#Don't feel obliged to match length btw just felt bad about keeping you waiting!

[masquenoire]

@gnarledbite​ found you HERE...

Well, tonight had been a real shitshow. What was supposed to have been a quick clean-out turned out to be more than Roman had bargained for, the group of thugs encroaching on his turf backed up with some real killer artillery. Definitely not some run-of-the-mill gang looking to pick up some parking meter change; it had been a trap and Roman charged in with all guns blazing only to end up against a firing squad himself. Kind of impressive actually, the simplicity of the scheme in which to draw Roman Sionis onto the street for an easy kill. Targeting his dealers and disrupting the flow of narcotics had been one thing but the joy of making an example out of the culprits, now they knew he'd find that irresistable. Roman would have smiled had he still had the strength. Scarface knew him better than he knew himself, the vicious little wooden bastard. However, Roman could only swallow, feeling oddly thirsty despite the strong taste of blood upon his tongue. He’s bleeding out fast and knows it, unable to repress a shudder at his impending demise. Then again it might have been his body beginning to convulse - already he could feel the cold, dark fingers of death reaching out for him like so many others had been claimed tonight. Speaking of Death, the bastard was already hovering over his corpse. It wasn't Scarface, much to his surprise. The odd, scratching voice that reached his dimming ears didn't carry the gloating words he'd been expecting, of luring him out onto his own turf that would now belong to him. Similarly the dark frame kneeling above his corpse wasn't chubby like the Ventriloquist Scarface had dubbed his puppet - this newcomer was thin and lanky, their silhouette so tall that overhead lights were blotted out, fanning behind the top of their head like some sort of nightmarish halo. He'd never put much stock into religion but in that moment, it looked like an awful lot like the Angel of Death had come for him. Or so he'd thought. Death didn't ask how badly you wanted to live, saying that your luck hadn't run out just yet. Roman swallowed again, coughing wetly as he struggled to get a better look at his saviour's face. It wasn't Batman or any of the other morons stupid enough to try saving the crime lord's life and with a bullet lodged in his lung, even the Bat wouldn't have been able to perform any miracles at this point. Well, fuck. What else did he have to lose? Roman figured the other person wasn't asking out of the goodness of their little heart, that payment would be involved one way or the other but right now he didn't have the time or energy to lay out the terms of any contracts, the fires of his hot blood now growing cold and dim. "... F-fuck it. Do what you c-can, n' I'll m-make it w-w-worth your w-while..." Roman spits, his words trailing off as a violent hacking fit overcomes him. The crime lord sighs as his strength gives out, jaw going slack as he fights bitterly to maintain eye contact until his last breath. He wasn't ready to leave this life yet, especially not by the hand of some two-bit chump he didn't even know the name of.