Free Falling

Fated

The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. The screams of frightened citizens seemed to echo down the streets, coming from everywhere at once. The cool fall air did little to combat the natural rise in body temperature as people dodged bullets and threw punches. Bodies of citizens, gang members, police and STAG officers littered the streets, an obvious and painful reminder that the city was at war with itself. Steelport had fallen to the gates of hell, hoping against hope for a miracle of some sort to restore peace. When things got this bad, it was always the least likely person the world had to depend on...

However, today was really a bad day.

Really.

And that wasn't because Shaundi had suddenly gone missing - again - or because every gang member in Steelport was engaged in some sort of gunfight with STAG or an opposing gang member.

No.

It was because he couldn't find his fucking cigarettes.

The absence of nicotine in his daily diet made him a little less than friendly. He hadn't had time for coffee that morning. Right when he was going to make him some in the Saints' HQ kitchen, a fucking VTOL parked itself rather violently in the penthouse's pool. Who the fuck does that?! His patience had run out long ago when he last dealt with Denitra. Though it'd only been a few days since he last saw her, it felt like an eternity. It'd taken a lot of Jack Daniels, shots of vodka, and blunts to dull the pain and convince himself to move the fuck on.

He felt a twinge of pain in his chest as he fired bullets in rapid succession into a Luchadore's face. He checked to make sure he hadn't been shot again. No. No bullet wound. He stifled a sigh and turned, pistol-whipping another Luchadore who'd been ready to shoot him in the back of the head. The pain in his chest persisted, and he cursed, hating himself. She wasn't even thinking about him. She'd been able to turn away and leave, didn't even bother to give him one last full look at her. So why in the hell was it so hard to let her go? He took his anger out on a STAG officer, shooting the poor man in his nuts before delivering a well-aimed kick to the same place, killing the man. It was cold, he knew, but it was how he felt deep down. Cold. And he'd been unable to get warm over the weekend.

He really needed a cigarette or a piece of gum.

It wasn't long before he faced STAG tanks. Normally, he'd be outraged that they'd brought a tank to a gunfight, but today, he couldn't bring himself to give a flying fuck. He'd already revealed that he'd read Jane Eyre thirteen times. Whatever. Bring it on. He had a cigarette to go find. He raced over to the Criminal that he and Pierce had used to drive Oleg to the fights in the city that Kinzie directed them to in some effort to save the city and pulled out the rocket launcher he'd been itching to use since Friday.

"Kaboom." He whispered right before firing at an approaching tank. He got satisfaction from blowing something up, but this time, it just wasn't enough. He gripped the weapon a little tighter and fired again, this time hitting an N-Forcer. Finally acknowledging and embracing his bloodlust, he started firing randomly, hitting just about everything and everyone. When he'd finally run out of rockets, the area was clear. But before he could even think about patting himself on the back for not accidentally killing Pierce or Oleg, he noticed that more tanks and N-Forcers were on the way. Just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse, his phone rang.

"Killbane's planning on leaving Steelport!" Angel De La Muerte sounded every bit as agitated as Jamien felt.

'Well, of course, why not?' "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He growled, unleashing a spray of bullets on a Luchadore-filled Criminal that skidded around a corner followed by three Luchadore Bulldogs.