A camera is set to record, noise from the room filling in for the silence before an older Hispanic man stepped into frame, hair parted down the middle, a thick beard sat on his face. He set himself down onto his chair, leaning forward uncomfortably before resting his back fully with a sigh. His eyes were glazed over, his mouth agape, before his gaze met the camera face to face. With a few labored breaths, he finally spoke. "I am... the leader of the Dios es Estado..." A sigh escaped his lips. "Or rather... the founder."
He readjusted himself in his seat.
"Guillermo Basilio Aguilar," He ended his sentence with a raspy inhalation of air before sighing once more, as if it were a chore for him to speak as much as he had been. He smacked his lips, looking down at his watch. "It is... 10:23 pm, February 5th, 202X. I will be 67 years old by midnight, and that is when I will euthanize myself. If you are wondering why I've brought such a fate upon myself... don't. I do not deserve such courtesy." He paused for a moment. "I've lived a long enough life... I've spent a lot of it hurting others, and it'll persist that way most likely."
"On February 8th, this announcement will go out to those currently under the Dios es Estado's umbrella of influence. Those with positions of authority... and if any of those who are curious enough and have somehow come upon this tape... well... you are welcome to join in as well."
"I have no one I trust, which is why I have worked to make this worth all of your while. There is a box-- no, a case. A case with a certain item that I wish to get delivered. Those participating will be sent the location. Whoever gets to it first and manages to deliver it promptly to the location provided will be rewarded greatly. About 200 billion worth of my assets after my passing will be passed on to you." He took in another raspy breath. "If you happen to open the case before you have arrived at your destined location, you will be punished severely for it."
"A file that should be included with the tape will have the location. That is what I'm referring to. If you attempt to harm the person you are delivering to, once again, you will be severely punished. I guarantee that your death will not be quick, this includes if the package is opened early before delivery. Only one person can open that case without being harmed. That is enough. Take the case, do what you are told, and you will be provided the wealth I had mentioned previously."
The tape abruptly ends there. Members of the gang stared at their screens in stunned silence, all across the continent.
A mysterious figure wept, "No! It can't be! Please!" He screamed as loud as he could, clutching the screen of his computer, his men watching on the sidelines. His cries stopped abruptly, straightening his back before drawing the coat they had thrown over their shoulders. "Alright, let's find the package and... send a message to the person Guillermo would go so far as to kill themselves over."
Other larger organizations began preparations for a war, flooding out of the buildings they had holed themselves in, all vying for control over the now open wound Guillermo had left in the wake of his death.
California, LA.
A young man with short black hair, a bandana tied around their head, cupped their chin in contemplation, sweat slowly dripping from their brow, their sapphire eyes concentrating on a cup set out in front of them.
His clothes were eccentric to say the least, blue star iconography covered across his entire body, including even a choke sporting the same shape that seems to be what he'd call his "thing." A hoodie, baggy pants flayed at the ends, a choker strapped to his neck, and a headband wrapped around his head, fingerless gloves to top it all off, stuffed into his sleeves.
He made a look of heavy contemplation before contorting it into a visceral confusion, leaning back exaggeratedly. The man in front of him stood in anticipation of his decision, a massive smile on his face.
"Ehh..." Chance Amilaar Caccia, 19 years old. Chronic gambler since the age of 12. Seemingly involved in various gangs, he acts as a contract thief amongst his circles. And the one thing he hates the most... "Is it.. an eight?"
The man scoffed, lifting the cup to reveal the real number, the dice totalling a twelve. "Sorry, better luck next time~!"
Chance's gaze darkened, taking out a dried apricot wrapping, ripping the seal, and biting down on it. "You..." He could see it from a mile away with that smug face of theirs and rage built up into his very veins, "You're a liar, aren't you!?"
The man gasped, "How could you accuse me of such a thing!? I have a business to ru-"
"More like a fucking scam! Don't piss on my shoes, ya bastard! I know yer fuckin' lyin'! I know that shit was an eight, I can tell it in my soul I know that shit of yours was rigged from the start!" He hates liars.
"There is no evidence of such a thing occurring! Ever! Please leave before I call the police!"
"That's always what scammers do. Always turnin' straight to the police over menial shit. Y'know what!? If you really didn't lie straight to my fuckin' face, then get a lawyer like a real human being and prove it!"
"Lawyer!? Right now you're obstructing my business--"
"What!? Pussying out? Come on, guarantee it, will you sue me for defamation and obstruction of business?"
"Y-You! You're crazy, what is wrong with you!? Leave me be!"
"Starboy..." Chance mumbled under his breath, an invisible force taking the cup, rolling the dice, and proving his point, the cup somehow making it a double six instantly.
The man noticed, visible confusion on his face as he wondered how his cup moved. "Anyh-"
Chance picked the cup up and showed the inside to the merchant. "A business, huh?" A magnet was set inside the cup, and the die appeared to be weighted in some way. "Quite the combo you got goin' on. I'm guessin' you switched out the die at some point when I wasn't lookin', right?"
A moment of silence passed before the man just gave up, letting out a big sigh. "Alright, fine... have your money back."
"Thanks, no thanks." Chance took his money back, leaving the man to his devices. As he walked away, an ethereal blue hand with a star marked on the back of the hand placed a wallet into Chance's palm. He popped open the wallet, counting the bills with a grin on his face. "We won it big, buddy." Chance bounced the wallet off the palm of their hand. "Now... what should we spend it on?" He paused, looking at a storefront playing the news, announcing the death of Guillermo Basilio Aguilar. "Damn... wonder how I get a piece of that pie."
Chance continued walking, rounding the street and pushing forward until he found a staircase going into an underground bar that hosts various bands every so often. Gangs often linger here and make deals due to a confidentiality agreement between the bar owner and their customers.
Chance made his way inside, crossing to the front bar before setting himself down into one of the stools lined up in front of the counter, music filling his ears. The bartender slid across the counter, giving an attentive lean to Chance. "What do you need today?!"
"Got any games!?"
They shook their head. "Not at the moment! Guillermo's death put a pause in business!"
Chance sighed, a young dark-skinned man sitting beside him, dreads tied into a ponytail. He wore a baggy striped shirt with baggy black slacks, barely held together by their belts. "Yo! Chance!"
Chance gave a pointed look to the man. "What!?"
"How're you doin'!? Everything goin' well at home!?"
The sight of a home stuck in time, everything was how he had left it after his Mother's passing, not out of memory, but purely out of not needing to remove such items from what was now his abode. They were good mementos, but they weren't things Chance needed. "I'm alright...!" Chance paused, "What to do...?" He mumbled to himself.
"Hey! Dude!"
"What!?"
"Have you heard!?"
"Heard what!?"
The young man gave a pointed look to the bartender before motioning for Chance to follow, jumping out from his seat and into a quieter area of the bar where they could speak to one another. "So... apparently-"
"Apparently?"
"Apparently," He sighed. "Have you seen the tape from the leader of the Dios es Estado?"
"What? Nah, I saw the news, though. He had some case or some shit, I dunno. All I know is that there's a lot of money involved."
"Yeah... someone found it, but they aren't going to deliver it."
"Wait, what? Why?"
"The location was here in LA, yeah? The location of the case."
"Okay?"
"Some guy got it, and apparently doesn't even want it anymore, but... but the thing is, you aren't gonna believe this."
"What am I not gonna believe?"
"He's makin' it a game."
"Wait, what? Somethin' that valuable?"
"Yeah. Whoever wins the game first gets the case... and you know what that means. If they deliver that one studio apartment in Brazil... well, they get all the cash. All 200 billion dollars."
"You have my attention."
"Wanna take it?"
"Don't have to tell me twice! Let's do this shit!"
"Alright, first, I have to get the location. They got an informant and shit, we can get this shit done today!"
This young man's name is Victor Samael, an old childhood friend of Chance. He was the originator of Chance's pension for stealing and gambling. Together, they became a team, making money through thick and thin. Victor led Chance across LA to a more secluded outcropping some ways out of the city. Chance spot from afar a couple of Dios es Estado members standing next to an absurdly tall African Man. Chance knew they were from the Dios es Estado by the symbol of a cross swaddled by a cloth with tightly knit thorned vines wrapped around it.
The two members noticed Chance and Victor approaching, taking a couple of steps back while the African Man held their hand out, stopping them. "Names."
"You need names?" Chance looked at Victor. "Why do you need names?"
"Names."
"W-What's y--"
Victor stood in Chance's way, de-escalating the situation. "I'm Victor Samael, this is my friend, Chance."
Chance clicked his tongue. "Chance Caccia."
The man nodded. "Do you have it?"
"Have...?"
Victor pulled out a slip from his back pocket, placing it into the large man's hand. "There ya go, big guy."
"What's goin' on?"
"It's a show of goodwill. Think of it as a confidentiality agreement."
"How'd you even get it?"
"I bought it, obvio."
"From who?"
"Why does that matter?"
"It--"
The man cut them off. "Head here." They handed over a letter.
Victor opened it up to see the location for himself, with Chance looking over his shoulder. They quickly began making their way to the required location, which was somewhere near the sea, right underneath the docks of the Rodando Beach Pier. Along their drive, a sigh escaped Chance's lips.
Victor looked at him curiously. "What's up? What's wrong?"
"I hope we ain't gettin' fibbed, bro."
"We ain't. We'll be fine, alright?"
"You're lucky I trust your ass, bro. I'd have fuckin' beat your shit in otherwise."
Victor chuckled. "I'm always reliable, alright. I've never strayed from you, wrong! Have faith in me~! I did have to lie about one thing earlier."
"W-What!? Yo, what the h--"
"I know, I know. But, I couldn't just say shit in front of those guys if it's gonna cause problems, y'know?"
"What'd you lie about?"
"The slip, it was a ticket. Stole it from a Dios es Estado punk. But! I want to iterate, alright? We're gonna be facing the entire continent if we get this box, so regardless, if we get this case, we'd be makin' enemies out of everyone, right?"
"The case better be here, dude."
"It has to be." Victor sighed. "Problem is, nobody's won against the guy who has it."
"Wonder why they're makin' a whole game out of it."
"Better question, why haven't they gotten shot yet?"
"They have a Boon."
They arrived at the pier, making their way underneath it to spot a circle of men, a fire placed in the middle of them. They're cheering violently at the game taking place. Victor and Chance get into position to see better, arriving just as they lose their bet. This has consequences. Chance figured that whoever this was didn't care about getting anything out of it, but still punished those who failed as he snatched a pile of cash set down next to their opponent.
The man Chance and Victor would have to go up against wore a black suit, a coat thrown over their shoulders. They held themselves low and carried an air of cold resilience around them, their eyes a piercing black void. "I win again..."
"W-Wait! Please, let me go another round!"
"You cannot handle what will come your way, leave!"
It happened in a split second. Two gunshots rang out, and just as quickly as the conflict had taken place, the man's opponent dropped dead onto the floor. Various members of the Dios es Estado cackled violently as Chance and Victor bore witness to the chaos in front of them.
Victor whispered to Chance. "I... I didn't even see the other guy shoot... what the hell happened?"
Chance shook his head. "I dunno either... but I know this won't be boring." He smirked, stepping down from the rocks of the pier and crossing over to the crowd.