"I'll tell ya somethin'; I'll bet nobody's even gonna be there."

Ajax to Cleon said as the train left the station from Brooklyn to the Bronx, the cockiness evident in her voice. She was wrong. Members from every gang in the city and further were all there for one reason. Cyrus. She stepped out, and everyone went silent.

"Can you count, suckas? I said, can you count, suckas??"

Cyrus' booming voice could be heard throughout most- if not, all -of Van Cortlandt Park. A midnight meeting. No weapons but your fists. Cyrus went on to say how everything was their land, and yeah, she was right. It kinda was. They were only divided by turf. Get rid of the borders that separated the gangs, and it's all their turf. There were 60,000 members in all. And there were only 20,000 cops in the whole town. Nobody was wasting nobody. She called that "a miracle." And miracles are the way things ought to be. Cyrus continued speaking as the crowd cheered her on. The Warriors, well, specifically Cleon, were the most excited

Cyrus: "You are brothers and sisters now, and anywhere you go, you are home free! Can you dig it? 'Cause it's all our turf. We're only divided by turf. Our soldiers have died on our turf. We fall on our pride, pulled away by the tide, until we decide that it's all our turf. And we know our worth! Now imagine feeling safe from the top of the boogie down! From Manhattan down to Staten, all through Coney Island Town!"

Cleon: "Coney Island Town!" she was happy and proud to represent her crew from Brooklyn.

Cyrus: "Can you dig it? Do you count? Can you dig it? Can you—"

A shot rings out. Cyrus staggers backwards, dead. The crowd went silent. Cyrus fell off the podium, landing on the hard, cold ground with a loud thud, a small pool of blood forming below her.