In spite of our unhinged attitude to crime in the state and our uncanny hatred of each other, Christmas has always been a season of love. Someone will say that Christmas was a temporal drug to the insanity we faced in the state.

From the pine trees outdoors to the lights hung on shops to the colorful glitters spread across the pavement. Christmas surely knew how to change people for the best—sadly, the change is only temporal.

It is hard to hear of a missing person or a gunshot victim during the holidays. Except in some very rare situations, like when a husband returns home drunk and finds another man with his wife on his bed. Maybe, when a rival gang decides to take what rightfully belongs to you, and you go all Equalizer on them.

Most likely, when your lover decides to end your five years long relationship on Christmas day. Well, that usually ends in suicide. If you are lucky, you might get fourteen to twenty hours of brooding about where it all fell apart. But those were rare occasions.

Christmas with family is great: Left only for the one hour of your cousins talking about their great life and maybe, the two hours of heated arguments on the dinner table. Maybe, the one hour of staring at your crush's lips stuck with her boyfriend as you eat chips from a take out.

I know that I am weird and my life sucks.

You know, we don't all get to wear capes at night and have classy jobs during the day, like Batman. Maybe, I am living in the illusion that everything about my life sucks. My life might just be a nightmare. Perhaps one day, I will wake up to a bald-headed butler holding an iron bell by my bedside.

Well, since I am still stuck in this nightmare called my life and you are stuck with me. I am going to tell you a story. A true Christmas story; not the kind found in coloring books for milk teeth.

In a cursed land; A place far from paradise. A land where the bright morning sun wakes to the pungent smell of blood and sight of dead bodies by the alley. Where the souls of men were tainted with wickedness and greed. Sanity, justice, and truth were just words spoken by ardent believers in some righteous purge. With government officials living off the charity of mobsters, so many lives were left to the mercy of gangs and mafias. It was the only place in the whole goddamn country where robbery, assault, and arson cases were acquitted. Murder? Get a bloody gun—you will need it.

Thanks to the four mafia families: the sought after jewel gradually became a dumping ground for all things vile. A black hole sucking everything good that made us human. Leaving just one in the dark hearts of disloyal, disgruntled folks lacking any form of empathy—Survival.

Orange Town was where you could be anyone and anything; Hell, you could choose to be dead. Left only for the high crime rates, it would have become the life force of Minorca. From the skyscrapers in Elsie Lane to the slums in Apeville to the holy places in Saint's Path: Orange town had everything in a big urban city.

Some unimaginable centuries ago, it used to be a large mass of thick forest. Many claimed the forest was enchanted and dared not to enter. Cursed by the gods to only see the sunset. Giving it the name, the Orange Forest. I guess the curse never really broke.

Minorca, itself was no heaven. The mafia families—The Wastelanders, The Eastern Pirates, The Bloody Fangs, and the Daga Roja controlled major cities in the State. The Wastelanders controlled Kravenland. The Eastern Pirates lived in a resemblance to harmony with the Daga Roja in Orange Town; Leaving a few parts of Visintite City in the hands of the Bloody Fangs. The remaining cities were St. Augustus: The beloved state capital, Lextown—Minorca's metropolis, and Zulucht—the no man's land.

The Mafia families kept all the gangs in the state in line. The head of those families reigned like gods; Sitting on some likeness of Olympus, looking down at the melancholy cities built by their greed. No crime in the state was without their stamp on it and cut off it. Acting otherwise was suicide. The members of those families ranged from gang members to top government officials; Soldiers, Capos, Underbosses, Consigliere, and Associates were their ranks.

The Soldiers were the lowest; Mostly recruited from gangs around the state. The Capos led teams of soldiers, carrying out the wishes of their underbosses—sometimes, the Don. Unlike the soldiers, they were allowed to run their own rackets and missions.

Underbosses were the most revered people in the family after their Don and his Consigliere. They had capos and soldiers doing their bidding. So, they were hardly linked to or caught in any dirty work. Unless a cop with a red ribbon board and a death wish come snooping.

Consigliere saw to the business side and recruitment of the family members. Partnering with Associates, mostly Business Moguls looking for more power. They spent most of their time seeking lesser ignoble ways to profit in the underground—their methods: One you could live with.

The head of the family was the Don. Their word was law. Their sentence was final. The Don's titles varied with the four families. Cobra Head in the Wastelanders, El Dorado en Crimen in the Bloody Fangs and Daga Roja, and Pirate Lord in the Eastern Pirates.

In the midst of that chaos and destruction lived a man like no other. Death was his shadow. His acts were as poisonous and deadly as his name—like the lost twin of the reaper. Just in about two months, everyone in Orange town knew and learned to fear his name. Loyal to the most dangerous and revered criminal bosses in the country—Don Juan Hernandez, Dog-fist, the shadow of Orange Town, and El Dorado en Crimen of the Daga Roja.

He was the boogeyman. His name echoed in every nightmare in Orange Town. The Stiletto dagger and the Ol'Cigga Pistol, which looked almost like a Glock pistol were always by his side. Swift and painless was the death he dispensed freely.

A few people outside the Daga Roja have seen his face. The ones who had: were either dead or cowering behind the shadow of ignorance. A woman boasted that she knew who he was in a bar. Three days later, she was found in a septic tank. Two bullets to the head and three slashes to the throat: his signature kill.

Word on the street is that the authorities wanted him dead or alive. They were also willing to pay heavily for whoever was bold and daring enough to find the snake. A few tried: Let's just say; dead men, tell no tales.

So, I bid you: When the light falls and death comes collecting, whisper his name, Kennedy Wright—The Red Venom at your own peril.

"Do you believe in the afterlife?" Red Venom asked Rose Hernandez, his newfound bestie. The princess of the Daga Roja.

The weather was chilly as expected. Christmas was in the air. You could smell it off the faces of people beaming with smiles. Fathers bragging about daring Christmas adventures to their little ones. One or two happy children with their ugly red and green sweaters singing Christmas jingles. The shop owners handling treats and a few spewing out old Christmas tales: All in the spirit of love and goodwill.

"I don't know," Rose answered as she put the can of soda to her lips.

Red Venom cast her a scowl. His anger didn't lie with her. Even if it did, he couldn't stay angry with a beautiful face like that.

The only child of Don Juan Hernandez possessed a rare aesthetic beauty—the best of two worlds. A beauty that demanded the purest form of sacrifice; one that Kennedy Wright offered freely to save his pea-brained friend from a death penalty. A sacrifice to keep Rose and Freddy together—swearing his undivided loyalty to the Daga Roja.

She let her dark curly hair fall loosely; down to her rose-colored overflowing cardigan on a flowered dress. Her dark brown eyes locked with his bloodshot eyes. Her calm soothing smile subduing the grimace of the Red Venom.

Red Venom bit his lip for a minute, then closed his eyes. His heart troubled, as he sat in the famous Hercules Burger Joint in Aislen Drive. Donning his usual apparel. A red waistcoat with a pocket watch on a black turtle neck. His leather jacket on his seatback. His dagger still on his waist holster that held his pistol—safely concealed by his turtle neck. The Ol'Cigga wasn't on him, but close enough when needed.

"You have to learn to forgive yourself," Rose offered. "Ginger's death was not your fault. She played it reckless and ended up dead."

"That is what I want to keep telling myself." He heaved a sigh. "But, we all know that is a lie."

Rose put her palm on the back of his hand. Their eyes met and she put on a pale smirk. Kennedy tried to feign a smile, but it turned out worse than a stunt gone wrong.

"It will be alright." She assured. "Yo—"

"Hey-yo, I have great news," Freddy interrupted as he walked in. He wore a black tee on a pair of faded jeans and white sneaks—looking dapper as usual. His auburn hair trimmed short and combed back.

The son of the Earl Street number one business mogul seemed to be in a lightened mood that day. Fredrick Truce was known for planning the most flamboyant parties for the rich, dumb and young. Parties made for the elite children to show their new acquisitions and blow their parent's money.

Lucky Bastards.

"Let me guess...you have a party." Kennedy sounded sad and disturbed. His fingers were clasped below his jaw, as he cast his best friend a glance.

"Mood breaker," Freddy let out as he drew a sit beside his pal. "What's up today, Gloomy," he added as he peered into his friend's face.

Kennedy gave into silence. His eyes on the can of soda in his hands.

"If you are nice, Santa might bring you a present." Freddy put on a clownish grin.

Red Venom could not help himself from chuckling; he punched his Freddy's shoulder as they all giggled together. They were all still laughing when a lady in a match to match a blue sweater and jeans walked to where Rose sat. She put her hands on Rose's eyes.

"Hannah!" Rose shouted in glee as the stranger dropped her hands. The duo hugged each other passionately. It was like they were trying to merge into one body.

Freddy gave Hannah a wave with a broad smile. Hannah winked at him; her head still on Rose's shoulder.

Hannah looked about six feet plus from a distance. A few inches taller than Rose. Maybe, it was just the black juror high heels—expensive and trending. She tossed her long dark straight hair to the side, letting it fall to the arch of her back. Then, she drew a sit between Rose and the Red Venom.

The Red Venom spared her a cursory glance. He seemed to care less about the attention poured on Rose's friend. While his friends were busy asking Hannah about her work and life, he sat there eating chips; looking plainly at them. He was fine with being away from the discussion. Besides, he had a louder conversation going on in his head. Arguing with a conscience that never seemed to agree with him.

Minutes passed between the three before they realized that Kennedy hadn't said a word. Freddy sighed as his eyes settled on Kennedy. Hannah looked at Rose, then at Kennedy, then back at her in rapid succession. Without a word spoken, Rose understood what Hannah wanted. Her lips quirked to the corner as she turned to Kennedy.

"Kenny, I want you to meet my friend, Hannah," said Rose; jolting him from his deep brooding.

Hannah spoke out as she peered at his face, "It is nice to meet you, Kenny." She paused for a few seconds, then the smile on her face faded slowly away. "I have heard so much about you," She added with a straight face.

"Good reports, I hope?" Kennedy tried to force a smile.

"Yeah, if you like the sight of dead bodies in dark alleys." She snapped.

Red Venom snickered. "You don't strike me as a cop." His voice trailed off for a few seconds. His eyes locked with Hannah's. "No, No, No... you look like maggot food." He stressed the 'maggot food' with a dry, cold tone.

Maggot food was what gangsters in Orange town called nosy people.

Silence fell on the room as the two young fellows stared each other down. It was an unpleasant mixture of disdain and disgust, which went on for minutes. Unsure of what next, Rose sat in silence as she contemplated her next move. Freddy, on the other hand, seemed a lot gratified by the drama.

"Love your coat." Kennedy broke the discomforting silence. His scowl replaced by a sly smile in an instant. "And your eyes, of course," he added.

Hannah let a thin smile fall on her face. "Who knew you could be a charmer?" she jeered.

"I do have my days." Kennedy turned to Rose, "I like your friend. She is definitely my type."

Rose heaved a sigh of relief. "I never knew you had a type," She teased.

"I always thought his type will be a muscular alcoholic lady. You know...like the ones you find in the Wailers," Freddy interjected.

The Wailers was the most vicious female gang in the state. Usually identified by their tattoo, the wailing woman. A picture of a woman with a veil over her head, sitting in the midst of skulls. They weren't loyal to any particular family; Their members were given freedom to join any family they deemed right. But, no wailer was allowed to kill a fellow wailer without the permission of the Mother Wailer—the head of the Wailers.

"Why will you think so?" Kennedy asked with a dumbstruck look. A question he regretted immediately. "You know what—Never mind...I don't want to know why."

"Because you had a connection with that blown fuse," Freddy answered.

"What blown fuse?" asked Rose.

"Freddy don't," The Red Venom cautioned. He shook his head sideways for more emphasis.

"Angie's cousin or friend. Very sure you know her," Freddy continued in spite of his friend warning.

"What connection did they have?" Rose asked keenly. Freddy looked at his Kennedy again. Kennedy cast him a knowingly look, then continued eating his chips.

"Sorry babe, I am with Kenny on this one. You don't want to know," said Freddy. "Maybe later," he added before winking.