"Oh Jerry... you poor bastard".

We open up in what appears to be a cemetery, presumably in Mesa, Arizona, where the latest Dead Men Walking chapter was recently founded by Hendrik "Rage" Jansson, the club's first ever Sergeant At Arms, and the one who first connected the Dead Men Walking to several street gangs in South Africa; the source of their infamous weaponry. The first thing we see in the cemetery is the newest looking tombstone, for one Jerry "Queen" Prince. "April 4th 1963 - June 2nd 2012" is what it reads, and standing just by it are two men, both sporting Dead Men Walking ink and clothing. The one who said the sentence we just heard was one Jimmy "Golden" Horowitz, founder of the entire club, and beside him is the taller and meaner looking Hendrik "Rage" Jansson, president of the new Mesa chapter.

"So the HIV finally killed him huh?" asks Rage to his former president, and above all, good friend. Jimmy answers back with nothing more than a slight chuckle. Not one that shows offense in any way, but is more for saying that he hears what Rage is saying. "So... why are we burying him here? We should be doing this in San Diego brother."

"He was originally from here Hendrik. Didn't he ever tell you the story? His folks weren't exactly happy when he came out as gay, so he fled to California when he had the chance, told me people were more... accepting here." Replies Jimmy. "We also have word he has a sister living here who has a family of her own, as closest relative, she gets any cut he's made over the years, and as the club's first ever secretary, believe me when I say it's a lot."

Rage gets closer to the tombstone and kneels down to it. Pulling out a "secretary" badge and an "undead dozen" from his leather jacket pocket and placing it on the grave. "Well, he definitely deserves these. He was loyal to the club since it started, one of the Undead Dozen. Now, we're running out, man. What with Lil' Joe dying last year, and Hawk now in San Quentin because of that stupid deal, the Undead Dozen is turning into the Dead Dozen, or the incarcerated one anyway." Hendrik begins to get back to his feet as Jimmy "Golden" begins to reply...

"Well we still got us, Silver, Big Joe, Disco, One-Eye, Vixen, Duke and Cards. We're all still in the San Diego chapter, brother, and you can still re-join us. Get Grave Digger to run this place. Heck, I still don't know why we didn't count him in the Undead Dozen, he was in the unit, helped build this organization we're in since day one. I'm seriously thinking of inducting him."

"You know me brother..." says Rage. "I'm all up for putting Grave Digger in the Undead Dozen, shit, we could put in a lot of good members, I mean, we got space now, right?" Rage then chuckles to himself for a slight moment before becoming slightly more serious. "But when it comes to running this... no, my charter. I'm going to have to decline your invitation to re-join you Jimmy."

"I know, brother." Jimmy replies, "which is why I have to kill you..."

A brief silence then overcomes the two before they both burst out laughing. An unknown member of the club then begins shouting for Jimmy, and being the reputable man he is, Jimmy barks back at him, shouting "Don't you know we're at a funeral? Keep your fucking mouth down." Jimmy then turns back to Rage. "Prospects, huh? Half the time you want to kill 'em more than the feds do. Anyway, I should be seeing what he wants Rage. I'll see you soon, 'kay." Jimmy then pats Rage on the shoulder and goes towards the shouting member. Leaving Rage to look all around the cemetery, he spots Izzie, Grave Digger, Money Getter, along with his two sons Chris "Ice" Jansson and Hendrik "Lil' Rage" Jansson Jr. But who should he see first?

Dennis Halt, known to his Marine comrades and fellow Dead Men Walking as "The Grave Digger", rose from his bed at the stroke of twelve. As he rubbed his eyes, he remembered what today was, and sighed.
"Rest in Peace, Jerry. You were one of the good ones."
He crossed himself and wiped a few tears from his eyes before getting out of bed.

Dennis showered and shaved his scraggly beard for the occasion. He then dressed in black boots, blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pair of black, fingerless gloves. He approached the closet and pulled out his vest, the thing that told the world that he was an official member of The Dead Men Walking. The front was adorned with numerous badges, including one for his service in the Persian Gulf War, and a personalized badge for his "Grave Digger" nickname. On the back was the symbol of their Motorcycle Club, a skull and crossbones superimposed behind an upside down cross. Having been raised Catholic, he had a problem with the upside down cross, as it was a symbol of Satanism, and showed disrespect for Jesus Christ.

However, Jimmy Horowitz, the Club President, had assured him that there was no religious significance attached to the symbol. Even so, he always crossed himself after putting it on, and assured the Creator that he was His, always and forever. After he had performed this ritual, he stepped outside and got on his motorcycle, a black Harley Davidson Night Rod with red styling and with the symbol and "Dead Men Walking" painted on the side, showing it to be property of that particular MC. He was going to the funeral of one of the founding members, a member of the original Undead Dozen, Jerry "Queen" Prince. Though he was an open homosexual, his service to his country and to the Dead Men Walking earned him the respect of all, and people were hesitatnt to make fun of tough bikers as "gay lovers".

As he pulled up to the cemetery, he spotted Jimmy and Mesa, Arizona Chapter President, Hendrik "Rage" Jansson. Dennis had decided to follow Rage from San Diego to Mesa, and got a new vest in the process. Above the symbol was the name of their club, and below that, his title of "Vice President'. Below the symbol was the state their chapter was located in, Arizona. The other members of the new chapter, and surviving members of the Undead Dozen had turned out for the funeral. After Jimmy left, Dennis was the first to take his place.

For a minute, he just stood there staring at the tombstone. He could still see Jerry's smiling face, still hear his laugh. He sighed before crossing himself in respect.
"I always told him to be careful after AIDS went public. He never seemed to take it seriously, and I guess it all caught up to him. The only comfort I can take is that he died being who he was, and surrounded by brothers that loved him no matter what."

Dennis stepped away from the grave, clapped Rage on the shoulder, then began heading back to his bike. As he had approached, he had heard them talking about why he had never been a part of the Undead Dozen, and now that he thought about it, it did seem strange. But Dennis was never one to seek glory, and had ignored it for the most part. Everyone knew that he had been in it since the beginning, so he didn't need some special status announcing that fact. He climbed on his bike and started it up. He pulled away and began heading back to their Chapter House in Mesa.

Anthony woke up in his bed, throwing his legs so that his feet are placed firmly on the ground. He then takes his index and rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he pushes himself up from the bed, walking towards the bathroom. In the bathroom, he handles his business, then walks over to his sink, running the water as he cuffs his hands together. Getting all the water he needs, Anthony then splashes the water on his face. His palm pilot started going off as he walks over to it, picking it up and taking out the pointer as he taps his screen. It read "Meet the Gang at the cemetery".

While tossing the palm pilot on the bed, he walks back into the bathroom, doing his morning rituals, which was take a shower, brush his teeth and shave if needed. Anthony then walks back into his bedroom, rummaging through his closet as he finds his "Dead Men Walking" gear, which was the sleeveless jacket itself with the "Dead Men Walking" symbol along the back of it, a pair of leather pants and boots then a black pair of fingerless gloves, which he strapped tightly. Before leaving his house, he grabs his cell phone, bluetooth and palm pilot.

As he was leaving the house, he makes sure the door was locked and that he had everything. Anthony then walks over to his given bike, sitting down upon it as he uses his foot to kick the kickstand up as he balances out the bike. He takes a bandana out of his pocket, placing it on his head as he pulls his ponytail through the small opening. With a crack of his knuckles, he revs up his bike, backing it out as he then speeds off, heading towards the cemetery. After a few twists and turns, he arrives at the cemetery, seeing Jimmy, Dennis and Hendrik. He tried his best to hold back the tears as he placed the kick stand down, getting off his bike and walking towards them, seeing that Jimmy and Dennis head off, only leaving him and Hendrik.

As he got closer to the tombstone of Jerry and Hendrik, he pats him on the shoulder while looking at the grave. "He will be missed." Was all he said as he pulls from his jacket, a special bandana from the pocket as it had Jerry "Queen" Prince engraved on it. He kneels down, placing it on top of tombstone as he then rises back over to his feet, walking back over to Hendrik's side, folding his arms over his chest as he looks over at him. "So what now? Shall we continue from where he started?" He waves his hand dismissively towards the grave before returning it back to fold over his chest. He would wait for his answer as he had a raised brow placed upon his face as well.

Throughout the funeral procession, Izzie said nothing. What was there to say? She'd hardly known Jerry Prince, but the fact that he was a Dead Man Walking made him kin. And Izzie didn't make a habit of talking when her kin were lain to rest. Not even when her mother had died had Izzie said a word. She'd seen to it that her mother's body was buried under six feet of dirt, soil, cold dead earth, practically done it herself, but she hadn't spoken one word doing it. Why should she have? Words were worth exactly as much as the effort it took to spit them out into the air. And Izzie wouldn't have reduced Jerry Prince's worth to just that.

So she stood by in silence, exhaling a suffocating black cloud of smoke into the sweltering heat of the afternoon as the rough filter of the day's latest cigarette left her lips. Thank god for whatever son of a bitch invented the cut-off, she mused in a sort of aside, feeling the heat on the dark skin of her arms, clothed only in the tattoos that ran up and down their length. Don't know how Rage ain't boilin' alive in that jacket of his. Up ahead in front of Prince's grave, Rage and Jimmy Horowitz were conversing, soon to be joined by Dennis--'The Unit', as they were known as amongst the Dead Men Walking, had their own sort of closeness that transcended the bonds of the club. Those men had served together in the same army unit during the Gulf War, stayed together even after they'd come back home and formed the Dead Men Walking Motorcycle Club. But Izzie had never been in the army, and the marines had fought their own battles, at Khafji and at Kuwait City. She'd never met any of the 'Undead Dozen' until she'd retired from the military and returned home, long after the Dead Men Walking had been born.

The Mesa Chapter's Sergeant At Arms looked down at the cigarette--now spent, whittling to nothing--and crushed the remains in her long lead-inked fingers, turning away from Prince's grave to allow the ashes to crumble away into the air. And even as the remnants vanished into the haze of heat, another emerged to take its place and at the strike of a match, it came alive in all its soothing, addictive, lung-killing glory. Izzie glanced around, sweeping aside the stray dreadlocks raggedly crowning her face to examine her surroundings. Nothing worth pause or significant note except what looked like a couple of prospects clowning around to the side. Better set 'em straight. She did normally like to mess around with the prospects, intimidate them a bit--it wasn't too hard to do--but a lot of the time...well, the bastards gave legitimate reason for her to scorn them. She stepped over towards them, as the one whose back was turned to her commenced to another little bit of comedy, put to a rapid end as Izzie clapped her hand down heavily on his shoulder. "Show some respect for the dead." Ragged words emerged from her lips in the shape of a rasp as suffocating and harsh as the smoke that had escaped them just before they had begun speaking. And with that, she'd say no more.

Prospects. Sometimes I swear I wanna kill 'em more than the feds do.

Amongst the mourning, Hendrik "Rage" Jansson was strangely silent. He had been a friend of Jerry Prince for twenty years, and he showed no sign of grief or sadness. Rage's children, Chris and Junior even called him "uncle" like many other Dead Men Walking members. But Rage knew the type of man Jerry was, and crying at his funeral wouldn't of been what he wanted, plus, as president of a new charter, he didn't want to show weakness in front of his own club members. So he was silent and played the macho-man game. That was until a non-club member approached him.

Sharply dressed, clean shaven and with greasy hair, Tony Gattio was the definition of Mafia if there ever was one. A young and high-ranking member of the Cipriani crime family out of Las Vegas, he was no stranger to a gunfight, although unlike the DMW, he would seek peace before vengeance. Approaching Rage, he shows signs of worry, but also respect on his face. He was the representative of the Cipriani family to the new Dead Men Walking charter, and he sure didn't want to swim with the fishes anytime soon.

"I'm... I'm sorry for your loss, Rage." said Gattio, almost muttering it to make sure he shows respect, which Rage picks up on.

"What do you want Tony?" replies the Pres'. "This funeral was club member's only. None of you Guido types, it's the way Jerry would've liked it."

"Yeah I know, but it's about Jerry. You know..." Gattio then looks around him to see if anyone else if closing in on the conversation. When he sees he is safe enough, he turns back to Rage and mimes the words "... his death."

"No shit. He just died, if you didn't fucking notice. Now tell me whatever you're telling me and get out." Barks Rage, he is obviously pissed, and being the smart guy he is, Gattio notices and almost breaks down. Still, he manages to keep his voice low to avoid eavesdroppers.

"Jerry's coroner was on Don Cipriani's payroll. He found... he found a poison in Jerry's system. Some real high-tech shit that could only be traced after death..."

Rage at this point looks fuming, to say the least. "Are you telling me that one of the Undead Dozen got killed? My friend!? Nobody is stupid enough to do that, all chapters would be down their throats faster than a beer on Oktoberfest. Even you international-Mafia types wouldn't try it."

"Yeah I know, but your guy was whacked, no ifs ands or buts about it. You don't believe me? Check out the coroner's report, I got it on me." Tony then proceeds to pass an envelope from his suit pocket into Rage's right hand, still taking precautions so nobody else can see the transaction. Upon opening the letter up, Rage looks in disbelief, and tears even begin running down his face, and he sees the verdict in bold text at the bottom; "foul play expected".

Keeping his cool in front of the club, Rage's stuttering lips begin to slowly whisper "Do you know who did this?" towards Tony Gattio.

"Don Cipriani himself has a hunch. I trust him with my life, and so should you. Now what you need to do is get your charter back to the clubhouse. I'll tell you anything you need to know back there, and don't tell anybody else until then. Especially the other charters."

Clearing his tears and putting the coroner's report inside his leather jacket, Rage simply signals for Gattio to go, which he does after saying "sorry" once again. Turning to Jerry "Queen" Prince's grave, Rage gives a single nod before reaching into another pocket and pulling out his sunglasses. Rage then turns around and has a sudden change of emotions. He appears to be serious and macho again, hiding the sorrow he has inside him.

"Dennis, Izzie, Wrench, Anthony, Cassidy, Ice and Junior, we're heading out to the clubhouse. Bid your respects and move out. We got business to do..."

Dennis have arrived back the chapter house before anyone else. After parking his bike in its usual spot, he went inside. The chapter house was nothing fancy, but it would suffice. Each member had his or her own room, and there was an adjoining garage for their Road Captain. Dennis returned to his room and put his magnum back in his holster, as he had not worn it to Jerry's funeral to show respect. He then entered the main clubhouse area and popped a brewski, sat down at a table, and listened to some music.