[ The scene ]

Downtown Rochester, New York subway station. Time approx 2:15pm Friday Jan 14th, 2005.

The smell of thick carbon monoxide filled the underground passageway through out New York's subway division. The surrounding area was filthy with drunken bums, trash and a few "ladies of the night". A typical Friday afternoon to say the least, as most prepared for the work week to close and the opening of the week's end.

Leaning upon the dingy gray pole with a black mesh shirt, faded black jeans and a pair of military style combat boots, is a man known to all too well. A man many have come to be very afraid of in the streets of Rochester. Standing approx. 6'2 and a weight of around 200 plus pounds he stands with his large arms folding upon the front of his braod chest. As passengers exit and enter the subway train, he watches with a cautious eye. While standing, the man looks down noticing an empty beer can that happened to be kicked into his direction. He raises an eye brow looking toward the area in which it had come from.

Laughing; a few young men around the ages of 18 to 20 point and begin cracking jokes toward the man. He glances down upon the can and back up toward the young men, with a swift lift of his foot, the man steps upon the can. smashing it, while giving the young men an evil glare. The young men continue to laugh, still pointing at the man as one shouts out in a drunken fashion.

Dude, look at that punk standing by that pole staring over hear at us. I think the man has problems he's been leaning there for about an hour now. Wanna start some sh*t?

The young man lifts up a full can of beer, taking a swallow, patting one of the other's upon his back.

Man, he looks huge. I don't think you should piss him off Brett, he looks a bit physcho.

The small group of boys huddle around drinking their beers, talking amongst themselves as Brett finishes his, tossing the can over his shoulder nearly hitting a young girl upon the top of her head. The girl jumps, frightened a bit, looking toward Brett and the group of young men.

Hey, watch what you're doing jerk. The young girl shouts toward the group.

What cha gonna do there sweet thang, stop me? Brett and a another boy begin to laugh.

The young girl, who appears to be around the age of 16, glares an evil stare upon the young men as she walks from the subtrain toward the exit doors. The young men smile and carry on in a drunken manner, where Brett, the loud mouth, continues his taunts toward the young girl. He walks, following her to her destination, as she stops just a few inches from where the man, leaning upon the pole from earlier stands. The drunken boy now begins to agitate the young lady with whisltes and drunken snide remarks. The young girl however seems to be quite annoyed and disrespected by his comments.

The gentlemen from ealier, still leaning upon the pole, has now removed his arms from his chest, pointing his finger toward the drunken young man.

Turn yourself away and I won't have to break your bones.

the young man just looks at him, trying not to laugh. He gives him a calas smile not showing any fear for the man at all.

Oh yeah pal? and who are you to think you can?

The man slowly walks closer to Brett, not showing any recourse or emotion. He gets with in inches from his face glaring down about an inch or two.

I'm the man that will make your heart pounce a million times as it's being ripped from your unconsious carcass while still in my hands.

Brett turns now toward his friends looking on as if he's confused. He turns his drunken smile into a blank stare. Taking his hand lifting it toward the man's face as if to take a swing. The man gives the young man a small snear lifting his own hand towards his hand catching it in mid swing. He wraps his fingers tightly around his fist, crushing the fingers with impact. The young man screams out in pain, cussing loudly as his friends look on.

Dude, let the f*ck go of my hand.

The young man fighting now to break free; the other, looking down still showing no facial expression. The man slowly brings the drunken boy to his knees, clamping even more securely around his closed fist. The young man goes down still harping out obscentities to the getleman as everyone looks on.

Dude, let the f*ck go of my hand, You're crusing my fingers. Com'n man, who the hell are you?

The man slowly opens his hand exposing the young man's blue fingers. He gazes down upon the young man's face, curling his lip and stepping backwards toward the pole in which he was leaning upon earlier. Bending down slowly, picking up a small black duffle bag with the initials KC etched in blood red letters, the man goes back leaning upon the pole, only now crossing his legs to the side giving off yet another snare.

The scene slowly fades with the voice of the man.

Chambers.... KOLE CHAMBERS.

[ Scene ends ]