The Divided States of Factions; Anarchical CWLTH of Chicago

As the "Spirit of Americana" steamed back into the Midwest, it had been nearly a week and a half long trip. Everyone was ready to just get off and stay off the train for a while. As they approached Chicago, the Delegates informed their half-platoons of safety procedures while they were in. Procedures were one in the same for the other eight factions, wear protective gear, watch alleys and hard corners, and stay behind the Greater Ottawans. Meanwhile...

"Listen up! We will be boots in Chicago within the next several minutes. Dr. Sue was kind enough to give us armor, WHICH YOU WILL WEAR! AM I CLEAR?"

"YES, MAJOR!"

"Good, we will be running point on this. If the Ghost says move..."

"WE HAUL ASS, MAJOR!" 

As the locomotive screeched to a stop, the Greater Ottawans suited up in their old OIPCS-IV and the Ghost in the Ottawan Offensive Bias armor, the factions began making their way into the city of violence.

Within the city there were five groups, and of the five, four were warring gangs. Of these gangs, all five agreed to set aside their differences to meet with the delegates of the various factions. The instructions were simple. Upon the green flare, they were to immediately stand down and meet within fifth's territory of Little Italy. They'd been at war since the missiles destroyed the law of Chicago. As chaos exploded across the city, it was one man in particular who aided the first responders. Mafia Boss Francesco Russo, a known man in the underworld, made Little Italy a safezone to whomever crossed it's border. For the first few months, Russo was ruthless. He slaughtered anyone who dared fire across the border. His boys would hang anyone who attempted to kill anyone on their turf. Within six months, even the most ruthless recognized old man Russo. He wasn't to be trifled with, nor his turf, boys, or anyone across that line to be touched. Even the most bloodthirsty refused to touch him. 

As the green flare rose high above the city, Francesco took a long pull from his cigar. 

"Vinny, get the boys. Looks like the downstaters actually pulled this shit off."

Across Chicago, the sounds of gunfire ceased. All four other gangs made their ways to Little Italy. Upon arriving, they surrendered their weapons to Donny, boss's son and we led inside. 

"The fuck these muthafuckers at." Groaned Tyrese of the Crimson Hood

"Be fucking nice you morons. I can fucking guarantee those downstaters, will not hesitate to shot first and ask questions later." Francesco said from the corner of the room. 

"Fucking, shut up old timer. Quit tryna spooking everyone." Malik said, rolling her eye. That earned her the berating of her life. Of the many people in Chicago not to piss off, Francesco and his boys weren't to be trifled with. The group went immediately silent when a coded knock came at door. As it opened, Major Mcginnis stood in the doorway. 

"Alright, everyone fucking outside. Act up, and you will be pushing up daisies."

As they came upstairs from the cellar, they were greeted by the vast array of delegates and their well equipped armies.

"Everyone, I am Francesco Russo, Don of this Mafia. In order from left to right, there is Tyrese, Head of the Crimson Hood Grove. Then there's LyQuentiss, Head of 6th Street Grove. After him, Malik, Head of the Sapphire Spice Grove. Finally we have Xavier, Head of the King Python Grove."

After the Delegates introduce themselves, Francesco speaks again. "Forgive my rudeness, but uh, ain't these supposed to be one more?"

"That'd be correct." The Ghost yelled, landing in front of many heads. His armor is something out of movie to these guys, everyone except Tyrese. 

"Man, the fuck is that candy cane paint job?"

"What?"

"Why in the fuck what I be scared of you? You ain't no threat, not to me or my crew."

The other stepped away as the Ghost fired the twin particle cannons at their line of flags. "Wanna keep going? I won't leave a body to help you push up the daisies."

"I apologize."

"Go... NOW LISTEN UP! I am the Leader of Greater Ottawa. It was my fucking decision to leave y'all alone. However, if you chose this summit to act out, do fucked shit, I will personally remove your goddamn spines. As proof, Major, please show them. 

Major Mcginnis opens a crate and reveals the arm of Rothschild, held in a large container of formaldehyde. Francesco and the other heads nod in agreement. This wasn't someone they wanted to fuck with. 

"Now, I assume you have your shit pack? If you do, bring the same amount of people Don Francesco brings. Any extra and they die on the spot. Otherwise, there is a ceasefire in effect, if you can't not kill each other for a day, we'll gladly march up here and take this bitch over. Let's move."

As the seventeen delegates and their armies made their way back, the sound of scuffled steps rushed towards them. Everyone drew their firearms and pointed. A uniformed man rushed around the corner. 

"Not the right block, nigga." Said Tyrese, holding the man at gunpoint. 

"Woah, I'm on your side." 

"Then who are you?" Demanded the Ghost.

"I'm D. Perry, Director of what was the CIA and you're not safe here."

Before anyone could speak, a high-power sniper round punched through the Director's shoulder. The Ghost immediately took to the sky, firing the cannons at the sniper. 

"MCGINNIS! GET EM OUT OF HERE!"

As the Major rushed everyone away from the main roads and onto the train tracks, a predator drone began circling them. 

"Fuck, we ain't got ordinance for that..."

"KEEP MOVING! BOB AND WEAVE! DON'T BUNCH UP!" yelled Major Mcginnis getting the drones' attention. As it circled him, he watched as the light comms like blinked red. "Ghost, it's waiting on a firing order. I need..."

The Ghost ripped apart the drone at a distance, then returned to the group with Mcginnis. With everyone onboard, the engineer sped them away from there headed for Greater Ottawa.