The week came and went for Jon, most of it spent in his urban little home, making it seem liveable as it could be, to his standards anyways; there were still a couple unpacked boxes that really held no value. Hell, a lot of the furnishings he had...well, the very few he had, he'd gotten from a church giveaway for free. All of it was simple: Queen sized bed, a couple nightstands, a couch, a chair, a small kitchen table, some kitchen utensils, and a dresser.

The small, one room house (two if you counted the surprisingly spacious attic), was as simplistic as its owner.

Jon felt he didn't need much, hence why there was so little.

Even with as little as he had, and even smaller to his name in general, Jon found himself indecisive about what to put where, and vice versa.

It had been a few days since the deli incident, all of which went unnervingly fast for his taste. He couldn't stop thinking about what that one punk kid said to him before running off with his friends to treat the little bastard that Jon ended up beating for messing with him; about the warehouse, and those supposed 'jobs'. The guy hadn't spoken to him since, or tried to contact him. Somehow, the kid trusted Jon's intuition about his rather vague message.

Every thought had gone into Jon's head about what the message could mean, from a revenge scheme, to some childish prank on the town newbie.

The only thing that kept Jon from completely ignoring the message, was the conviction and tension in the kid's eyes when he spoke to Jon; he seemed hesitant to even speak of whatever he was talking about, as if it were some dark secret. That lingering theory made Jon all the more apprehensive about his own decision about this thing.

As he sat in his home, hanging lazily off his couch, the fourth bottle of beer from a six pack in his hand, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind continuing to turn and turn with every possible theory about what that vague little message could be. A few times, he nearly slapped himself for even thinking so hard about it, or even considering going to the spoken warehouse; that last bit was unfortunately becoming all the more powerful by the minute, as much as Jon hated it.

With a groan, he sat up, running his free hand threw his hair before resting it on his neck.

"Hell..." he muttered to himself.

Part of him felt that this proposition was too sketchy, seeing as it was out of the blue, with little to absolutely no support or evidence that going to that location was even a good idea.

The other part, the part that Jon both loved and despised, told him to go and see, just for a hit of adrenaline; the possibilities that could come from taking the many many risks of going to such a sketchy place, on such a sketchy whim. This part though was responsible for multiple arrest and accidents though, and even more fights.

Jon glanced up at the wall clock he possessed.

3:27 AM...God, its already Saturday anyways.

With a pout and a grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the couch, sighing and taking a swig from his bottle before standing up and pacing slowly.

Reason continued to scream at him to ignore the many prospects, both good and bad from going to the warehouse.

"The boss might like you...we need guys like you..." he muttered to himself.

'Guys like you'...

Slowly, it began to click. 'Guys like you'.

Big, mean men, with a rough and tough attitude, who aren't afraid to kick some ass.

Another gang; a bigger one than those four brats, with any hope.

Jon stood straighter when it became apparent to him about what the kid meant. That was the only answer that didn't sound far-fetched or stupid, especially considering the nature of the message, and the brat gang's overall attitude. Again though, with that sort of conviction that the kid showed, Jon could only guess that if it was another gang, they weren't in the business of harassing other people and picking fights where they shouldn't.

Again though, all of this was only a theory.

Looking to the clock again, seeing a whole minute had passed, Jon sighed to himself in some disappointment before finishing his beer bottle, and going to his room, hopefully to get some sleep; that seemed an almost impossible task within of itself, with how fast Jon's mind was going at this very moment.

~.~.~

Mentally, Jon was beating the ever living hell out of himself for going through with this plan. Call it insistent curiosity, or straight-up stupidity, Jon made the decision to go to the warehouse, as directed previously. All night, his brain racked back and forth to the legitimacy of his theories about what lie at the warehouse at 4PM; it was enough to frustrate the man to no end.

It had to have been that frustration that made him decide that he might as well go through with it, see what was up, and if it would be dangerous.

He never was a very good decision maker anyways, especially when his frustration shot and his anger tried to rear its ugly head again. Among his many issues, that was a big one.

Nevertheless, as 4PM neared, Jon found himself on his bike, Jade, and riding off away from his house, towards the questionable warehouse.

"This is gonna bite my ass somehow." Jon spoke gravely to himself right before starting Jade up, and riding off.

The ride wasn't a long one, nor an uncomfortable one at least. The weather was little cooler than it was yesterday, the afternoon sun shone more amicably on Jon instead of the intense heat from yesterday that nearly boiled his skin off.

Overall, despite the looming possibilities that the warehouse held, it was a good day, and Jon saw it; felt it.

This was the sort of weather that Jon would easily get lost in, ride his bike to anywhere and nowhere until night fell.

Today unfortunately, wasn't that day.

Eventually, the warehouse could be visibly seen, once Jon got past a corner piece of road with a well assorted treeline nearby it, blocking the warehouse briefly from view. Jon began to notice something though, about the area as he approached closer: the desolate, wasted acres of land surrounding the newer area. The closer he got, he began to see large, but mostly unused dirt roads and abandoned railroad tracks. Even before he got to the warehouse, along with its surrounding buildings, it didn't take Jon too long to figure out that this warehouse in question was an old lumber factory.

Strange, the things he only now began to notice when he actually looked at the area. He'd passed this area a few times and never really looked at what it was.

Looking from the desecrated land and forward to the warehouse, he began to see newer cars and bikes the closer he got, and by the time he turned his bike into the lot, did the people begin coming outside to check the noise.

Sure enough, they were other greasers and bikers, similar to the smaller gang from before. Unlike that smaller gang though, these people looked older, more experienced, and a lot more mean; dangerous even.

Suspicion and tension grew amongst the greasers as Jon pulled up, parking Jade in a more open corner away from the other cars and bikes. Though it didn't show, Jon honestly felt a bit tense under the scrutinizing gazes of those who came to observe. He was too hard-headed to let them scare him however. With a confident stride, and his glare ever present on his face, he walked forward towards the open warehouse doors.

"You lost there, blondie? I'll direct 'ya to the nearest nail salon!" one of the greasers laughed, a few others following his laughter.

"Hey honey, 'ya steal your man's clothes? Ha!" another laughed.

Jon just grimaced and glared at them, focusing primarily ahead until he was stopped by the shoulder by another man, as big as him. Clearly a bruiser, from the muscles and permanent grimace on his face.

"That's far enough. You ain't welcome here, boy." the man spoke in a gruff voice.

Jon snorted, slapping his hand away.

"You got it wrong. I'm expected, apparently. Or did 'ya miss that memo?"

The bruiser growled.

"Don't get smart with me, kid, if you know what's good for 'ya." he threatened, close enough in Jon's personal space enough to be able to smell his breath which reeked of alcohol and chewing tobacco.

Jon sneered and pushed the man away. "Don't breathe your gangrene ass breath on me then, I'll catch an infection." he retorted to the man.

The bruiser snarled, already raising a fist towards Jon.

"You little-"

"Mark! That's enough!"

The voice was somewhat familiar. Looking over, Jon saw the kid from the other day, the one that gave him the message. Brows raising, the younger male went between them.

"He's expected; I invited him." the other said, looking to Jon. "Come on."

Jon huffed softly, shooting a glare to the bruiser as he followed the other man.

"I didn't think you'd show up."

"I almost didn't. Even more vague, I woulda thought you wanted to get revenge for your friend. Still think you do." Jon spoke, crossing his arms.

"He had it coming, he's a bit of a nosy prick. Either way, you're here now...just wait here while I get the Big Man; he's also been expecting you." the other male said, Jon furrowing his brows.

Letting the other go, Jon stood patiently, though for a moment, then beginning to get antsy.

Even though he was here now, he still had a bad feeling about this. It wasn't the hood of bikers and greasers either.