I woke up at 10 passed noon. I needed to meet Guppy in Brooklyn by 1. I was already running late. Before we get into things, I’m gonna’ tell you how I met Guppy.

Sometime around July 2010 is when the lights came back on. By September of that year, I was enrolled in school for the first time. I was 11 and they just stuck my ass in 6th grade. Said, “I’d figure it out”. That was the same deal for most kids my age. Once we all got to school, we were introduced to our classmates. I recognized some kids from the neighborhood.

Then we met the new kids. They’re called Orgs, some kind of alien race. We didn’t know what to think. They were just here, like it was a regular thing. They were all grey and pudgy looking. Some kids called them frogs. They didn’t really look like frogs to me.

The one Org kid I sat next to had droopy eyelids that made him look sleepy, like his eyes were always shut. He reminded me of this old polish guy that ran the deli down the block from where I lived back then. He seemed alright.

Despite what you might be thinking, the Org kids didn’t mind the hazing they got from us. They said where they came from was much worse, but they wouldn’t talk about it. We were as welcoming as a pack of hungry hyenas, but it didn’t matter. TeraCom City had always been a melting pot.

We had about 5-10 Orgs per class. The TC schoolboard made sure they weren’t cliqued up forming minor league Org gangs. They spread them out and we all made friends. I didn’t know it then, but that Org kid and I would stick together like sirens and violence.

We ran scams, stuck up subway cars, chopped whips, and peddled anything we could get our grimy little hands on. By 10th grade I had already racked up 4 counts of GTA, 2 strong-arms, and a B&E. Good times.

Fast forward a few years, that Org kid is now a 6ft 350lb brick shit house. The best friend a small time TeraCom City car-jacker like me could ask for. His real name’s Gulpiin Gulraa, but we’ve always just called him Guppy.
Gulraa is a very common last name for Orgs, more of a label than a true surname. Normally, if you assumed any association to Org crime syndicates, you’d be considered a little racist; but in this case you’d be absolutely correct.

Once we met up, the plan was to go see Guppy’s uncle, Gumba Gulraa. Don Gumba was one of three Dons that ran the local Org syndicates, commonly referred to as the Gulraa Mafia. Guppy told me his uncle had a job for us. This was a pretty big deal. Up until now we had just been running our own gigs. This was our first chance at something big. We didn’t want to mess this up. I know sure as shit Guppy didn’t want to let down his family.

I called Guppy’s pager from a payphone when I got off the train. We met up by a dinner near the subway station. I was only 30-45 minutes late, but he had already got something to eat.

We walked to his uncle’s spot, a small bar in Luna Park called Ganymede. Luna Park is a complex of big brick tenament stype apartments, formerly known as the Coney Island Projects. It’s still the projects but now the complex is entirely section 9 housing, Org housing. There were already some Gulraa thugs standing outside. They were brandishing Double Barrels from Detroit. Guppy said something to them in their language.

A quick nod and they let us in. I could tell something was going on. Armed guards aren’t the most unusual thing to see on a Monday afternoon in Luna Park, but something was different. There was an anxiety hanging in the thick smoky air. Guppy’s uncle was shooting pool with two other Orgs, big guys. One of them was wearing a blue and off-pink windbreaker, triple xl, unzipped halfway, it fit snug. He had a flat gold chain around his thick neck and a toothpick resting in his mouth. No smiles. The other one had a black leather jacket on over a thick red turtleneck and dark black sunglasses. Some Orgs have short crops of hair on the tops of their heads, his was shaved. They were staring at use as we walked up to the table. “What’s up with Rocksteady and Bebop?” I said. The Org in the windbreaker looked pissed, the one with the shades laughed. Don Gumba’s expression didn’t change at all.

He calmly gestured towards the two other Orgs and said “This is Rullein and Grill. Gulpiin, introduce your friend”. Guppy introduced me. He said I could get them any vehicle we need for the job and I was a decent getaway driver. Don Gumba scratched his chin and looked right at me. He asked “If you’re so good, why’ve you been caught so many times? Your records long and your still young. You only learn from mistakes”.

I felt a bit on the spot. He made a good point, but still. I told him, “Well first off, none of the times we got busted were in a car. That always happened on foot. The Grand Theft Auto charges stuck because of bad luck. TC Security was staking out the yard we were storing the stolen cars”.

Guppy was looking at me with this look, knowing damn well that TCS didn’t stake out shit. We were stripping these four whips we stole in a random parking lot. One of the hot cars just so happened to belong to a TeraCom floor manager. He reported his car stolen and TCS tracked it down while we had it in pieces. I knew Guppy would be mad about me lying to his uncle like that, but he could argue with me about it after we got the job.

His uncle asked about the two strong arms robberies next. He really did his homework. That gig should have worked out. We just got unlucky again. Plus, we were on foot. I told him the whole story. We were holding up subway cars, thinking it was an easy take. If we had only done one or two, it would have been. After five, Security started to care. Fortunately, they only pinned us for two. So, when you look at it that way, we really came up aside from the 6 months I did in MDC. Don Gumba waited for a moment. He looked at Guppy and then back at me. He just said “Ok” and told us the plan.

We were going to be robbing a gun shop in Newark. My job was to get a car and drive while Guppy, Rullein, and Grill go inside. That night I went out and boosted a pre-blackout Grand Marquis. I figured it’d be big enough for Rocksteady and Bebop plus a comfortable ride considering we were going all the way to New Jersey.

The next day I picked up Guppy before the job and we got breakfast by Coney Island. After that we picked up Rullein and Grill at the bar and hit the road. About two hours later, I was sitting in a hot car outside of a dingey brick gun shop. I had the engine running while Guppy, Rullein, and Grill went inside and made some noise.

They came out fast with hell following behind them. Little birds chirping and the still morning air was replaced by alarms, gunshots, and screams as the Orgs ran back to the car. Guppy sat upfront. Bebop and Rocksteady jumped in the back with the guns and the money in their duffle bags.

We peeled off, chased by bullets into the city streets. We hit the intersections and made a break for the highway. Before the onramp was in sight we had two cars on us; a pair of murdered out Escalades. Rullein and Grill didn’t hesitate. They were already out the back windows shooting before I even knew we were in a chase. Guppy just said, “watch the road”. He had his gun in his hand and he was looking straight ahead.

As we raced across the highway, bullets flew in every direction. A quick burst of gunfire turned the driver side of the Grand Marquis into Swiss cheese. Just like that, Rullein and I got hit. I kept driving but it hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. There was burning steel still smoldering in my leg. I could feel the blood pooling up under me on the vinyl seat. The Orgs brushed off their wounds like a minor inconvenience, I was fighting for my life.

Grill unloaded his mag into one of the Escalades behind us and hit something vital. The massive SUV spun out of control and smashed the other one into the guardrail. The pursuing vehicles were out of the game. In the rear-view mirror, I saw the first one go through the sidewall crashing down into the city below. The other whip rolled side over side across three lanes before finally coming to a stop on its roof as we sped away.

We were in the clear, but I was bleeding. It was still a long way back to Brooklyn. 45 minutes later, we got to the stash spot and dropped off the goods. The front seat was covered in blood, but I had managed to tie off the wound.

Rullein plainly asked me “Are you gonna be able to ditch the whip and get cleaned up?” I said, “yeah. I’m fine, I’ve just never been shot before”. I tried to play it off. Rullein wasn’t impressed, I don’t think he liked being called Rocksteady. He said “Don’t worry. Keep driving like that, you’ll be shot again in no time”. Grill interrupted, “Don’t be so hard on the kid. I think he did alright. It’s not his fault humans are ballisticly challenged. Gullpiin, get your friend to the doctor and ditch the whip. We’ll get everything outa here”.

Guppy looked at me and asked if I was really alright. I said I was, but he could tell that wasn’t really the case. I wasn’t knocking on death’s door but there was still metal in my leg and holes in my side. Every inch of my body was screaming out in pain. By now the back of my shirt from my shoulders to my ass was soaking wet. I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or blood and I was too scared to look.

Guppy drove. We were heading for the expressway, towards Queens. We made it a few blocks passed the warehouse before we started getting tailed by TC Security. I looked over at Guppy. He just pulled over before I could say anything. He said, “We already got what we needed”. I didn’t understand but he just said it again. “We got what we needed Chuck. Grill and Rullein are clear. If we run now, you’ll bleed out. Just keep quiet, my uncle will understand”. I said I’d be ok, but he didn’t buy it. He just shook his head and laughed, “I don’t think you will be, TC Security has a medical unit. They’ll pull the bullets out of your leg. It’s not worth your life”. I didn’t know what to say so I just said. “Ok”.

By morning, I sat in front of the judge with two extra holes in my ass. My charges were “reckless destruction of TeraCom property” and “vehicular assault”. I guess the Escalade that went off the side of the highway caused a bit of damage in Machine Town.

Security had put out a call for a red Grand Marquis full of holes and it was just bad timing. Security saw us pull onto the parkway and that was it.
The judge looked at me and then he read off my record. “4 counts of GTA, 2 strong-arms, and a B&E. Good times, Mr. DeStefano”. He sentenced me to 18 months back in The Tombs. I wish I could say there was a long silence before he struck the gavel, but to be honest, he seemed pretty excited. At least someone was having a good day.

A Cell in the Tombs

The Manhattan Detention Center, better known as The Tombs. This wasn’t my first rodeo, but I wasn’t thrilled to be back. After I got out of the medical unit. I tried to see who was still inside that I knew. After a few days I got a visit from my mom.

She told me that my cousins in Atlantic City found out I’ve been ‘working with the frogs’ as she put it. Aside from that she told me she was proud that my big job went over well, all things considered. She put some credits on my books. They were meant to be a gift for getting my G.E.D but she figured I could have used it more then. She just made me promise I would work on getting my diploma after I was released. She tries.

The next day, I saw Guppy in the chow hall. He was sitting with some other Orgs I didn’t recognize. I walked right over to them. The unfamiliar Orgs looked unsettled. They stared me down, but Guppy just laughed. He asked when I got out of medical and told me to sit with them.

When I sat down, Guppy didn’t wait to blame me that we were locked up again. “Do you like going to jail?” he said. I was confused at first, but I just responded “No, why?!”. Guppy looked at me with a condescending nod, “Because you keep going back”. I could already tell where he was going with this, and I really wasn’t in the mood. “Why don’t you carry something for luck?”, he asked. I just shook my head and responded back, “Like that lucky 38 pistol you’ve had since we were in grade school?”. Before he could answer, I interrupted him again, “If your pistol is so lucky, why’d you get arrested too”. Guppy didn’t flinch, he just calmly said “It wasn’t my bad luck that got us arrested Chuck. My ass is fine”.

Sitting down hurt worse with a table of Orgs laughing my stiches out. When the laughing died down, Guppy told me what was going on.

The war between the Gulraa and the Labor Hall’s thugs was heating up. Hitting the gun shop in Newark was more about sending a message and cutting off weapon supplies than it was about money. The place was run by Labor Hall associates. The same mobsters that had busted up an Org strike a few days prior. Allow me to explain.

The Labor Hall is run by TeraCom with representatives from the Org Provisional Government, but the staff is 90% old-time mobsters from before the Blackout. Back in the day, way before the Blackout, all the organized crime for the entire region was run by five “families”. The families held a commission to regulate their businesses and settle disputes. Everyone was tied together by an oath of silence called Omertà. That and the threat of cement shoes weighing them down to the bottom of the Hudson kept their organizations in line; until the Blackout.

During the dark years, amid the riots and chaos, the crime families evaporated. Some gangsters were able to set up small rackets and find supply chains to exploit, but things could only last so long. Eventually, there was just one organization strong enough to call shots when the lights came back on.

Propped up by TeraCom trash and refuse contracts, the Violetta family from New Jersey was able to keep their heads afloat through the hard times. They absorbed whatever associates were still left from the other families and killed anyone else that got in their way. Without competition, it was easy for the Violettas to muscle their way into Labor Hall positions, both on and off the books.

Since the Orgs were brought to Earth to work for TeraCom they’ve had issues with the Labor Hall. When they first arrived, it was just the Orgs vs TeraCom Security. Their neighborhoods were decrepit ghettos managed by TC Security until the riots changed everything. The Org Provisional Government was created to give the Org community representation; but mostly it just gives TeraCom a way to mediate less agreeable Orgs.

Despite criticism, the provisional government does do a lot of good for the community. Since Orgs are citizens under the provisional government and denizens of TeraCom same as anyone else, there is no more ‘forced labor’.
That’s where the Labor Hall comes in. They keep the wages low enough that Orgs can either suck it up, take the TC contracts and get dispatched to the hamburger factories in Machine Town; or they can test their metal with The Gulraa.

“Gulraa” has always meant worker. On the lunar complex and any other dominion under the control of The Gruellein Empire, all labor units such as Orgs are given the designation “Gulraa”. Some second-generation Orgs, particularly outside of TeraCom City have dropped the name Gulraa in place of more Earthbound surnames. In TeraCom City, Orgs keep the name, to them, Gulraa means triumph.

Resilient Orgs from the community have tried to fight a noble fight against the Labor Hall. Through political action and democratic process, they try to push the provisional government to be firm against the Hall’s harsh treatment. When that doesn’t work, independent Org unions organize strikes. When workers go on strike, the Labor Hall sends in their thugs. The Gulraa backs the unions. A strike against one Org, is a strike against them all. Once the Violettas started busting up picket lines, the Gulraa started busting up Violetta rackets. The conflict was snowballing fast.

After a few weeks inside, I found my first real problem. 5’10 200lb, bald head from Brooklyn, he almost looks like Sticky Fingaz from Onyx. We’re from the same neighborhoods. I already knew his name, profession, and employers. Carlsbad Jones, a car-jacker just like me. Only difference is where he’s 3 parts enforcer, I’m one-part smooth talker and two parts not a fighter. Worse of all, he’s a hitter for the Violettas. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous.

It was first thing in the morning. I was turning a corner heading to the showers, then I’m starring at the ceiling and my heads ringing. Carlsbad Jones is looking down at me with a broken lunch tray in his hands. He smiles. “Good morning, Chucky. I thought that was you”. I tried to stand up, but he kicked me in my gut so hard I felt my ribs crack. I couldn’t talk or breath. He leaned down and told me. “You wrecked my Escalade you dumb fuck. I got busted because of you”. Before I could pick myself up, he grabbed me by the shoulder and rolled me up against the wall. He just looked at me as he held me down and said. “I’m gonna kill you and that fuckin’ frog”. Then he just laughed and walked away. I was laying there on the floor of the hallway, collecting my thoughts. The sound of CJs heavy footsteps down the corridor echoed over the melodic jailhouse ambience. Everything was slowly muffled by the numbing buzz of the florescent lights. All I could taste was plastic. The metal doors at the end of the hall slammed shut and everything went black.

Cheesesteak, Large Fries

9 months later, I was out. Guppy picked me up when I got released. He had been out a few weeks before me. A syndicate “friend” inside the Org Provisional Government filed motions to have his sentence commuted. As for me, I got lucky. They only let me out because some neurotic clerk in the security office saw Guppy’s paperwork and said my sentence would also need to be commuted since I was his co-defendant and we had the same charges. I told my mom not to pick me up because I didn’t like seeing her coming down to the county jail, but the truth was Guppy had a lot to catch me up on.

While we were locked up, The Gulraa’s war with the Violettas had escalated. The unions had begun striking, forcing the Labor Hall to negotiate new contracts. The laborers were able to get wage increases for extra-hazardous work, but TC executives didn’t budge on funding. The difference in labor cost is coming from the Labor Hall’s budget. The deal smoothed things over between the Hall and the unions but tensions are still high. The Violettas already have their hands in the Labor Hall’s pockets. Any added wages for labor takes credits out of their slush funds. After the Orgs went back to work, Violetta hit squads started taking out Gulraa that were seen protecting union picket lines.

Guppy told me everything as he drove us to his uncle’s bar. When we got there, guards walked us in. Three thugs were posted up outside, while two more stayed with the Don. Rullein and Grill were playing pool. Don Gumba handed me an envelope with 5000 credits as soon as we walked in. It was the money for the gun shop we hit in Newark. He didn’t say anything about the last job. He just said, “I need you both to go to Detroit”. Then he gave us the details.

Word came down the pipeline. The Violettas were planning on going into the Org neighborhoods to stage riots. Their goal was to frame the unions and kill countless innocent Orgs in the chaos.

The Don had everyone on high alert. Between the Gulraa’s thugs and union supporting laborers, there was enough soldiers to defend the hood. What we needed was more guns and ammunition. It was up to Guppy and myself to pick up a shipment of weapons all the way in Detroit. The Gulraa syndicate out there was sympathetic to our problems and was willing to give us everything we needed at cost. They only charged the Don what was necessary to cover production. It was a great deal, but it still wasn’t cheap. Recent attacks on Gulraa rackets had put a serious strain on the Brooklyn syndicate’s funds. Between the credits, the lives, and the stakes on the table; If anything happened to this shipment, the costs weren’t countable.

They already had a van ready. The plan was for me to meet up with Guppy in the morning and head out from Luna Park. We could get the guns and be back in the city overnight if we didn’t stop for anything but gas. I went home, ate dinner, slept, and then I met Guppy in the morning. We got breakfast at the diner by Coney Island and then we hit the road.

Heading west went about as smooth as it could have. We had to drive through some open wastes, but the roads were still mostly intact. We drove by some caravans and trade posts along Lake Erie. We got gas in Cleveland. The old city is now a thriving community of Dwellers, Indigo, and Kin. We didn’t bother anyone, and no one tried to bother us. It was a nice drive.

We arrived at the edge of Org Town, about 8 miles from the TC economic zone in Detroit. We met with our contact and followed them right into the Detroit Guns compound. It was a well-guarded facility at the center of the neighborhood. They welcomed us in with no problems. As soon as credits changed hands, we started loading up the van. 2 hours later, I was in the driver seat and Guppy was sitting shotgun cleaning his lucky 38. It was chrome with a cool black handle. He always polished it up. I don’t like chrome guns, but I can’t lie, it’s tasteful. A short while later, we were heading back east, just before the sun started to rise over the pine tree horizon.

The return trip back across through the wastes was just as easy as the first. Our danger was waiting for us in the city. We didn’t sleep and tension was high. I wish we had a better morning.


Coming back into the city, we picked up a tail in the Holland Tunnel. Two all black sedans. I floored it. Guppy had seen the whips and wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled a rifle from under his seat, leaned out his window and started firing on the cars behind us. The talk radio chatter was replaced with sounds of automatic gunfire faster than a quick cut to commercial. Bullets sang over the jingle of spent cases bouncing off the city streets. The van’s leaf spring suspension and my heart was pounding like a drum line as we raced through traffic.

Guppy switched out his stock magazine for an extendo. Before he cocked the rifle back, he reached down and handed me his lucky pistol. I didn’t want to take it, but I knew it wasn’t about the gun. It was his superstition. He just looked at me and said “We need this, Chuck. The guns have to make it back to the syndicate. You’re driving. Take the pistol”. I figured I could just give it back when we made the drop off. What difference could it make?

As soon as the gun left his hand, bullets sprayed across the windshield and Guppy slumped out the passenger window. He wasn’t moving. His green blood was smeared down the back of the van wall behind where he sat. I was still going over 80mph on surface streets. I couldn’t watch the road. I was stuck in a trance looking at Guppy. It felt like time stood still as I stared, waiting for him to get back up. I tried shaking him with one hand while the other still gripped the wheel. I started to yell.

While I was screaming at Guppy, bullets were still flying passed my face. I was heading east when I ran an intersection and t-boned the back of a work truck. I kept going making a right turn onto the boulevard, my van was battered but fine. The truck I hit spun out and flipped, blocking the eastbound lanes. The first sedan following behind me couldn’t dodge the collision quick enough to make the corner and crashed. The wreck blocked the road and gave me a window to escape.

I raced back to the warehouse. When I arrived, I pulled up onto the sidewalk and ran around to the passenger side. I pulled Guppy out and I was screaming for help. The syndicate Orgs came quick. After that, all I can remember is big grey palms covering my face as they pulled me away.


Guppy’s funeral was nice. It was mostly Orgs from his family and the syndicate. A few of our friends from the neighborhood showed up too. Guppy was popular. He was smart and quiet. He had a good sense of humor. After the services, his uncle came up to me. He knew Guppy and I were always close. He told me that he had high expectations for Guppy and now he didn’t know what he would do. Don Gumba was very reserved, but I could see he was hurt.

After that, the Don said he wanted me to come work at the bar. He said if I was there it would feel like part of Guppy never left. I took the job and later that week I was helping Don Gumba change kegs and clean glassware.

In the following weeks, I learned what happened between the Gulraa and the Violettas. The weapons made it to the hands of everyone that needed them. With the added firepower, the syndicates were able to adequately defend their neighborhoods. After the first wave of attacks were squashed. Gulraa hit squads carried out tactical counter measures against key Violetta associates. Any chances of a large-scale retaliation against the Gulraa would be practically impossible until the Violettas were able to regroup.

After months of working at the bar, the grind was getting to me. My mother was happy I found legal work. To be honest, I despise manual labor with a burning passion, and I almost quit that job on a weekly basis. I would, if it wasn’t for these exact two reasons.

First reason, Don Gumba has looked after me like family since Guppy’s passing and I could never disrespect him like that; even if this job kills me.
Second reason, working at the bar with the Don offers me limitless opportunities. I’ve made a strong reputation for myself. I have Gulraa contacts from here to Detroit. I’m not the only Human to work with the Gulraa, but I might be the only Human that calls an Org Don “Uncle G”.


A year later, we found out the Violettas had put a price on my head for working with the Gulraa. The Don wanted me to go to Detroit and lay low. I told him not to worry about it. A string of successful bank jobs I pulled with Rullein and Grill had me full of myself. I didn’t think anyone could touch me. I said, “if I left who would run the bar” and I laughed it off.

A few nights later, all that good humor and confidence would be pissed down the side of my leg. I was taking the trash out to the dumpster. The night sky was glowing, illuminated by the toxic clouds that reflected the city lights back like a grey screen in a dark room. I was reaching down for the bin when a bag went over my head. As I struggled, I was lifted off my feet by the bunched up plastic wrapped around my neck. I could hear laughter as I felt my consciousness slipping away. I snapped my head back as hard as I could. The back of my skull made contact with the softer parts of a Human face. The laughter turned to a howl and they let go. I fell to the ground and ripped the bag off my head.

Carlsbad Jones was standing there dressed in all black with his hands cupped over his blood covered face. I caught my breathe as I tried to crawl away. Still covered in blood gushing from his broken nose, CJ drew a gun from his waist and fired four shots in my direction as I ran for the end of the alleyway. I was hit but I made it to the corner. All I could feel was fear and pressure. I tried to run for the waterfront and escape through the carnival. I didn’t make it. CJ got to the corner and I was still in his sights. He opened fire on me again.

Shots rang out muffled by the sound of passing subway cars in the rafters above.
I felt the bullets rip through my body and I collapsed behind some crates on the docks. I crawled behind a storage container and sat myself up against a wall. I couldn’t move my left arm or my legs and I could feel something sharp digging into the small of my back.

It was Guppy’s lucky pistol. I didn’t like chrome, but I still kept it cleaned, polished, and loaded. Laying up against the wall, next to that damp rusty shipping container, the pain washed over me like a rogue wave. I was struggling to stay awake. CJ stomped down the docks coming straight for me. “We gotta stop meeting like this Chucky” he laughed, “I told you I would kill you and that fuckin’ frog”.

It took every ounce of strength I had left in me to hold my arm up. Every cell in my body was screaming out from behind that pistol as I pulled the hammer back. CJ followed my bloodstains like breadcrumbs on the boardwalk. He turned the corner around the container, training his gun. I already had Guppy’s 38 raised in my hand when our eyes met.


I squeezed the trigger. Bang, his body went limp behind the muzzle flash, and he fell back into the bay. As his body was falling towards the water, just for that moment, everything was quiet. The TeraCom City silence was broken when his body hit the waves. Then all the sounds of the world returned.

♫