A celebration, and a well deserved one. The young man who had been the catalyst for all the madness of the past few weeks had achieved everything he set out to do, rebuilding his family and building a strong legacy. Never again would harm come to them, even in his absence. But how had he done it? It seemed even when the odds were impossibly stacked against him, he always found a way through. He should have been dead by now, although he seemed to be the only one who noticed the way he had been seemingly whisked away from the cold grip of death in the countless gunfights he had been caught amidst. How many lives had he taken? He’d lost count, it felt like he’d been the only one to walk away from battles with entire hoods. No man could accomplish such feats alone, and for such assistance a price must always be paid. As the party continued around him, few would have noticed a solemn calm falling on his face, and a truly fearful look in his eye. “Carl, where are ya off to now?” his sister called to him, noticing him heading away from the revelers. “Fittin’ to hit the block, see what’s happening” was his only reply as he strode purposefully out of the door.

Carl “CJ” Johnson was never seen or heard from again after that fateful night. At least, that’s what people believed, for the unfortunate souls walking late at night who caught a glimpse of something on the road they couldn’t quite make out, and yet made every muscle in their body scream at them to run until they passed out would never make that connection.