The sun rose red over the corner of Skull and Bones.
The streets intersected out in a sharp corner out over the gently rolling water. There were no piers, no beaches; where the streets ended, all that stood between a speeding car and the eternity of the sea was a weak metal divider.
The intersection was marked with a tall telephone post. It seemed forbidding, rising up like a mummy shedding layers of paper, the results of decades of notices and missing signs. The street signs were rusty, hanging on to their moorings by a few old nails; Skull Street and Bones Boulevard.
Behind the post was MacArthur Park. MacArthur Park was a park in name alone; surrounded by a tall metal fence, broken in two spots along its length by creaking doors, it was a blistering slab of pavement. Basketball hoops sprouted at either end like some kind of strange plant, but the main game played in this field was not an athletic one. Syringes and cigarette butts littered the ground; this was the home of the gangs and the drug dealers. This whole end of town was their playground.
This end of town was ruled by two gangs, constantly in conflict over the prime real estate that was MacArthur Park. The leaders of these two gangs were mortal enemies.
Which made it even more unusual to see them together this morning.
They sat on the sidewalk, propped up against the signpost on the intersection. On the left was a tall man of mixed Chinese and Jamaican heritage. His skin was a fair light brown, his eyes regally curved. They were narrowed, as always, his brows furrowed and lips upturned in his usual sneer. Long black dreadlocks tumbled down his back and over his shoulders. He wore an emerald green hoodie, opened in the front to reveal a large white tee shirt and thousands of dollars worth of gold chain spilling from his neck. His baggy jeans sported a design in the shape of a curling gold dragon, and his perfectly unscuffed shoes were a pair of emerald SBs embroidered with golden wings. This was Cain Jackson, the leader of East Gang.
The man on the right was a striking contrast to his companion. His skin was a smooth dark chocolate, his hair cropped close around his head. He was a shorter, more muscular man. His face was twisted into a disapproving frown, one carefully mimicked by the dark-ink picture of the Notorious B.I.G. scrawled across the front of his shirt. He wore an orange bandanna tied around his forehead, matching with the brilliant orange-and-white Jordans that he so lovingly referred to as 'mah peaches n' cream'. James Braugh, leader of West Gang.
These were two powerful men, and this combined with their tough forms to make them very imposing figures indeed. This effect was dampened somewhat, however, due to the fact that each was sitting propped in a pool of their own blood.
They were most definately dead. The bullets has gone through each of their skulls cleanly, leaving bloodmarked holes in the pole to show where they had stood before slumping down, lifeless, to their current positions.
The crowd in the street stood stunned.
They'd come out of their houses with the sun, as they did every morning. Yet on this day, the sun had brought with it... this. Their esteemed leaders, lying dead on the corner of Skull and Bones.
Above their heads was a clean white notice. Upon closer inspection, it bore the following words;
MacArthur Park. Future Home of Mega-Sale Grocery Emporium. By order of Jefferson Contracting Corporation.
The race is on. The rules have been explained in the sign-up thread; if there's anything more, just ask me. Each team's goal is to win the game, and, in effect, the right to run MacArthur Park as they see fit.
There will be four Corporation members in this game.
Roles will be sent out momentarily.
Why So Green And Lonely? We Are Accidents Waiting To Happen.