The wealthiest teenagers to grace the Earth...
His world was in slow motion as one foot planted itself firmly in front of the other in the hallway, every movement he made was cold and calculated. Eyes hiding behind Aviator sunglasses, black slacks and a button-up white shirt covered the rest of his body, black shoes and a silver wristwatch finished the look. Sleeves rolled up, he was the pure image of confidence. Each footstep brought respect, every motion crackling with electricity. Hand closing around the handle of a door, the teenager rotated the handle slowly and pushed the sheet metal door inward. Behind the door was a room bustling with activity, Jason stood for a moment, just soaking it all in. It was unorganized, and things lay everywhere. Clothes, automotive parts, weapons, anything you can possibly name was inside that room. On the walls were the shield and Ram horn emblem of the MCO. It's name belied it's true function, the 'Maine Crime Organization." It gave the impression that they were the largest and most powerful, when in reality, Jason's own gang was the most powerful. Jason cleared his throat as loud as he could without straining his voice, the entire room freezing.
"Mr. Adams, please come in," Said one of the Olive Drab wearing men, his hat on his head at a slight angle. Jason stepped forward, foot making a gritty scrape on the moist, oily floor. It was disgusting.
"It's to my understanding that you want to buy weaponry from us?" Jason spoke, shaking the hand of the presumed leader of the MCO.
"You understand correctly. We're going to need-" He began, Jason Adams pulling out a paper notebook and interrupting.
"You need twenty modified M16 rifles that fire glaser shells,"
"You heard it here first," Jason looked up, his lips a thin line adorning his face. His patience was wearing thin, he would never enjoy selling weaponry to a faction as corrupt at this, but he was hard up for some cash at the moment.
"Listen closely, I don't have time for and horsing around. Do you have the money?" The other man took his own turn to look up, brow furrowed deep over his eyes.
"You listen here, I'm not a man that likes being taken advantage of," He said, knuckles turning white as his nails gouged into the wooden tabletop.
"Then you're not a man who wants quality firearms," Adams said, closing his notebook and wheeling on one foot to leave the room. Two guards stepped in front of the door, weapons aimed at him. "And apparently, you're not a man who likes being in power. You do realize who I am, right?" Adams said, turning back around to point a steady finger at the man.
"I know exactly who you are, and I know this. You ain't bulletproof!" He said, reaching into his pocket. Jason whipped his .45 Super Hawg out of the back of his pants faster than you can say Denmark, and had it aimed straight across the room.
"Freeze, and drop the weapon," He said, safety clicking off on the weapon.
"You and what army?" The other officer said, waving his weapon around with a scoff.
"This one," Jason said, a piercing whistle rattling the windows. The door sprung inward, two gunshots ringing out. Windows imploded, showering them all with glass as Jason's men breached the room. Few more gunshots came before every member of the MCO had dropped their weapons and put their hands on their heads. Jason lowered his aim, the handgun now trained on the foot of the enemy leader. His face was pale, sweat trickling down his nose and dripping off onto the floor. Jason fired the weapon, the glaser shell penetrating his shoe and spraying blood out of the small opening. The man dropped, weapon clattering out of his hands and feet away from him on the ground. "Restrain them, I'm out," Jason said, his men tying the other high school gang up with plastic ties before extracting and calling the police. For that was how you gained an advantage, as there were several unspoken rules in the high school trade. You could kill nobody, but almost everything else was fair game. Later that night, Adams thought, he'd have that building torched so no other gang could get their hands on the equipment. If it was one thing the MCO had going for it prior to their recent problems was that they always had an abundance of cash. Where it came from, only one person knew and he was on his way into jail with a wounded foot. Jason would get to him sooner or later. He stepped into the roaring Ram 1500 truck, the driver taking off towards Southern Maine. He had to get to school before class began, and now he was running behind schedule. The things he did to run an international crime organization... Within the hour, he was walking into school and up the stairs, his watch counting down the seconds he had before the bell rang. Barely inside the German classroom's door, he sat down next to his friend and fellow gang affiliate, Eben. He let out a deep breath before speaking softly over the morning announcements.
"Eben, your piece is showing," Jason whispered, tapping the revolver threatening to pop out of Eben's shirt. "Remind me to get you a holster for Christmas,"
"Remind me to tell you two to be quiet," The teacher said, a grizzled, sour old battleaxe of a man. His hunched-over body shook before the classroom, the effects of old age clearly evident in the way his papery skin clung to the bones of his pale face. "And take those glasses off in school, there's no need for them," His voice rasped, a knife of irritation cutting through the ice cube that was Jason's brain.
"Well, Mr. Flintstone," He began the wizened old man waving a feeble finger at the door.
"I'll have none of that in my classroom! Go take it up with the office!" Mr. Corian said, shaking his head as Jason stood and marched out, ever the pinnacle of cool. "Quite a hot shot," He mumbled, a girl leaning over to talk to Eben.
"Give this to Jason for me?" She said, winking at him. Eben shot her a nasty look, taking the note and reading it before handing it back.
"I can speak for both me and Mr. Adams when I say Hell no," He turned back to the front of the classroom, rolling the note over in his mind. Why was it that every girl immediately lost their pants in front of that kid? He didn't have a problem, but there wasn't a girl in the whole damned school who wouldn't kill for the change to be his girl. And yet, Jason still denied each and every offer. Eben would take almost all of them up on it, there wasn't even any choice in it. Once the class ended, the board covered in a language that none of the students recognized and Eben's note paper crisp and untainted by writing utensil. Average Monday, he thought. He passed Jason in the hallway, looking at him and replying to the salute with that awkward head-nod gesture that plagued hallways every day. Halfway down the hall, he felt hands grip his books and rip them from his hands. He turned slowly, a freshman twice his size towering over him. "Looks like you have my books now," He said, matter-of-fact. "Option 1, you hand them back to me and leave, or I can cut your hands off and pry my books out of them," Eben didn't like to mess around.
"Haha, fat chance," The kid said, a nasty grin spreading across his acne-ridden mug.
"Wrong choice," Eben said, drawing a mean, black switchblade from the depths of his pocket. The beast with the lazy eye blanched immediately, dropping the books and tearing off back down the hallway.
"Eben McGrath! What do you think you're doing?!?" The principle squawked, her slender head poking out of the office door, neck craning to look at him.
"I dropped my books," Eben said, hiding the knife behind his back.
"Well..." She said, drawing out the word while her mind scanned for a way to get him in trouble. "Don't let it happen again!"
"Wouldn't dream of it, ma'am," The blonde-haired sophomore uttered, sliding the knife into his pocket and collecting his books.
"Close one, almost got castrated there," Jason joked, poking his companion with an elbow.
"Don't even joke, my uncle got castrated once. Said he'd never do it again!"
"Is that so?" Jason said, his hearty guffaw filling the dull hallways of the high school.