Standing inside an apartment complex, stood a man shorter than Oz would be, but still above average at 6'2. He also dressed less flashy than his employer. His clothes being black jeans, black sneakers, a belt keeping up the jeans with the flag of Ireland as a buckle, a forest green shirt, a black jacket with the Chicago Bulls as an emblem on the back. His hair a dark red, though mostly covered by a black baseball cap with the Chicago Bears logo. The jacket and cap looking old, worn down. Upon closer inspection, both look like they were too big for him, proving that it was actually Oz's hat and jacket.

He stood before apartment 403, looking at a picture. 

"Poor fecker."

He knocked on the door, and the door would open enough for the chain to allow, as he looked down at a soft brown skinned older woman as he smiled softly, to try and disarm the woman with kindness first before speaking with a more Americanized accent, though with the Irish sometimes bleeding out a little as he slipped the picture into his coat pocket with a bit of sleight of hand.

"Good day, ma'am! One of my friends told me to come here, and talk to your son? I mean, I don't believe you at all are a mother. You're far too young to have a child as old as I am!"

He saw the woman blush a bit, and she held a finger up as he saw the door close, chain sliding, then hearing the door open up wide. 

"You're such a flatterer, young man."

When he looked at her again fully, she had in her left hand a Colt Anaconda, gesturing for him to come inside. 

"Who do you think I am, boy?"

The Irishman shook his head as he sidestepped into the apartment.

"Not fucking born yesterday."

He kept going deeper into the apartment until he saw her not even looking as she yanked on a piece of rope, yanking the door back inside without a single eye leaving him. Then she would lock only the doorknob lock and deadbolt, not the chain.. 

"I see ya ain't a fan ayer neighbors, Ma'am."

"Don't you 'Mahm' me, Irishman. Getchur ass on the couch, boy."

She waved the gun to a quite ugly looking dark plaid couch and then turned and slowly sat down as he didn't feel like getting scolded further on something else.

"So, what d'ya knowabout me?"

She scoffed.

"I worked in a counter-government ring,c hild. Anarchy type shit. You don't think I follow the North Irish shit too? I also know your boss."

He chuckled, rolling his eyes, only for him to see the seemingly old woman with the speed of someone younger than both of them. Her heavy gun seemingly light in her hands. 

"Didn't yer Mama tell ya to not roll your mothafuckin' eyes at your elders?!" 

She was now practically nose to nose with him, gun at his left temple 

"The Butcher of Chi-town ain't welcome in this fucking buildin'. He ain't getting nobody's bodies, and he ain't going to keep gettin' away with this shit! So. You are going to tell him that message."

She tossed him a smart phone, some burner, and on it the only program is Uber. The name on the account Jane van Doe. After a few seconds she'd look at the phone pressuring the revolver against his skull so as to keep dominance over the situation. 

The camera changes to outside the apartment, as two shots are heard muffled from outside it, and flashes of light with each shot. Next thing to be seen, is him being thrown out onto the street with two fresh wounds where his kneecaps are. Some screams that start, but then shushed immediately, as a black SUV rolls up to the Irishman and a couple of fully covered people picking him up and tossing him inside before the car starts zooming through the streets as the scene slowly fades to black.

---

"Marisol, your name sounds familiar to me. I don't even know why. Must mean either you didn't put too big of an impression on me, or I simply can't fucking remember you. Either way, it doesn't matter to me. Because you should know, who the fuck I am."

He chuckled deeply, his arms going to behind his back, with right wrist wrapped by his left hand. 

"I am the Savior of Chicago. Soon, I'll be the Savior of Illinois. But now it's time for a pit stop. You were an X-treme Champ, once upon a time. So was I. Two times, in fact. You should know better than anyone I've faced lately, just how X-treme you have to be in order to have won that belt once. Then think about how sick of a fuck you have to be in order to win it a second time!

Do you not realize just how utterly and so permanently FUCKED UP I AM!?"

He then sends meaty punches to his own head

"I BREATHE IN THE AIR OF X-TREME! And that means that you are NOT GOING TO BE THE SAME! So, I'm going to give you the chance to give up.

Fly little bird, before I put you in the cage of torment that will be your very...

own...

body."

The scene slowly fades to black as Oswald begins to laugh heartily until there was no more sound.