>Regret fills your mind
>All the times you failed your family come back to you
>The first time you got busted for possession, the look on your father's face as he picked you up from the police station
>When you told him you were going to a vocational college, him telling you that only drunks and idiots study there
>When you moved out after being unemployed for a while, the fight you had when he told you that Slateside was filled with junkies and hobos
>The first meeting with your family after you'd moved in, the disappointed looks on your parents' faces when you said you were still unemployed
>The looks on their faces when you cut the meeting off early, only to go to the bar to get shitfaced alone
>Your kid sister asking you if you were an alcoholic and you yelling at her
>All the times you'd yelled at her or your parents, taking out your anger towards the world on them
>You want to make it alright again
>Your thoughts are interrupted by yelling
>Suddenly, no-one is beating you anymore
>A thick Cockney accent fills your ears
>''Hang in there, mate! Don't go dyin' on me now!''
>A shaved head and a pair of green eyes fills your vision
>You laugh, at what you don't know
''You's one, one ugly motherfucker.''
>The last thing you notice before you pass out is that your voice sounds incredibly hoarse
 
>The first thing you notice is that you feel warm
>You let your eyes open, the harsh light stinging your pupils
>''Hey Rob, look who's awake!''
>An unfamiliar voice fills the room
>You try to reach for your gun when you notice you're not wearing a jacket, let alone your shirt
>Bandages criss-cross your torso, ugly, dark bruises peeking out from underneath
''W-water, p-please…''
>The same man from before grins at you, appearing from out of nowhere
>He holds a glass filled with water out to you
>You grab it with shaking hands, and quench your thirst the best you can
>After a moment, looking at the expectant faces before you, you open your mouth, and notice that talking hurts incredibly much
>Your lungs feel like they're on fire, and the parts of your face that aren't bandaged feel completely busted
''Where am I?''
>''Clubhouse, mate. This is where we hang out, plan to take over the world, shit like that.''
>He laughs
>You notice that his laughter is incredibly beautiful, cascading into your ears like a waterfall of sound
>No homo
''Clubhouse, huh? Wh-what happened?''
>Your savior spits onto the concrete floor, thinly veiled disgust on his face
>''Fucking niggers, mate. Beat seven kinds of shit out of you, and from what I saw, it's a miracle you're still talking, let alone alive.''
>He shakes his head, and smiles at you
>''Now, what was all that about, huh?''
>You shrug in response, your throat finally feeling normal again
''Dunno. They robbed me, but it looks like they went a bit overboard with it.''
>You give a weak chuckle and smile, the wounds under your bandages feeling like they might tear up at any moment.
>He blows out a long breath from between his teeth and shakes his head
>*'A bit overboard? Fucking monkeys would've killed you if we weren't there.''
''Yeah, thanks for that. Really.''
>''No problem, brother. Us whites have to stick together, you know?''
''Yeah, I guess.''
>At this point you notice a pattern in the inhabitants
>They're all rocking shaved heads, most of them have full sleeve tattoos, and you swear to God you see a couple swastikas mixed in with the generic ink
>Great
>White power skinheads, just what you needed
>''Anyway, Doc's just as amazed as we are about this. No-one should be alive after that kind of a beating. He claims divine intervention, I think you're just lucky.''
''Divine intervention, huh? Hell of a time for God to step in.''
>You chuckle despite yourself
''So, you mind telling me what went down?''
>''Well, we saw two 'groids kicking something, so me, Rob and Danny went to investigate.''
>While talking, he points in turn to himself, to an easily seven feet tall skin in the corner and to a short, incredibly muscular guy on the couch currently cradling a beer
>Both of them give you smile, a nod and a murmured greeting
>You grin and sit upright, wincing slightly from your ribs moving
''Hey guys, thanks. I'm Anon.''
>''Anyway, we go in and pull some weapons, and the mud skins bolt like a fucking track meet.''
>The group chuckles in unison, murmurs of 'Damn right' and 'Fucking pussies' briefly filling the small room
>''So, after that I grab you, put you in the bee-em and we ride the lightning to this place.''
''Jesus Christ. How long have I been out?''
>He shrugs again and pulls out a cigarette from a jacket on his lap
>''Two hours, tops? It's been a bit chaotic, to be honest. After we rushed you here we got Doc to work on you ASAP, and most of us have been standing guard since.''
>He hands the jacket, which is clearly yours, to you, and puts the cigarette in between your lips.
''Thanks.''
>''No problem. Just try to kick the habit, okay?''
''Shit man, I've quit so many times it ain't even funny.''
>You give him a weak chuckle and light your cigarette
>''Yeah, but when the holy war comes, us whites have to be fit for fight, see? Just listen to Rob.''
>Rob stands up, walks into the center of the room, and spreads his arms like a mock Jesus
>''As David Lane wrote, we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.''
>He turns towards you and smiles
>''That is what we are about, as a group. We all have our own reasons, but our goal is the same: making Slateside a safe place for whites.''
>He turns back towards the motley crew assembled in the room, each one following his every move like a hawk
>''For too long have nonwhites controlled this place.''
>A cry of 'Hell yeah!' rings out, bouncing off the concrete walls
>''The niggers? They'll poison our children with drugs and gangsta rap, indoctrinating them into their degenerate way of life!''
>Most of the crew is standing up now, conviction radiating off their features
>You'd be lying if you said you don't feel something tugging at your heart
>''The wet backs? They might look close to us, they might befriend us, but know this: they are just as bad as the niggers!''
>Amidst the cheers, his voice turns dangerously low, his eyes gaining a predatory feel
>''And the arabs? We welcome them after their terrorist acts, we welcome them after 9/11, we, as a nation, open our arms to them after every single atrocity committed in the name of Islam
>abroad!''
>He is shouting now, face turning redder by the minute
>''And after taking advantage of our hospitality? They turn against us! They build mosques where we could have schools and hospitals! They demand freedom of religion, when they
>practice the same religion that has murdered thousands of our brothers, fathers and friends overseas!''
>The cheering is deafening now
>''And they do this why? Because we, as a nation, allow them to! Because we, as a nation, have learned nothing from the past decades! Because we, as a nation, are weakened, corrupted
>by the state our country is in!''
>You find yourself joining in, whether it is just the beatdown speaking you don't know
>''But we will stand for it no more! Us proud white men will take back what is ours! We will wage a racial holy war, and restore this country to it's former glory! Sieg Heil!''
>The rallying cry is echoed by the men and women in the room with you, and you almost feel forced to join in
''Fuck yeah!''
 
>A while later, backed up by the music echoing out of the wall-mounted speakers, you find yourself talking to the Cockney savior currently cradling a beer
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nKDqP3vpxU
''So, who's this Doc guy?''
>He points at a man standing in a corner conversing with two young men, no older than sixteen
>''Oh, he's this old Army medic, patched up so many of our boys I've lost count.''
>You grin, the wounds on your face screaming in protest
''He got work cut out for him, huh?''
>''Yeah, to say the least.''
>He grins and hands you a tin of beer
>''Doc says you shouldn't drink for a while, but the tosser's gone soft. You seem fit for fight to me, so here.''
>You grin and start emptying the can into your mouth-hole, emitting a burp after half the can is gone
''Thanks brother, really appreciate-''
>You're interrupted by the sound of a scuffle behind you
>Yells of 'You fucking what?' and 'Come at me, man!' fill the air
>Your savior looks disappointed for a brief moment, before rushing off into the throng
>You follow suit, wanting to see what happens
>''Hey, come on Teapot, it's just talk, man.''
>''Yeah, we was just talking man, nothing serious!''
>Your savior, seemingly nicknamed Teapot, silences both with a simple gesture
>''Save it for the niggers, lads. No fucking point in beating each other up, is there?''
>Surly mutters of 'No sir' and 'Sorry Tea' emanate from the two offenders
>''Good. Now both of you kids lay off the beer for a while, alright?''
>Protests fill the air, but are quickly silenced by the Englishman
>''It's clear to me you can't handle your liquor, so you either stop drinking, or fuck off back home, alright?''
>He turns back to you with a smile on his face
>''Sorry about that. Anon, was it? It's just, the fresh cuts can't hold their beer so well. They get uppity as hell, start fights, stuff like that.''
''No problem. I know that feeling.''
>''I'm sure you do.''
>You finish your beer and clear your throat, feeling very out of place among the skins
''So, thanks for everything, but I really got to get going now. How far is this place from where you picked me up?''
>''Oh, not far at all, mate. Tell you what, I'm still sober, so I can drive you home. How's that sound?''
>Like hell you were letting anyone know your home address, let alone some crazy white power guys
>They did save you, but you have an inkling that if they'd know what you do for a living they wouldn't be quite as nice
''Well, if you can drop me off where you found me I'd appreciate it. Home's not far away and I'll get a chance to investigate the crime scene, so to say.''
>You give another weak chuckle and a grin
>''What ever you say, mate. Let's go.''