The Bronx, New York What a night it has been. Peace meeting gone wrong, truce is broken, and Cyrus, the one and only, dead to the world. One Warrior down, and the rest on the run. The Rouges are after them. They stood outside, waiting for Luther to finish a call at a public payphone.

Luther: "Yeah, how are you? Thought I'd call and check in. Yeah, this girl Cyrus had that uh... accident...Well uh, this crew, the, the Warriors? They can take the fall... yeah, yeah, why not? We will, take care o' yourself."

Cropsy: "We set?"

Luther: "We're set alright. Somebody should pick their ass up. The Riffs sent out the word; they want 'em alive, we don't..."

Cropsy: "As soon as somebody grabs them, the better"

Luther: "You worried the Warriors are gonna shoot their mouths off before they get racked?"

Cropsy: "Yeah right, I'm worried! I just don't want the Riffs down on my ass!"

Luther: "They're looking for the Warriors, remember? We can do some lookin' too..."

And with that, they went off again.