Chicago
September, 1927

It’s not easy growing up in the shadow of a famous (or infamous) relative. No matter what you do, you’ll always be compared to them, and it’s hard to know when someone is really interested in you for you. For James and Laura, the only freedom was in charting their own path on the mean streets of Chicago. When Prohibition hit, they saw an opportunity: bootlegging was all the rage, and if they could make it work, then no one would question that they were self-made people of the world. They had the guts, the street smarts, the determination, but they were young, inexperienced. What they really needed was someone with the worldly know-how and connections to get things up and running. That’s where Don Pianta had come in: he knew a thing or two about a thing or two. And he knew the perfect legger for the out-of-town angle: “Boxcar” Bertha. Sure, she seemed young, innocent even, in a way. But she had been riding the rails since before there even were rails. Between the four of them, they had a street-level operation that could stand a chance even with the major organizations swallowing up all the competition. Once Prohibition came to an end, though, they had to adapt. The plan was pie-in-the-sky, sure, but they had enough funds to get things started. It was New York or bust.

The Flying Avocado, Eastern United States
September, 1934
11:16 PM

On the fifth night, someone had apparently found a cache of Tommy guns. Pushed back under heavy streams of gunfire, the Street Rats retreated to the storage car. They dug out their luggage, and began the process of improvising explosives with the last of their bottles and some kerosene they’d filched from the kitchen.
“I’m going to have a very hard time explaining this to my editor,” Laura said, tearing off a strip of her dress before stuffing it into a bottle.
“I have a confession to make,” James, Bond Jr. said. The British accent was an obvious affectation, but the other two never called him on it. It was strangely endearing, once you got used to it.
“What’s that, Jimbo?” Bertha asked.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” James said.

Weddings are supposed to be joyous occasions, are they not?

Yes, Mr. Green told himself. This was a joyous occasion. And what is marriage about, if not compromise? If some of their party were no longer with them, well, was that not a compromise? But this had gone far enough. It wouldn’t do to let these gangsters ruin all their fun. He would have to take steps to get this party back on track. Avoiding their crude, artless machine guns was easy enough, after all. He took the high road, dancing along the roofs of the cars. Yes, tonight would be the night. He could feel it.

With the Street Rats finally pinned down, the remaining Camorra and Mafia were too busy to notice that they were standing right next to each other, guns blazing. Or if they did notice, they didn’t seem to care.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it,” James said.
“No, I don’t think you will,” said a familiar voice behind them.
The three remaining Street Rats whirled around. Laura Bow picked up an empty bottle and broke it against the wall, holding out the jagged edge of the bottleneck towards where the voice had come from. Emerging from the shadows was the strange, bookish man they knew as Mr. Green. Gone were his mild manners, his awkward fumblings. His glasses shimmered in the light, a wild look in his eyes. He had changed to a different suit: this one was all white, but covered with a heavy spattering of dried blood stains.
“I thought it might be you,” Bertha said, flicking her lighter behind her back. “Is Mr. Green even your real name?”
“Yes, hmm,” Mr. Green said, stepping closer. “It’s what my mother called me, anyway.”

Just then several things happened at once.

In the blink of an eye, Mr. Green closed the gap. Bertha lit the rag of the bottle in her hand. The gangs outside the door kept up their shooting. Feinting to the left, Mr. Green whirled and drove a knife deep into James Bond, Jr. In a rage, Laura slashed the glass along Mr. Green’s neck, spilling yet more blood down onto his white suit. Seeing movement, the gangs outside focused their fire. The Camorra managed to hit Laura; the Mafia, Mr. Green. The two collapsed together on the ground. They also bumped into Bertha on the way down, causing her to drop the lit cocktail.

The entire storage car was immediately engulfed in flames. The Camorra and Mafia finally ceased firing.
“Ain’t nobody walking out of there,” somebody said.
“Don’t be so sure,” another replied.
“Shh! You hear that?”
As if on cue, underneath the roar of the flame they heard the faint but distinct sound of humming. To everyone’s astonishment it grew louder, clearer. Then the humming gave way to singing.
“Hallelujah I’m a Bum…”
The gangs drew their weapons again, preparing to fire, when a hand pushed them to the side. They turned and saw the cloaked figure from the night before walk past them.
“That won’t be necessary,” the mysterious person said. The gangsters looked at each other, shrugged, and let them pass.

Flames licked up the sides of the storage car. Luggage crates exploded in the heat. The Alchemist walked towards the pile of bodies, where Bertha was almost finished rejuvenating. The smoke made singing too difficult, but she was still humming.

“I believe you have something I want,” The Alchemist said. Before Bertha could reply, he placed a hand on her head.

The gangsters weren’t sure what to expect, but about a minute after they went in, the cloaked figure emerged from the storage car with a strange, satisfied smile on their face. They reached down and uncoupled the car from the rest of the train. From their hidden perch on the roof above, the Daily Days agent watched as the fiery wreck slowly fell away behind them, until it was just a single spark in the night.

Returning to their cabin, the Alchemist felt a strange sensation on their hand. The fire had burnt them a little, hardly worth noticing. But the wound would not heal.

James Bond, Jr. (InnDEEEEED), Laura Bow (Colonel Mustard) and Boxcar Bertha (Dicentra) have DIED. They were the last of the STREET RATS. R.I.P. you crazy kids.

The Street Rats have been Eliminated.

The Formula has been taken by the Alchemist. The Pact has been Violated. All Immortalities are Negated.

Mr. Green (anewholiday) has DIED. They were a member of the WEDDING PARTY, and now will never be able to go home and sleep with their WIFE.

=============================================================

This is Day Five. Twilight will be Monday, Sept. 28 at 6:00 PM EDT.

Countdown Timer