Crosshairs was a hidden bar located not too far from Jin's apartment. It was a place filled with mafia members, hitmen, and other violent trash of D.C.'s underworld. There was no sign to advertise it, and the only way in was through an inconspicuous door down the middle of a random alleyway on 10th street. Allen's Type 2 burst onto the road and he parked in a nearby parking lot.

Crosshairs had three core rules that kept the establishment running. The first was no killing. A place filled with criminals and hitmen are a dangerous combination. If a hitman wants to take out their target, crosshairs is a neutral zone. Otherwise, the mobsters and gang leaders might not feel safe surrounded by so many guns that weren't their own. The second rule was no speaking on work. If a hitman were to blab on about a recent killing, and effected ears were in the vicinity, then there would be fallout. The third, and most obvious rule, was no police allowed. Should a pig be discovered in the bar. The patrons hold the right to break the previous rules in order to make some bacon.

Allen approached the metal, steel framed door and gave it a quick four knocks. After a short pause, the peephole visor slid open.

A man on the other side looked through and down at Allen, "Scan your badge or give me a password Allen."

"You know I don't have my badge with me Bruce." Allen replied.

"We have rules Allen. Hitmen scan their work badges on the hidden scanner and selected gangs and mobsters give an exclusive password. So unless you recently joined the 202 Locos, or something, scan your badge or get lost."

The slider closed and Allen stood there for a moment. He gave the four quick knocks again and waited for Bruce to open the sliding visor. The visor slid open and Bruce looked down.

"You know your grandma had no problem with me not having my ID card this morning."

Bruce's eyebrow lifted up, "You leave Delores out of this."

"It's not a big deal to look the other way sometimes. Besides, do you really want me knocking here all-night causing attention. You know its me and what I do."

On the other side of the door there was a commotion. Footsteps approached and looked over Bruce's shoulder.

"Awe shit, is that Allen? Bruce, common, let his fat ass in for a drink. He owes me a round."

Bruce sighed and unlocked the door. He opened his mouth to warn Allen that he was on thin ice, but Allen shushed him before he could speak.

"Bruce, my man. I love you, I respect you, and I want see more of you. When you're off the clock, come see me for a mojito." Interjected Allen, as he put his finger in front of Bruce's mouth and gave him a pat on the back.

The man that stood up for Allen was revealed to be Hugh Jackson. While their relationship was rocky at best, Hugh and Allen seemed to get along better after a few drinks.

Hugh put his arm around Allen as they entered the bar and nightclub. The place was equipped with a small dance floor, a dart and pool table area, as well as some booths and chairs at the bar.

Allen pulled up a seat next to Hugh at the bar. Almost immediately, George and Carl sat next to the two of them. George sat to the right of Allen and Carl sat to the left of Hugh.

"What's up boys?" asked Carl.

"Fancy seeing you in a place like this tonight Allen," remarked George.

The bartender approached the group of hitmen and asked for their order.

"First rounds on me fellas. Four Orion please." Allen requested.

The bar tender moved to the fridge to grab four tall cans of the Okinawan beer.

"Why don't you ever order us a real beer? Like a good old Miller. Hell, I'd even take one of them German Heinekens." Carl said.

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The bartender slid the men their first round and Allen cracked open the can.

"What can I say, it reminds me of my youthful marine days." Allen responded as he took a large chug.

George grabbed and clanged his can of beer to Allen's. "From one marine to another, Kanpai!" he said.

The four men continued their drinking over a couple of hours. Carl was the first to get tipsy since he was the lightest.

At the entrance of the bar entered a few gang members of the 202 Locos. A Hispanic gang that did a lot of their work in DC, but were also slowly expanding to Alexandria, and Arlington. They were currently in a turf war with The D.C. Blacks. A gang that had ties to the Black Gorilla Family and other prison-gang relations. Both gangs often spent their nights at crosshairs, and there was a mild worry that a rule might soon be broken or the neighboring areas could be used to target hits.

Carlos Montoya was a Lieutenant of the Locos, he entered with a few of his men and took a seat at a booth on the far side of the room. Over at the pool table were a couple of D.C. Blacks. Mostly low-level members, but amongst them was Dequan Johnson, a lower-level gang member who has been working to become a lieutenant. He had personally led a few fights against Carlos and The Locos in the Brentwood neighborhood.

Carl took notice of the opposing sides and decided that now was a good time to leave, especially as intoxicated as he was. He paid his tab and exited the establishment.

Allen put his arms around Hugh and George, "Why don't we make our way to the dartboard?"

"How much you want to put down?" asked Hugh.

"Three?" suggested Allen.

"Make it four and I'm in," said George.

"Four stacks it is then," Allen said as he turned over to Hugh. "Unless you're a little bitch," he whispered loudly.

Allen grabbed a handful of darts and waited for his turn. Next to them at the pool were the D.C. Blacks.

One of the soldiers turned to Dequan, "Hey DJ, when you wanna bounce."

"Let's break and be ready. Carlos and his guerrero spicks might follow us out." DJ muttered.

Allen overheard the conversation and continued playing. He kept an eye on Carlos as the game of darts continued. Bruce approached the group with a mojito in his hand. He thanked Allen for the drink, though Allen pulled him aside for a moment.

"You ready?" asked Allen.

"Something brewing?" asked Bruce.

"Who's standing at the door right now?"

"My brother Clark."

Clark was Bruce's younger brother. And youngest grandson to Delores, making him the baby of their family. Ironically, starting with Delores at H.I.S. the entire bloodline worked as secretaries and guards around the D.C. underworld. They're highly regarded amongst the higher ups for their generations of service.

"Tell him to go on break for a moment. Then meet me out front. Wouldn't want him to throw himself into anything," instructed Allen.

Bruce gave a nod and walked away. Allen turned to Hugh and George.

"How we feeling boys? On a ten scale how ready are you to move?"

George threw a dart that completely missed the board. "Fuck. A two I suppose." He said missing another throw.

"I'm mobile." Hugh said.

"Well give me a raincheck on the game. George, go rest up on the bar for a moment and get yourself some water. Hugh come with me."

Allen and Hugh moved out of the building and George went back to the bar. Outside of Crosshairs, Allen and Hugh stood in the alleyway across from the entrance. Shortly after, Bruce went out and stood with them.

A few minutes passed by and the D.C. Black members exited the establishment. They turned left and headed towards the main street and highway. As they walked down the alleyway, Carlos and his boys exited the bar as well.

"Aye boy," called out Carlos.

D.J. ordered his men to keep walking and not turn back. Once they were around the corner, they would run for their car.

Carlos called out again, but jumped forward after Allen put a hand on his shoulder from behind. Carlos turned around and faced Allen, Bruce, and Hugh.

"You know the rules, Carlos."

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it, you fat fuck?" Carlos responded.

"Just because I can't kill you, doesn't mean I won't kick your ass," said Allen with a smirk.

Carlos pulled out a switchblade and lunged first at Allen. From his pocket, Allen pulled out a dart that he kept from his game. He parried Carlos's lunge and used the dart to stab him in the eye. As Carlos reached for his eye in pain, Hugh stepped in and kicked him back. Carlos fell to the ground from the momentum.

One of his men ran forward to try and retaliate, but Bruce stepped in and grabbed him by the oncoming fist. Bruce towered over the gang banger and lifted him by the collar; throwing him into the alleyway wall with brute force.

Carlos lifted himself up and put his arms in front of his men to stop them.

"Fuck this," he said throwing the dart on the ground. "Watch your back hitmen. We know more than you think. 202 let's go."

Carlos and his men retreated from the scene. Hugh gave Allen a pat on the back. "That was great man, why can't you be like that more in the office."

Allen turned with a giddy grin from the compliment. "We aren't allowed to drink at work," he laughed.

"Well then, try to act drunk more often. I think it would do a lot to help your reputation."

"I don't need to build my rep. I'm just going to keep being me."

Allen, Bruce and Hugh returned to the bar for a few more drinks to end the night. Despite putting up a mask that he didn't care about what others thought at work, Allen heavily considered Hugh's words in his drunken state of mind.