Vasily ran at full speed down Wing City's streets, his comrades barely able to keep up as they ran as well. The men pushed and shoved people in their path, whatever or whoever was chasing them must have been really bad.
"Come on, down this alley!" Vasily shouted to his friends, turning down into an alleyway. They sprinted halfway through, eventually slowing down and coming to a full stop. The men were panting, hunched over with their hands on their knees.
"I'm out of shape." One of them said, "Fuck." He continued. "Did we lose them?" Another asked, "Da. Those chinks are eating dust." Vasily answered.
"Aren't they supposed to know Kung Fu?" One of the men askeding jokingly, imitating some Kung Fu poses and moves. As he did this a throwing star came slamming into his neck. He dropped slowly, yet suddenly.
His comrades screamed. Of all the things in the world to kill a man, a throwing star wasn't what one usually expected. It wasn't a fear of death, it was the precision of the throwing star that alarmed the Russian gangsters the most. They were mostly street-level guys, they weren't sure if they had made an enemy they wanted.
Vasiliy directed his eyes towards the end of the alley, there stood several, mostly Asian, men and women carrying bats, pipes, machetes, and some with shotguns in hand. The people of Wing City ignored the alley, it was a blight and whatever went down there wasn't their business.
The group began to advance into the alley, light shining on them and revealing their preference for the color red.
At the opposite end of the alley came a van. More red-clad men and women armed to the teeth climbing out to meet the Russians. They advanced on them as well, effectively boxing the gangsters in.
"We'll take you all." Vasily said, "Come on, you fucking chinks!" He screamed, he and his remaining men ready for a fight. "We just want to talk." A man said, stepping out into the forefront of the group coming from the van.
He was an Asian man, unkempt hair on his head and a very rough beard on his face. The man didn't seem to be taking care of himself as he should. The only nice thing about him was the black suit he wore and the red dress shirt he wore beneath it. The man had seen better days.
"About what?" Vasily asked, "It was all just business. If you want war, we want war." He continued, "I do. We all do. But, what I really want is the man who killed my sister and I want to know where Sharashka is." The Asian man said.
"Fuck you, chink. We won't tell you a damn thing." Vasily retorted, "How about you go fu-..." A gunshot rang out before Vasily could finish speaking, a bullet hit him in the cheek and sent him dropping to the ground.
"My name is not chink, it's Jackson. Now, which one of you would like to live?" Jackson asked, still smoking revolver in hand as he addressed the remaining Russian gangsters.
"The other option is a casket."