Later that day, rain pattered on the gray roof of an old industrial building in Brooklyn. “MORETTI AUTO SALVAGE,” proclaimed the lettering on the business's fading facade. A small junkyard filled with stacks of rusting cars sat behind the structure, adding a grim backdrop to an already depressing sight.
Anyone interested in auto parts—and not the shop's array of other, less legitimate goods and services--would need to come another day. A small “closed” sign had been sloppily hung in the front window, but Ernie Moretti wasn't taking the day off. Inside a room guarded by a sinister young man in a long leather jacket, he was working on an important business deal.
Moretti's piggish little eyes twinkled as he poured his companion some more cheap wine. He sat at a small table opposite a stocky, lantern-jawed man dressed in tattered jeans and a denim jacket like a living throwback to cheesy 80's action movies. This man was Tommy Barnett, the architect of Sam Payne's downfall and the seemingly invincible leader of The Warriors.
He swirled the glass of wine in a way he thought looked dignified and took a sip. It tasted like crap, but free drinks were free drinks.
“So you can get the mods done by the end of next month?” Tommy asked. “My client is gonna be real pissed if one of my runners gets caught again.”
Ernie laughed heartily. “I could practically do it my sleep. Secret compartments are my specialty, Tommy boy.”
Barnett looked down at the sheet of paper in front of him. “Still not sure about your prices, though. I've gotten some quotes from Cooper Auto Solutions, and they tell me they can do the same job for half the cost.”
Ernie laughed again, but this time it came in a series of obnoxious, seal-like barks. “Ha! That's because they're liars and cheats, my friend.”
Barnett leaned closer. “Help me out, Ernie. There's a lot of businesses that haven't paid me what they owe for my...services. I'm short on cash, and even shorter on patience. Now, I'm going to make you a deal. You can either--”
His cell phone rang.
"...Hold on a sec." He answered the phone, and Caleb Jacobson's twangy Texas voice wafted through the speaker, making him cringe. Why did he let that little runt join his organization, anyway? He must've weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. His worthwhile men had a blast taking advantage of the kid's awe of them, but eventually the novelty would fade.
“Mr. Barnett?” Jacobson asked nervously. “Mr. Barnett?”
Tommy took a deep breath, wishing he could punch the kid though the phone. “Yeah...what is it, Caleb? Did you piss your pants again?”
Caleb gave a nervous laugh. “No, sir. It's just that I saw some people in the junkyard. It looked like...a bunch of kids in weird Halloween costumes. I think they had a cat with them, too.”
Tommy sighed, his face burning red as Ernie began to snicker. “Yeah, so in other words, you helped yourself to some of the product and now you're tripping balls. I'll be sure to kick your ass into orbit once we get home.”
Outside the shop, Caleb was nearing a nervous breakdown. “Sir, I know it sounds stupid,” he protested, looking like a bedraggled scarecrow in the rain, “but I just saw them again a second ago. They ran behind some cover, but I swear to God...”
“Give it up already,” sneered Mike Davis, storming up to him. The heavily-built thug was twice his weight, and from Caleb's perspective he could've been an angry war god. “You're just making it worse. Gimme the phone. Jesus, this is what we get for giving you a little bit of responsibility...”
Suddenly a sharp ring of metal spun through the air, clashing into a steel pole just behind Davis. Davis whirled around to see what it was, only to be rushed by a young girl in a strange costume that reminded Caleb of old Sinbad movies. The girl took expert advantage of the distraction, landing a ferocious flying kick on the back of Davis's knee. Davis collapsed face first into the mud, howling in pain. He reached for the snub-nosed revolver in his jacket, only for his hand to get stepped on by another girl; this one looking like she had walked out of an arcade fighting game.
Two more young fighters burst into the fray, dressed just as bizarrely as the first two. One of them them was apparently some kind of witch, and the second was a half-human, half...dragon?
And sure enough, the goddam cat was with them, too. A cat with rabbit features, because apparently God just didn't want Caleb to end the day with any remaining shred of sanity.
Just as the psycho dress-up party was finishing knocking Davis out, the door of a nearby portable restroom opened. Tommy Barnett's third-string enforcer Jack Murphy stepped out, taking in the spectacle before him with a look of simultaneous astonishment and rising outrage.
“Caleb, you dumb redneck bastard,” snarled Jack. “You gonna just stand there all day?”
Jack whipped out a forty-five caliber pistol and aimed it at the intruders. He clicked the laser sight on, sending flickering red lines through the sheets of rain.
“Wanna play with the big boys, kiddies?” he bellowed. “Let's start with a game called 'catch the bullet.' Ready?”
“I like 'catch the fist' a lot more,” announced a new girl, this one a petite teenager dressed up like an old-fashioned doll. Somehow, she'd sneaked up right behind Jack with neither him nor Caleb noticing. “Ready?”
Jack was a fast little weasel of man, easily capable of holding his own against drunken bikers at bar brawls. But the kid got the first blow in, landing a gut-punch with strange gloves that looked like giant rabbit paws. Jack stumbled back comically, wheezing from the direct hit to his solar plexus. There was a blur of motion, and then the girl was pressing her attack, landing punch after punch with her gauntlets that seemed to change shape every few seconds. Wham. Now she had huge cat paws. Wham. Now she looked like she'd gotten a hand transplant from an overstuffed teddy bear. Wham. Then it was back to rabbit paws. Caleb frantically tried to rationalize the changes, but his brain couldn't deny what his eyes were seeing.
He thought it was going to be a completely one-sided battle, but the girl slipped over an exposed pipe. Her friends quickly rushed in to help her, but Jack halted them by training his pistol on them. “Little bitch,” he said, spitting on the fallen girl. “You broke my goddam nose.”
“Meteor swarm!” cried the witch girl, pointing her staff at Jack. Jack had just enough time to flash a cynical smile before something happened that removed all Caleb's doubts he was going insane.
The staff lit up and opened a tiny shimmering portal in front of its tip. A barrage of baseball-sized pockmarked gray rocks shot out from the portal, rocketing towards Jack's stupid, baffled face at blistering speed.
He fired his pistol wildly as the miniature meteors crashed into his face and chest, each shot doing nothing but hurting Caleb's ears. It was brutal to watch. Jack looked like a clumsy high schooler who'd forgotten to bring a bat when practicing with a pitching machine. After the fifth impact, he tottered back and forth comically and collapsed in a heap, his face bruised and swollen.
The gang of strange kids turned to face Caleb, regarding him with confidence while he wondered when he'd wake up from this absurd nightmare.
He backed away slowly, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm.
“E-easy, okay? I surrender. Please don't punch me, okay? Or shoot rocks at me. Definitely please do not shoot rocks at me, I really don't--”
The door to the auto shop burst open, and a trio of crooks emerged. It was Tommy Barnett, Ernie Moretti, and Tommy's extraordinarily creepy lieutenant, Kevin Bailey. Kevin had his signature twin pearl-handled 9mm pistols held ready, his waxy lips twisted into a razor-thin grin. His eyes seemed to blaze with sadistic glee under his messy chestnut-brown bangs. Unlike Tommy and Ernie, Kevin was unfazed by the strange intruders. Caleb assumed it was because people like Kevin generally didn't care about what counted as normal.
“Look, boss,” purred Kevin. “Some people to kill. Please don't stop me this time.”