"Then go. You'll die, like every last scum in this city. I'm through with You all being here, pushing around honest people. "he said, getting up. "You say you want to repent, yet look at you now, reducing yourself to this level again. Am I self-righteous? Hell yes, but It's learned behavior. I was raised this way, and I'll die this way. IF I die, doing what everyone else is too scared to do: Taking the fight to the Criminal Underground itself, then I'll die a happy man. You claim I'm self-righteous, yet look at yourself! I am a Soldier, and What are you? A 'Professional' Mercenary. "he said.

He then put a hand on the door. "Yet......despite the fact that I think you were put on this earth to make 'my' life a living hell, I want to help you. I need your help, and you need mine. You're trapped if you don't put down the Irish mob before your next birthday, and now that you know who I am, If I don't make sure you're out, I won't stand a fucking chance. So, let's help eachother until this is done, and then we never see eachother again. Sound like a plan?" he asked.