Battery City Boys

Frank and Party Poison were heading into a small neighborhood. One of those places where, if you were to get lost, or hurt, no one would bat an eyelash as they tried to help you. it was a place where kids could go to play in, or to walk alone, and not have to worry about their safety.

Those places were rare, but they existed in New York City.

They walked in silence, Party Poison with his gun out, his finger on the trigger, and Frank, with his baseball bat in hand. Frank clicked his tongue a few times, then looked at the leader of the group.

"So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Poison glanced at Frank, then back towards the decaying road. Putting his gun down a little, he began to speak.

"You and your brother need to ditch your names. It's too dangerous to walk around with the ones you have, now. People can find out everything about you, with a name."

Frank looked puzzled.

"Wait, you mean those assholes that chased us at the store? And the ones that attacked us in our safehouse?"

Poison nodded, a grim look on his face.

"Once they find out your names, they can hunt you down and take you into custody. I don't think they give you hugs and presents, when they bring you in. I've seen some people come back, but they're either one of them, or they've escaped, and they're bloody."

Frank looked pale, his eyes darting around the area, as if they were being watched that very moment. Swallowing harshly, he looked down to the ground.

"So, what should we call ourselves, then?"

Party Poison was silent for a few moments, appearing to be deep in thought. He cleared his throat, coughing a little bit.

"I'd recommend something stylish, something shiny. You don't wanna use your real name, or any nickname related to it, unless it's something that does't give out your past life. I went with Party Poison because, well, exactly that. Kobra is terrified of snakes, so that's his, and Jet likes cars and planes. Go with what you think is cool, but don't make it stupid. I hate stupid names."

Frank nodded, thinking about what he would call himself.

"I don't know what I'll call myself, but just call me Frankenstein, for tonight. Addie and I will come up with something, later."

The redhead leader nodded.

"Okay, jazzy."

Looking to a small apartment building to their right, Poison pointed to the rundown housing.

"C'mon. I know where some good shit is, in there."

Frank nodded, quickly pacing next to his new ally. They climbed up concrete stairs, Party Poison aiming his gun at the oak door. He looked to Frank.

"You know how to pick a lock, man?"

Frank nodded, putting his bat against the stone railing. Pulling out a bobby pin, and a beat up paperclip, he inserted them into the keyhole, working deftly and nimbly with his fingers, until the lock turned, and the door clicked.

Putting the small items back into his jeans, he turned the doorknob.

Notes

My wifi went out for a whole week, and I slowly lost life. ;-;

Anyways, I'm back!

Also, new story idea coming up soon!

Anyways, time for the Question Of The Day/Night.

Who's your favorite author? It doesn't have to be a novelist, it can be any kind of author.

Mine would have to be James Patterson, or *cough* MCR.

Hey, musical authors count.

Until we meet again,
Sweet Horrors And Terrible Nightmares,
XOXO,
Screaming Tears
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