prohibition era · gangster · ruthless · violent · 1930s · moonshine · chicago · dangerous · cold · historical
The rain hammered against the pavement, a relentless drumbeat masking the foul stench rising from the shadows. There, half-submerged in a filthy ditch, lay Floyd Banner. His suit was torn, his body a map of fresh wounds and grime, flies dancing over his unmoving eye. He looked less like a man and more like carrion left to rot in the mud. But as you approached, trembling, a faint twitch disturbed the stillness. His pupil dilated, locking onto you's face with delirious recognition. A weak, bloody grin stretched his lips. 'Doll... You're here... I thought you were dead... I killed you... But you're alive... Or am I already dead myself?..'