We were celebrating in New York in the Hybrid dojo. The Bloody Fangs weren't exactly the social type, so they were already gone. But I guess if we won a huge victory in the name of justice, there was reason to celebrate.

Grandad was recovering slowly from his injuries at Raphiel's hands. That was good enough for me. Rustle's funeral was set for sometime next week. I wanted to go, even if there were gonna be hundreds of cops and feds there. Agent Rustle was a good man. Good ol' Uncle Billy. I'ma miss that fool.

We all sat around as Gabriel and Tori, both from the Dirty South, had prepared a Southern-style feast. There was oven-baked macaroni and cheese, collard and mustard greens, fried and baked chicken breasts, dressing, sweet potatoes, baked from scratch pies...man, if you ain't ever thrown down on no soul food...shit, you missin' out. Benito managed to get us hooked up with some sake and some wine straight from the vineyard.

What a feast. We sat around the table, enjoying ourselves. At one point, we had a moment of silence for Uncle Bill.

The war can never end until one side or the others ceases to exist. That war will continue. The innocent and the weak will be protected. The predators and the monsters will be judged and executed. Simple as that.

But for now, we could take our minds off of the everlasting violence and just enjoy life as it is.

Some of the Hybrid were sharing war stories with the old man. Benito was sharing his memories of his parents, the few he had. My old man seemed happy, for the little while I've gotten to know him. He was more the Damijin Spade he used to be.

Sometime after the funeral:

Uncle Bill had been laid to rest. I still go to his grave some days, knowing that his death was my fault. He was just an innocent bystander in a war that had nothing to do with him. But he's got some company in the afterlife, though. Even if they are in separate places.

You'd never believe it, but I also go to Jack's grave, too. I laid a flower down at his headstone.

"I hope you've been able to find peace."

It's been a while since I killed him, but I did it out of self-defense. And mercy. No one should have to live their life thinking that bigotry is acceptable. Which is why Neo-Nazis have to die, as well.

My war is different from that of my parents'. I don't know why, but I'm sure to find the answer someday.

I felt the bitter cold of the wind sting my ears. I pulled a ski mask from one of the pockets of my army field coat and put it on.

A cold winter night in Washington. A nice time as any to exact justice on the scum in this city.

I went over my equipment. Six grenades: three frags and three flash, a USAS-12, a sawed-off and a pair of Kimbers, each with .45 ACP chambers. I kept the sawed-off in my hand. I didn't see the need to waste my automatic on these lowlifes.

I watched from across the street with nightvision binoculars what was going on: some baller with a lot of grip in his pockets managed to pay for a stripper to kick it with him and his boys. These niggas kept the liquor pouring and the blunts lit up. Of course, it was obvious the girl was trying to leave when she felt uncomfortable but this playboy wouldn't let her. Not without a little "community service."

Ten punks, in a single line. Running a train on a single girl I could see that she was bound and gagged. Didn't look like a roleplay to me. I know the difference between sexual fantasy and rape. And these assholes were about to find out.

The hard way.

I gunned the engine of this Camaro I hot-wired after emptying the head of some carjacker who shot and killed the pregnant woman he got it from. I gripped the steering wheel pretty hard before I put my foot down on the accelerator, preparing myself for an impact. The car slammed into brick and glass as I rolled out. I heard yells and shouts come from the inside of the house.

Showtime.

I kicked in the front door, sawed-off ready and six shots in it. I caught two of these asses slippin' as I ended them with a single shot to the dome, clearing out any unused space.

That's two.

Two more came out of the back with their Glocks and almost shit their pants upon seeing me.

"Oh, shit! It's Heartbrea--AAH!"

That guy caught a slug to the chest. The other guy fired, his Glock barely making a dent in my body armor. I painted the walls with his brains as well.

Almost exhausted.

I continued to the back room. One guy was in the hall with a bottle of Hennessy. He dropped the bottle and was fumbling with the front of the pants for his gun when he saw me. I took his arm off. At the shoulder. With the gun in his hand.

I could hear him screaming as he ran back to the last room at the end of the hall. I followed. There were five more plus the one-armed dude.

"Hey, man- it's that nigga H.B., man! He's here!"

I was pretty disgusted by what I saw. I decided to put the armless guy down mercifully.

The last guy in line was going for his weapon as well. I used the sawed-off like a club, the butt of the shotgun breaking his jaw hard enough to snap his neck.

I threw the weapon aside as the others got out of their stupor and went for their pistols. I pulled mine out as the stripper was smart enough to get up and run out of the room. I saw the guy in the middle aim his weapon at her, so I shot him in the kneecaps.

After that, the other four were pretty easy pickings. I turned to the wounded playboy, who was a big-time hustler I've been hunting.

Mario Dalton. Beat every court case against him somehow from selling to murder-for-hire. Lots of innocents killed by his activities. He played his cards and escaped the law. He's beaten every odd he's come up against.

Until tonight. There was no escaping me.

I watched Dalton plead for his life. It was amusing to watch these maggots beg me not to kill them.

"Come on, Heartbreak man, don't kill me! I got too much to live for!"

"As well as the countless amount of people you've murdered."

"What is it you want, man? Money? I can make you rich. I can give you whatever you want!"

"Then give me your life."

"What?!"

A single shot could be heard. I looked down at Dalton's dead body, complete with a hole the size of Alaska in his head. I put my weapons away as I walked out of the house, only to be waited on by my grandfather, the greatest Marshal ever. His Glock was pointed right at me.

"Get your hands up, Torrance!"

I did as he asked as he came walking toward me.

"I haven't told anyone that my grandson is Heartbreak, but it's time to put a stop to this," he said. "Don't be like your father. You can still change."

As Grandad came toward me about to pull cuffs out, I grabbed him and flipped him over in a judo motion. I cuffed his hands behind his back.

"Sorry. But I'm not the prison type," I said. "Another day...Crawford."

I ran toward his car, a black Caprice, and got in. I closed the door and shifted into drive before soaring down the street into the night.

Like I said, tomorrow's another day...and Thomas Crawford and I could never be family again. We were rivals now. Just like he and my folks were.

Thank you all for reading Heart to the Streets. Personally, I thought the transition from gang member to vigilante was pretty good. But leave your last reviews now. I'll be starting another story in a while. So check both sites to see where it may be.