The gang wasn't from Chicago, I could tell that from their accents. Straight from Brooklyn...and ready to cause a descent. The kids took out Four Corner Hustlers...that was a death sentence, they have to know this. I get off the bus and walk towards a crackhouse. It was the only place they could stay for free, this is where most of the kids I've dealt with, be. I walk past a few hooded guys. I feel their stares and knew they wanted me to bounce. I did two BANGS on the front door. If there was a third I'd be in trouble.

"Just go in, bro." A guy chilling on the porch swings the door open. "You ain't never been here before, huh?"

"A long time ago."

"Well, this ain't the seventies. I advise you to take yo hands out yo pockets, that'll get you a bullet in your brain. Just some advice." I do as was says. 

In my youth I fought, in this youth they pop you dead. "Thanks, man."

Inside, all of the doors were open and trap music plays. Walking by each room, I see residents dancing, and smoking away. The place was foggy and graffitied with gang signs and tears falling from faces. The word: RIP written everywhere. Maybe I should just leave, my senses are on ten. 

There were too many people....watching. Chill, don't be a pussy, deal with this situation, I'm no rookie.

When done scanning the main floor, I go upstairs, greeted by the same trap music, which blares. This was the only option of where the gang could be. I do a look around on the second floor, no luck, then I try the third. 

The occupants in the rooms, weren't them. I make step downstairs and leave the area that is so condemned, until a door opens. I turn and find the girl from before.