U-KOWN POV

"How much?" I asked, kneeling beside B-Bomb, who was counting the coin spilled onto the sidewalk, his brow creased in concentration. 

I thought back to what had happened maybe 30 minutes ago. The streeter, with the brown hair. I hadn't seen him before, but carrying a donut box made him seem pretty much useless. But I know a streeter when I see one, and he's a streeter. We have the eyes, the movements, the awareness that normal people don't. Normal people don't recognize us from them. It's two species, to me. Streeter, and normal people. We look the same, but are as different as day and night.

"75 today," he said, getting up and jamming the cap we used for money back on his head. "Let's go."

We cut the main road, taking the maze of alleys instead. B-Bomb looked on edge, reaching to his belt once in a while like reaching for a shard that wasn't there, and I felt a little jumper too. The fights with Exo had made us on edge, and late last night, Zelo had come down from the roof, his eyes colder than usual when he had come back. He had only told us one thing: Stay Alert. I don't know what's happened, but I know he knows something we don't. 

We passed a SJ member. I remember his name: Hankyung. The usual tension between streeters from different gangs fizzed between us as we steered clear of each other. He was dragging with him an expensive looking rickie, looking incredibly annoyed. He gave us a suspicious glance and continued on, brushing past us, covering the rickie's mouth when he tried to talk. 

B-Bomb froze. "Wait." 

I gave him a glance. "What?"

He pointed back the way we had came from and Hankyung was going. "That was a Lee." 

I drew my eyebrows together, confused. "What?"

"The most powerful man in the city has a son. That's his son!"

I gave him a blank look. "So?"

He looked at me like I was bull. "So, what is an SJ member doing with it?"

TAEIL POV

Boss told me. He didn't tell the rest, not yet, but I know he will at todays collect. I wonder how they'll take it. We've been to war; that's how you earn a reputation in the streets. Winner, takes all. Losers, are either dead or gone by sunup, the remaining members marked with a disgraced mark, left to do nothing but wait. It might seem brutal. It might, but that's the way of life. Be strong, and florish. Live. Be weak, die. Humans, are, after all, animals. 

Zico is worried, I know. Jaehyo has the wrist, and there is that nailer in Exo, that could almost beat B-Bomb. War in the streets doesn't start with a paper, and peopel gathered in a room to declare war and a meeting, none of that crap. It starts with a trigger. Something to set it off. A bomb. A downed member. A gang mark, sprayed on the others crib.

And then, for maybe even weeks, it goes on. Silent deaths. A kidnapped member, a threat, a dropper sent in. All of it is silent, deadly, quick. At the end, even the winner gang has lost maybe three, four members. We've had fourteen deaths in four wars, since three years ago. Gangs are never consistent. There is always someone to try to forget.

We haven't been in war in a year. Zico doesn't like it: too bloody, too long, too risky. But sometimes we have no choice. Besides, for this one, if we beat, we're probably doing the rest of the gangs a favor. Exo has been incredibly annoying since their debut, in, what, two years? I've heard rumor they have some kind of other gao, besides the obvious one, who is in the shadows. Heard not even they know his name, except for the gao. 

I shook myself and started heading across town. I had a meeting to keep.

ZICO POV

I leaned down, crouching so no one could see me. In front of me, two streeters crossed the roof, long legs moving swiftly, bags in their hands swinging back and forth. The window I was peering out of was broken, probably years and years ago, the building just another abandoned shell out of the tons around here, in this part of Iksan. One streeter swung back, suddenly, the beanie on his head bouncing with his rapid steps, and seemed to meet my eyes. But his skimmed right over me, and he turned back again, herding the other in front him as they ran across the roof. It was the start of collect, so why did they have the bags? And why were they going back to their crib so early?

The one with the beanie gestured impatiently, and the other, who looked a hesitant, gave him a glance before stepping down and disappearing all together. There was a kind of unfamiliarity about the two streeters that told me they weren't in the same gang; but this was Exo's crib, so one must be a dropper. Maybe a *wirer, or *twister. Something. It was probably the hesitant one: members know the ways in and out of the crib by heart, if they're smart. The other gave another glance around, and dropped down too. 

I made notes quickly: the exits, the entrance, the members, who the dropper looked like. I knew a guy who had tabs on all of 'em, so if I got a good enough description then I could get more info. Who he was. What kind of streeter. 

I scanned the place one more time, fixing the location in my mind, before turning to go. As I soft footed it through the building, a flash of color stopped me. I halted, walking back to the doorway where I had seen it. There, was another one, crouched near a window. As I go a full glance of him he turned around, and when he saw me, he immediately stood up, backing up to face the wall so the open window wasn't against his back. Smart.

He was admittedly handsome, with sharp eyes and a strong, but not prominent, bones in his face, his dark, almost brown red hair brushed across his forehead. He snarled, eyes lighting up, and curled up his fist, head cocked. 

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" I countered. He was spying on Exo, too, and I wanted to know why.

"None of your business," He snarled again.

"Then what I'm doing here is none of your business." 

He tightened his other fist. I made a movement, reaching into my sleeve for a shard, and he did too. He reached back at the wall, grabbed an old nail stuck into the crumbling plaster, pulled it out, and arrowed it at my head. I ducked down and rolled, hearing the thud of the nail's end against the wall where I just was. Damn. He has an arm. I whipped out the shard, sending it into his legs, and I heard a groan as it met its mark. I kept moving, crossing the good-sized room with fast steps, and he pulled out the shard, gritting his teeth. With fire in his eyes, he sent it into my shoulder, and without a backwards glance he jumped out the window, vanishing over the edge.

I ducked down, letting out a wordless scream as my shoulder burned in pain. Slowly, my eyes rolling in my head, I straightened up and pulled the knife from my skin, looking across to see my arm already running with red. Gritting my teeth, I tore off a piece of my shirt, tied it around the wound to stop the bleeding, for at least long enough to get back, and took off, careful to move my shoulder as little as possible, since every movement made my shoulder flare up in pain.

My throat tight, I kept running, the darkness a comfort to me. I felt the tension in my shoulder muscles unknot, which only made more blood gush out, but I kept going, the thud of my boots the only sound as I raced back to safety. If I wasn't ground, I could have followed the guy, to find out. He would pay, all right. With a coming war, the leader had to be strong. All the members would have to be strong. He would pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dropper: a hired help [sorry if I didn't explain sooner]

*wirer: a dropper that can make bombs, or other technical things

*twister: a dropper that is hired to mark hard to get places with any sigh with paint or spray, most often a gang mark.

So.... The war is finally starting! Sorta! Is this confusing? Kinda? Please tell me. 

And sorry if this was a little slow so far....

Please please comment, and subscribe if you like it! Thanks!