The street lights flickered above the scuffed concrete streets, casting shadows onto the empty streets. The fronts of the buildings that aligned the streets once had the appearance of beautiful homes, however this image had long since been lost as multi-coloured spray paint, stolen from nearby convenience stores, left their marks on their stone fronts. From the center of the empty, shallow street, these paintings could be viewed as simple art work, and expression. Upon closer inspection, the words and images that decorated the homes were crude remarks, and images portraying the symbols of local gangs. More than half of these homes were uninhabited; however, this did not mean they were not empty. On occasion, large groups of beings would crack open a window at the back, and slink beneath the plywood covers. They could easily be spotted by anyone passing by but this was not exactly a fear in this part of the city. Anyone that crossed through this area either had a death wish, or was part of their gang and therefore, not an issue.

There was an even divide-or as even as an invisible line could be- directly down the center of the road. It may seem an odd place to have a divide to anyone on the outside; however, this line was imperative for survival in this part of the city. Erase that line, even for a moment, and there would be streets littered with bodies of souls who may, or may not be criminals. This invisible boundary kept the so called 'peace'; in this area at least. Facing north, the eastern side of the street was home to the Potenza's; the Italian gang, headed by none other than Vincent Potenza himself. Viny was a hard soul, and a stubborn one as well. Ancient memories of a so called 'dispute' started by his family brought with it the ever present war between his family, and the Capos; the rulers of the western side of the street.

Eric Capo kept to his side of Kiryas Joel, and Vincent Potenza kept to his. It was never these two men that someone had to worry about- unless they were requested to be in their presence in which case, you had better high-tail it out of America- it was their followers. Only a small percentage of either of their gangs contained real family members. The other large percent included followers; people who were in debt to either the Capo's, or the Potenza's, or who believed them to be in the right. None of either of these groups dared to cross this line, unless planning on provoking a disturbance. This lovely arrangement, of course, led to quite a dangerous walk in the darkness of Kiryas, Joel.

Normally, this part of the city remained quiet until the daytime, in which brave souls would drive through as a short cut on their way to work. Even then, people were wary or stopping at any intersection. Stop signs were basically taken as a suggestion anywhere in this area of town, unless someone wished to stop and risk the chance of losing their ride to work... Or their lives. Therefore, when the double muffled noise of a slick vehicle was heard, roaring up the street, everyone took notice. The sleek vehicle rumbled beneath the flickering lights, flashing streaks of a red and orange paint job, and drawing the eyes of hoodlums on both sides of the road. Once the odd disturbance had passed, eyes remained trained across the boundary lines, focused solely on the appearance of those who were unwelcome. Both sides were silent, until one man turned to his companions.

"Capo," Alexander hissed, turning his glare away from the three men across the street. "What are the chances?"

"Apparently pretty good, as they're standing right there," Drew murmured in response, letting out a deep breath.

"They aren't worth shit," Alexander grumbled, shooting a glance across the street. "Lorcan mentioned a drive by at last week's payout. We're heading in across the line next Monday. Apparently the target is good ol'Viny's house, his daughter, to be exact."

"His daughter?"

"If we want to hit them hard, hit them where it hurts," Andy remarked, shrugging his one good shoulder. The other was wrapped firmly in a makeshift sling, taking the brunt of the pain of a gunshot wound out of his mind.

"HEY! YOU SHITS!" Drew and Andy's eyes widened as they simultaneously scrambled to hold back their shouting friend.

"What are you doing Zander?" Andy whispered harshly, giving Alexander a hard shove back to the curb. "Do you have a bloody death wish?"

"They aren't going to do anything about it," he grinned, darting out from beneath their hands and heading for the illuminated center of the road. "They're too chicken!" Drew and Andy raced towards their friend, hoping to tug him back; however, although they managed to catch him before his traitorous foot toed out of their territory, they couldn't halt the hand that flew up in a one fingered salute.

The group of men across the road took a confident step towards them, their footsteps echoing darkly around the neighbourhood.

"Shit," Andy hissed, dropping his hold on Alexander, and grabbing around in his pockets for any form of weapon. His revolver was sitting on the kitchen table, with the cartridge of bullets resting next to it. His father had made a point of stating that leaving the home with an unpolished gun was an insult to the Capo name, and therefore, he had figured he could make it across town simply relying on his friends and a slim, sharpened pocket knife. It was this pocket knife, silver handled and deadly, that he lifted from inside his jean pocket and held tightly in his fist as the others approached.

"Why did you have to go and do that?" Drew growled, changing his stance to face the incomers full on.

"I didn't think they would do anything," Alexander admitted, shakily reaching for his own gun, and tightly wrapping his hand around it. Not one of the three allowed themselves to step back from the edge of their territory, even when the Potenza's stood in front, toe to toe.

"Is there something you wished to say?" one man sneered into Alexander's ashen face. The three Capo's had dealt with their fair share of violent disputes; however, no one of them had ever faced the Potenza's without some real back up. This was one of those moments that would decide whether or not they were gang member material and, unfortunately despite the fact that they were apparently alone, each of the men knew that there were lurkers in the depths of night's shadows. Somehow, their secret would get to Vincent, and when that occurred, they had better hope Vincent was in a good mood. Hell, when was he ever in a good mood?

"I obviously didn't call you over for no reason," Alexander spat. Behind him, Drew was rolling his eyes in annoyance. Alexander hadn't called them over at all, but if he wanted to make it home tonight, he was not about to mention that at this particular moment.

"Are you planning on starting something over it?" Drew asked, clenching his fist.

"I don't know. Should we start something Sergio?" One of the males smirked. His steel lip ring glinted darkly in the light as he flipped it around. His get-up, consisting of dark pants with chains covering every inch, and a black tee gave off the exact appearance that any bystander would assume a gang member to have. In fact, all six of the men had similar clothing choices. The only physical difference between the two gangs was covered completely by hats and hair. Located directly behind the left ear of every Capo was a small insignia. This insignia was tattooed in place immediately after initiation -a particularly gruesome task- and represented one's dedication and loyalty to the gang. Near the right ear, just a little behind the actual lobe of a Potenza, was a similar symbol; this one, obviously representing similar aspects only of a different gang. Both of these insignias, though vastly different, had one specific thing in common; they were both in deadly places.

If someone within a gang wished to repeal their place, they had to go through a removing ceremony. In other words, the removal of their place in the gang was symbolised by removing the tattoo from their body. Removal of this insignia from behind the ear was not exactly a painless process, nor did the member removing it attempt to make it be. The removal was meant to kill them. Both the Potenza's and the Capo's were prided themselves in loyalty. Leaving the gang was like betraying them, and betraying them almost always meant death, therefore, members who attempted to leave would be lucky to last a few hours after the ceremony. In other words, you better be damn sure you want to get involved with either gang before you got any form of tattoo.

"I'm not sure, I think these wimps are about to pee their pants," Sergio chuckled dryly, gripping at his loose pants and dragging them up over narrow hips. "We wouldn't want anyone to be embarrassed, now would we?" He winked at the guy on his left, before turning his back on the lot of them and heading back across the street.

Now, there is one particular thing that is taken as a huge insult in the gang world, and that would be turning your back on either another member, or even an outsider. It shows that you do not view them as a threat in any way; hence why you never do it.

Ever.

This would be precisely why Sergio's simple move instigated the movement of Alexander. His foot stepped heavily over the shadowed boundary, and the quiet stomping of his sneaker meeting concrete echoed down the street.

A gun shot rang out.

Simple things such as walking and breathing require little to no thought; unless, of course, the person in question has asthma, or is paralyzed, but that was beside the point. The point was that there are things that people don't need to think about. In a gang, you damn well better hope that one of those things included knowing how to fight, because you would last less than ten seconds on the streets if you had to think about every move. Instincts were major contributors to life or death situations in this area of town, and a person was more likely to survive if they didn't analyze every exchange that occurred around them. One would learn rather quickly not to flinch at the sound of a gunshot, and to ignore any and all pain inflicted upon their body until they were some place safe if they wished to live another second. Whining did not get you far out here, nor did compromise. As soon as that one, single gunshot was fired, all boundaries were off. Footsteps pounded on a concrete as any watchers either dove for cover, or threw themselves into the fighting in hopes of helping their side gain the upper hand.

When people think of gang fights, their poorly educated minds seem to jump straight to guns and knives; which of course were typically present at every one. Consequently though, not every person walking down the street carried a weapon -stupid people- and therefore there was an assortment of fighting. By definition, assortment did include many different styles which in this case included fists and knees, along with a couple stray two-by-fours that were hefted off of people's yards. Over in the corner, there was a man bashing a now dented garbage can lid over the head of an opposing fighter, effectively rendering him unconscious.

Guns were long since abandoned as shooters were out of ammo and had no time to refill the barrels with attacks coming from every possible angle. Amidst the flying punches and whirling wood, one lone shot screamed into the air, creating a sort of eerie silence among the crowd almost immediately.

"If someone takes one more step..." a man stepped forward threateningly, pistol cocked and legs spread apart in an angry manner. "...I will not hesitate to shoot, no matter what side you are on."