Colonel Hastings stopped outside the briefing trailer. He took a second to adjust the gray combat fatigues and black beret that were the daily uniform for the men of Black Horse Security. He had opted not to wear his body armor and helmet since his mercenary command had finished its current contract and he expected no danger. The assembled officers rose to attention as the colonel entered. "At ease," he commanded as he moved to the front center of the room. The screen behind him showed a map of the greater Stratford metroplex.

"Gentlemen, three years ago, a man named Blake convinced the five largest gangs in Stratford to join forces. Calling themselves the Alliance, they have become a formidable force of organized crime. Rather than deal with the major syndicates, they have moved their base of operations to nearby Crescent City. The local law officers attempted to stop them at first, but they were out manned and outgunned. The surviving officers are either too scared to fight or are on the take. The Alliance runs the town as they see fit. A coalition of the city fathers, local businesses, and citizens, has put up the money to hire us to clean them out. In front of you is an intel report on the gangs and their leaders. Familiarize yourself with them and have your units ready for operations no later than 1200 hours on 13 APR 2002. Any questions?" He looked around the room. His officers showed nothing but grim determination. They would not fail. "Then return to your units." The men rose and saluted as the colonel exited

Blake stood over the bloodied, nearly unconscious, man. Two of the members of the Black Hand gang were keeping the man from falling out of the chair. Warchylde, the Black Hand leader, stood nearby, blood showing on the studs of his black gauntlet-style gloves. "What are you planning," Blake asked quietly.

"N-nothing," the man stammered. A blow from Warchylde followed close behind the man's answer.

"You have become more bold in your defiance of us. You must be planning something." Silence was the man's only response. A nod from Blake and a flurry of blows landed, knocking the man from the gangers' grasp. The man broke.

"M-mercenaries. B-black Horse Security has been hired to clean you out." The man smiled before a punch from the gang leader knocked him unconscious.

"Assemble a war council," Blake ordered. "It seems we have a situation. And get rid of him."