>Shaking yourself from your bittersweet thoughts, you slowly walk up towards the spattering of blood and puke in the snow
>You can't lose the feeling that you're somehow trespassing
>If what they said was true, you were supposed to be dead
>And yet, here you are, looking at the evidence left from an attempted murder
>You walk closer and kneel down, touching the imprints left by your curled up body
>Here is the blood that flowed from your mouth when you were beaten
>Here is the vomit you spewed up after they kicked you in the stomach
>And, almost unnoticeable, small holes left by your tears
>Fuck
>FUCK.
>You feel rage bubbling up, as if collected from every single cut and bruise, flowing into your head and tinting everything a shade of red
''MOTHERFUCKERS!''
>Your fist slams against the brick wall again and again, the raw, meaty thumps drowned out by your screaming
''MOTHER-''
>Thump
''FUCKERS!''
>Thump
>They had no right to do what they did
>They could have killed you
>You could have fucking died
>Just so they could get money they weren't even willing to work for themselves
>You can't just let this be
>Your hand finds it's way to your gun and you find yourself hyperventilating
>Whether it is rage or sadness you don't know
>What you do know is that you want revenge
>Sweet fucking revenge
>You pull out your phone and tap in Ty's number, cursing under your breath as the beeps of the phone seem to drag on for an eternity
>Finally, he picks up, his sleepy voice answering you
>''Ey, who this?''
''Ty, it's Anon. I need to ask you for a favor.''
 
>''So, lemme get this straight, you got jumped by some brothers.''
>All tiredness gone from his voice, Ty goes straight to business
''Yep.''
>''And they took your money and almost killed you.''
''That's right.''
>''And you want me to find them.''
''Correct.''
>Ty gives a long sigh and almost audibly rubs his eyes
>''Man, there's hundreds of brothers in Slateside alone.''
''I know.''
>''Alright, I'll try, nigga. But it won't be easy.''
''I know. That's why I'm asking you.''
>''Shiieet. You know I'm only doing this because I feel bad for your white ass.''
>He gives a mirthless chuckle
>''But man, if I find anything, I'll let you know. Just-''
>He sighs again
>''Just don't jump to conclusions, okay? There's enough violence as it is.''
''I won't. I promise.''
>''Alright, but try to pick yourself up, okay?''
''I will. Thanks Ty. Wanna hang out tomorrow?''
>''I'd love to, my man. What time?''
>You shrug noncommittally
''I don't know, at one or two?''
>''Sounds good, see you then, cracka.''
''You too, nigga.''
>You both share some half-hearted chuckles and you end the call
>That's one base covered, at least
>You'd have to do some investigating of your own, and maybe go on down to the club house to ask some questions
>Maybe you'd find out something that would help
>Other than that, one of the local crackheads might've seen something
>But that was something for tomorrow
>Right now you feel like you'll need some rest
>Taking a final look at the bloody scene before you while rubbing your knuckles, you head off, lighting a cigarette
>It was kind of funny, actually
>No-one would know anything had happened there in five hours, if the snow kept falling the way it did now
>All sins covered by a blanket of pure white, life would start anew tomorrow