Joshua loaded up in the truck with a small group of younger peckerwoods, the plan was pretty straightforward, the Faceless were operating in Pico-Union, a bad neighborhood on the best of days, and with MS-13, the Faceless and Desert Rats about to be active, there was no way any cops would show face tonight. Joshua checked his gun for the fifth time since starting the drive. It was going to be bloody, between the three gangs, the streets would become flooded with the blood, piss, and shit of violence and hate. It would be easier for the Rats, if it was brown, kill it. If it were white, don’t. With more than one Latino gang stalking the streets in his city, they would have to think twice about one another, while he and his clique could blast indiscriminately.
Joshua walked through the streets of Fontana, proudly displaying his tattoos from under the tight white t-shirt and suspenders. He didn’t bother to hide his bald scalp with a hat or bandana either, to do so would be to hide who and what he was, and he had no shame in either. He was proud to be a white man fighting for white families in the streets of America. Those streets were quiet at the moment, and until he was ready to make his move, Josh wanted them to stay that way. He didn’t hide or keep to the shadows, but he kept to back streets that he knew there wouldn’t be as many cops patrolling.
Just a small warning, this story contains plenty of violence and racism.
Joshua reached out and crushed the life out of the roach crawling along the windowsill, listening to the way the crunching sound rang so clear and loudly to his chemically boosted senses. He examined the white and black entrails on his fingers, the way the ichor didn’t run down his hands like blood should. Finally wiping his hand off on his jeans, he became aware that someone was talking to him. One of his favorite side effects of the meth was his ability to focus so intensely on what he wanted to focus on when he wanted to, drowning out the unpleasant side effects of life. Joshua didn’t look immediately at the source of noise, he knew who it was and what it was about. Instead, he let his eyes linger on the smoke coming from his cigarette and how dull the cherry looked through the washed out lights of their trailer home.