist to block their sights. Then, while they panicked, he pistoled whipped them all, his enhanced revolver making for a very effective bludgeoning tool.
“Wonder where they came from?” Playa mused as he stepped over an unconscious gangster. He soon found his answer. The group that’d just tried to jump him had been driving a Wellington when they’d seen the supervillain head into the alley.
Playa staggered over to the car and slipped inside, fumbling for a bit before finding the keys and turning on the engine.
“Awesome!” he grunted happily. He then frowned. “Huh, I’m feeling oddly hungry… I better get something to eat before I rescue Shaundi again. Pretty sure she won’t mind if I’m a little late. I think there’s an Apollo Burger somewhere around here…”
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LINE BREAK
“GAH! Where are they all coming from?!” Shaundi exploded, before ducking back behind a dumpster as a Sons of Samedi gangbanger tried to shoot at her.
Shortly after Playa had left the party, the Sons had shown up. They’d surrounded the Mission and blockaded it with their vehicles. The Sons also managed to bribe a bunch of people in the city administration as well as some cops to close down whole stretches of road in Bavogian Plaza, effectively cutting the Saints off from help and keeping them trapped.
And with most of the Third Street Saints inside the Mission, the gang was primmed for a devastating decapitating strike.
When the Sons finally began the assault, they almost caught the Saints unaware. The only reason the purple-clad gang had managed to react in time was thanks to a Saint going outside to pee behind one of the dumpsters and spotting the Sons of Samedi setting up the barricade. Those few minutes had made all the difference as Johnny had been able to break out a few hidden caches of weapons and pass them out.
“This must be all of the damned Sons left in the city!” Pierce guessed, using his Quirk on the dumpster, turning it invulnerable to bullets.
“How nice of them to come on out and line up so I don’t have to go out and find ‘em!” Johnny laughed darkly, firing a grenade launcher at the Sons from the doorway. The explosions from his weapon shattered concrete and asphalt and sent pieces of green-clad gangsters flying. It was brutal, and dozens of Sons had already been killed.
The Sons of Samedi might have surrounded them, but they weren’t having it easy. Johnny’s hidden stashes of weapons had included sniper rifles, assault rifles, shotguns, and a freaking grenade launcher! The only thing it didn’t have was rocket launchers or miniguns, which he ‘hadn’t had time to add yet’ according to the Saints’ right-hand man. With these weapons, the Sons had been cut down and forced onto the defensive.
“Damn, I’m out,” Johnny grunted as he fired his last round. “Cover me!”
A group of ten Sons broke cover as Johnny was forced to reload, and they rushed at the Mission, machetes and SMGs in hand, but several Quirks were launched at them along with a barrage of bullets. Barbed spikes, flaming bricks, acid, and buckshot struck the band of berserkers, cutting them down with sickening ease. All that was left of the fools was bloody smears afterwards.
“They just refuse to stay down,” a Saint muttered in disbelief, and Shaundi had to agree. All of the Sons had had their sense of pain removed by the General, and that let them endure all the casualties they were taking.
“Look out!” a Saint screamed, and Shaundi wondered what was wrong, when an explosion suddenly struck the dumpster she and Pierce were hiding behind. Thanks to Pierce’s Quirk, their hiding spot wasn’t destroyed. However, the blast did send it flying away, and Shaundi was forced to dive away as it came crashing down, narrowly avoiding being crushed.
As she looked up, Shaundi saw to her horror that a Son with a rocket launcher had just blown up the dumpster. Worse, was that he was hidden behind a car out of sight of the Saints’ snipers, and was aiming a reloaded weapon right at her.
‘Is this the end?’ she wondered, clenching her eyes shut. The sound an engine revving cut through the air, and a green Wellington sporting Sons markings suddenly appeared down the street, smashing through the blockade and running over the Son with the rocket launcher. They disappeared, screaming, beneath the tires.
The Wellington then spun around wildly, trailing white smoke as it plowed through a few more cars, breaking apart the blockade. It eventually came to a rest in the middle of the parking lot, and Sons and Saints alike stared in disbelief at it.
“Kill ‘em!” Johnny abruptly roared, and the Saints cheered and began to return fire against the Sons of Samedi, cutting down the bewildered gangsters who’d been taken aback by the sudden arrival of the car that’d ruined their plans.
Several Saints with Quirks that let them tank bullets rushed out as well, clashing with the Sons of Samedi and fully breaking their barricades apart and revealing the men cowering behind them.
The Saints carefully avoided shooting the car that’d driven to their rescue, though. Just because it had Sons of Samedi coloration didn’t mean it was with them. Had some of the other Saints managed to get through?
With their lines broken, the Sons didn’t have a way to keep the Saints from pushing back and eliminating them, and after another minute of ruthless shooting and vicious melee, the Sons were driven off from the rear entrance to the Mission. Johnny quickly left with Pierce to deal with the Sons elsewhere, and finish breaking the siege.
“Who do you think saved us?” Mink wondered, walking over to Shaundi’s side. The pink furred girl had a large cut on her left shoulder that would probably scar, but was unharmed aside from that.
“Let’s find out,” Shaundi said, and walked towards it. As she got closer, though, the door was kicked open and somebody emerged, along with a cloud of smoke that started to dissipated once the car was opened.
“Wait a minute, this isn’t Apollo Burger,” Shaundi heard the driver of the Wellington complain as they staggered out, revealing themselves to be none other than Playa himself, a confused look on his face.
“Playa?! Oh thank God you’re here!” Shaundi exclaimed when she saw her boss swaying unsteadily on his feet.
“Hey there, miss, I’d like to order a triple bacon cheese burger. And can you put an egg on the bottom?” Playa requested, voice slurred.
“Boss, it’s me, Shaundi,” she deadpanned.
“Oh… so, anyways, I’ll also take a large fries with that,” he said continuing his order as if he hadn’t heard her. “And do you have Diet Professor Bonk? If yes, I’lll take a medium. With a crazy straw.”
Shaundi sighed and walked over to the leader of the gang, only to notice that he was leaking faints wisps of pale white smoke.
“Playa, why do you smell like Loa Dust?” she asked after leaning in and taking a whiff.
“Loa What? Is that a new soda?” Playa inquired, still completely out of it.
“Yes, it’s a brand-new soda,” she drawled, rolling her eyes at him.
“Oh. That’s good. I’m gonna take a nap, now, I’ve been up since forever,” Playa said. He then closed his eyes and collapsed onto the ground in front of her, snoring up a storm. Shaundi blinked, then sighed.
“Tch, light weight,” she scoffed at him. She then waved over a nearby Saint.
“Take the boss and throw him onto a couch. Find him one that doesn’t have too many bullet holes, okay?” Shaundi ordered. “And somebody better get him his burger before he wakes up!”
She then glanced around with a grimace. “Ugh… and get this place cleaned up before the cops arrive! I don’t wanna push our luck and have the heroes finding out where our hideout is!”
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Author's Note: Thanks for reading! As a special February 28th Gift, keep an eye out for a bonus chapter later today!
