'A person/people who have the same interests and opinions as yourself and will help and support you.'

That is what the dictionary we tell you about a friend.

Personally, I feel the widely accepted definition of a friend is overrated. As much as we hate to admit, we are all selfish. We are only there for the people we need; bull-headed beliefs, unquenchable desires, or numerous wants between you and your friend must always be aligned.

Growing up in a place like Orange town can drive a person nut. The funny thing is that the poor fellow might not be aware of his or her alarming level of insanity; till he had reached the joker level: You know—without the green hair and the purple suit. A baser change of perspective, you might irreproachably add.

The sad part is that the darkness continues to hover over everyone that ever stepped a foot in Orange town. The town is like a vortex sucking the will to do good in you. Thereby, leaving you lost in an intricate world with a burning lust for the flashy things.

There are no true friends in Orange town, just temporal allies.

The irony of it all is that no man is an island. We all need to be with someone. For a fact, I have seen in my short miserable life, that the best adventure a man can undertake is the one taken with his temporal allies. It leaves you with memories and moments that you and your temporal allies will forever cherish.

A lonely adventure can be very boring and tiresome, even Jesus knew that. That is why he had twelve friends with him through his many adventures.

"Tell me again, why you have decided to spend the eve of your Christmas in the worst place in this goddamn world." The young man that sat in the front passenger seat spoke with a hint of dismay as Kennedy drove. He toyed with the golden ring on his pinkie finger, as he looked at Kennedy with admiration in his muddy brown eyes.

"The greater good," Kennedy replied his companion with a boyish smile on his face.

"Cut the bullshit. What's in for you?" The young man asked with his eyes still fixed on Kennedy. "You are trying to tell me that DD is not paying you?"

Kennedy shrugged."Yes."

"And no one else is paying you."

"Yes."

"And you are doing this out of your own free will and out of the kindness of your heart."

"Absolutely," Red Venom answered. The eyes of the two men met as Kennedy's answer kept on ringing in their heads. After a few seconds of staring at each other, they both burst into loud laughter.

"That was golden. The kindness of your heart," Kennedy's companion uttered and then he continued laughing loudly. "Everyone knows that the Red Venom has no heart."

"Come on, I have one. It is just not in the right place," Kennedy said with a straight face. "I probably left it in the Home of Sins," Kennedy added and they continued laughing.

Home of Sins is a well-known brothel in Aislen Drive, Orange town. The famous home to prostitutes, drug-dealers and various respectable clients was built before the Crow's call; making it one of the oldest buildings in Orange town. Surprisingly, it survived two major mafia wars—not every building in the state could boast of that.

"Seriously, why are you doing this?" Kennedy's companion asked sincerely.

"I don't know, Phil." The countenance of the Red Venom dropped. The cheerful mood died out as Red Venom drove on.

Red Venom continued with his hands on the steering wheel. "Some days, I look at the mirror and what I see scares me."

Phil put his right hand on his mouth as he looked through the window. "I can relate," he mumbled.

"I still have a feeling that I am capable of doing something good."

Hush fell over them as they continued driving to Zulucht. The thought of the men they had become seemed to weigh them down.

No one could understand the Red Venom predicament better than Phil. Phil was a former member of the Ahemekai, a small gang dominant in Earl Street. He was involved with the guns' trade. He also did a few dirty runs for the Daga Roja and the Eastern Pirates in his early years. Involving despicable things that can only be spoken to the brave in heart. Things that can't be talked about in the confession booth. Things that could only be forgiven by his maker.

After about three years of proving himself, he was offered the dream. The red dagger on his left forearm became his pride and hope. But, It was no replacement for his lost peace and soul; just a mere consolation.

He was about the Red Venom's age. Both having seen the dark side of Orange Town; both having done unspeakable things, it was easy for them to bond.

"For a minute, I thought you were doing it for DD's support." Phil broke the silence. He turned to look at Kennedy. "There is a rumor in the family, that Red Venom is going to be a capo."

"The politics of Daga Roja is of no interest to me," Red Venom assured.

"Honestly, I think you should go for it."

Kennedy turned to look at Phil abruptly; amused by his assertion. The glee faded into poignancy when he saw the earnest on his companion's face. "I still have a lot to learn," Kennedy remarked as he turned to look at the road up ahead. "It has been barely three months."

"Who cares? I have been doing this shit since I was sixteen. That is over four years." Phil removed his right hand from the window. His eyes on Kennedy; more serious than ever. "It is not every day you get that kind of recognition."

"I don't think I de—"

"No one deserves to lead." Phil interrupted Kennedy. "Call me selfish, but I am tired of following a bunch of suckers." Kennedy shifted his gaze to his friend again.

"In less than three months, you have outdone the accomplishments of most people in this goddamn family," Phil spoke with pride. "The Red Venom is a symbol."

"I am tired of being the Red Venom. I just want to be Kennedy goddamn Wright for once." His left palm descending from his nose to his lower jaw as his tongue wet his lower lip; his eyes baring sorrow. "Phil, I just want to do me and—"

"—Ginger will want you to go for it," Phil cut in

Kennedy looked daggers at the road ahead as he battled with the images of Ginger's dead body streaming in his head. A quick merciful end was more or less she deserved; three shots to the head. A month later and he could still hear her voice: sharp and warm, begging him to run with that damn girl; making feather assurances—lies, and she knew it. It has been the reason for his recent nightmares and sleepless nights. He relied on pills to keep his screaming thoughts quiet; not a good way to go for a young fellow in his twenties.

"It's not your fault, man." Phil tried to cheer his friend. "She knew what she was walking into. She knew the risks." Phil stretched his left hand to grip the shoulder of Kennedy.

"That's what everyone says," said Kennedy.

"You have to learn to forgive yourself."

"I don't know if I will able to."

"Then you have to live with it," Phil declared. "If it is any consolation...if you become a capo, I will leave Baca."

"I know you will." The Red Venom put on a pale smile. "You hate his guts."

"Yeah, you are right. I do hate his guts and his mustache," Phil agreed. They both laughed loudly as the journey continued.

The trip to Zulucht took about two hours. The two young men spent the time talking about their past few months in the Daga Roja. It was clear that Phil was not just a friend to the Red Venom; he was also a strong admirer of the Red Venom personality. Phil was a talker: maybe, an orator in a former life. With sheer pride that rivaled arrogance, he narrated his ordeals with some of his clients and victims alike. He explained every act in detail, with so much finesse and panache; such a way that made even his mistakes seem flawless and well calculated.

Unlike the meeting with DD A MILLION, Kennedy had nothing firm to work with. His knowledge about the New Zulucht Order was from the mouth of Mr. MacWells; the word of a corrupt mogul, which was next to nothing.

Sieving the little bits of truth, he knew MacWell's building was in Sunlions, an abandoned project very close to Afrikaana: the economic hub of Zulucht. Zulucht was not as big as Orange town; Maybe, slightly bigger than three districts in Orange Town.

In Orange Town, most gang members were found in bars. So, he decided to pick the first bar he saw in Sunlions as his starting point and let lady luck play her cards.

Zulucht was the slum in Minorca. It was home to the hopeless and destitute. Most buildings were sub-standard—constructed locally; with leaking pipes, untreated gutters, and falling roofs gracing every street. Many people had tried to help transform Zulucht in the past. Most of them ran with their tails in between their legs after receiving a series of death threats. The few that defiled those threats met the expected end. The problem with Zulucht wasn't Zulucht; the problem was the people that lived in Zulucht—and of course, the people that profit off the mess.

He parked close to what he presumed to be a bar; Most likely, the only bar. The bar, like most buildings in Zulucht was falling apart. Two pieces of wood were used to hold the two glass windows that were already out of their hinges. The door was made of strong metal and there was no single hole: so it was impossible to see what was inside.

"And I thought that Orange Town was cursed," Phil declared.

At that moment, a boy of not more than thirteen rode his bicycle past them. A wrap of weed hung loosely on his lips. His eyes were red. He turned to glare at the two men in the car. Kennedy's eyes caught the shape of a pistol nested between the young kid's black polo and his trouser. Surely, the boy made no attempt to conceal the weapon.

"And you cautioned me for bringing a bag filled with ammo," said Phil.

"I think it will be a Christmas miracle to survive this mission," Kennedy uttered before opening his door. "You better bring your pistol with you," He added as he took a peek at his surroundings.

"You don't need to tell me that twice."

The two men strode towards the bar. The Red Venom opened the door and looked around. The light bulbs in the bar were all red, so it was hard to see the faces of the people in there. A few men stared at them as they walked to the bartender.

Reggae tunes played from the speaker as smoke from various pots filled the air; like some sort of spiritual temple or a crazy psychic home. Two people pointed at the new faces as they conversed. One of them got up and made his way to the door.

"This is not going to end well," Phil remarked gently. "This might be a good time to test my Christmas gift."

"Why will you want to blow a bar in Zulucht?" Red Venom asked rhetorically. "There are going to be other rainy days."

"What if those men try to block our path?" asked Phil.

"Then we won't be held accountable for our actions," Red Venom replied.