|Prerequisite||Arlon Benjamin||Michael Simeone|
Tiptoe is a specialist contact.
For Tyron Sennet, second in command of the Blood Rose operation, Mischa Sennet�s birth was one of life�s dirty little secrets, a secret he wasn�t let in on himself for seventeen years. Back when he was still coming up, he made regular booty calls to this one stripper named Heidi � that was her stage name anyway; he never did find out the real one. Sennet didn�t care. He wasn�t in it for the pillow talk. All he cared about was the way Heidi rode a pole, specifically, his; and for a short while that was all there was to it.
Didn�t last long, of course. True love like that never does. When her increasingly expensive cocaine habit finally forced her to skip town, Sennet didn�t lose much sleep over it either. The fact that Dempsey�s was two grand down that same night was a coincidence he did not want to be associated with. �Heidi� was gone. End of story.
The fact that Mischa managed to track him down all those years later showed real initiative. He�d worked hard to keep himself off the grid. All she�d had to join point A to point B was a crumbled old birth certificate and a handful of rumors. It was impressive. Mischa hadn�t really known her mom. An overdose when Mischa was still a toddler had seen to that. Instead, she was �raised� by her aged step-grandmother, though truth be told Grandma went mad years ago, so from about age seven onward Mischa pretty much raised herself and her three younger brothers alone. Years later when the old crone suddenly died of a brain haemorrhage at 93, the care system loomed large. The four youngsters went on the run the next day � street rats surviving however they could, seldom legally, all the way to San Paro.
By the time they caught scent of Sennet�s Waterfront operation, he was already neck deep in the whole Blood Rose thing. Didn�t look to be enjoying it much either. It�s hard to keep a cool head when you�re taking flak every day from a bunch of whining poseurs � especially when those poseurs are packing the same automatic weapons that you�ve been supplying them with.
Cue Mischa Sennet&
�Hey dad, it�s me, your long-lost, illegitimate daughter. The birth certificate says it all. Heard you were doing well for yourself over here! Now give me your fucking wallet and put your hands on your head. No sudden moves or you�re a dead man.�
Tyron Sennet barely flinched in the face of his daughter�s antipathy. He explained to her that he had no idea she even existed, and his surprise seemed so genuine that she had little option but to believe him. It didn�t hurt that he handed her the keys to his own Cisco and told her to consider it a belated sixteenth birthday present either. Hell, he welcomed the whole brood with open arms, said that they had a decade and a half of good times to catch up on.
For his part, Sennet could not believe his luck. His daughter: a handgun toting badass with the classic dead-eye stare, and the same kind of street smarts as his, the kind you only got by rummaging through the gutters once in a while. She was everything he�d been praying for: the archetypal loyal foot-soldier, the perfect antidote to the poisonous, gangster wannabes he�d been surrounded by for so long.
Before she knew it, �dad� had relocated Mischa and her brood to Havalynd: somewhere they could keep an eye on his ever-expanding interests for him. His own personal street team. �Keep a close watch on club Gaijin in particular,� he told them. �If any of the Blood Rose crew looks set to make a move against me, I want to know about it first.�
Of course, Mischa agreed with the proposal at once. There was money to be made. Fun to be had. With all the black and red colours flying in San Paro these days it wasn�t hard to slip discreetly into the Blood Rose way of life. At first she signed up with Seung�s crew: Sennet had gone out on a limb for him once, so it made sense. She got ink done. Ran missions. Did everything she was told to do. For the next two years she tiptoed around the whole Bloodrose scene with her sibling brood at her back. They were a tight team, too. Didn�t lose a single encounter. True gold-rated players.
Then one night, the playing field changed&
Down at club Gaijin, Thursday night was fetish night. Mischa, or Tiptoe, as she�d come to be known, was there on the periphery with her ever expanding brood of elites. Just another bunch of Blood Rose foot-soldiers out on a night of R&R. She was wearing this creepy-looking foreign gas mask she�d picked up from fuck knows where, but she�d customized the hell out of it. Told the brood it was her death stare. Jeung and Charlotte were there too that night, the three furies trailing behind them as usual. All of a sudden, and apropos of nothing, a drunken Strega Bloodrose took a very vocal swipe at Tyron Sennet � told the world that his days were numbered, and how the whole crew was going to be under new management soon. Sennet wasn�t there to speak for himself so no one dared disagree, not with Lilith standing so close behind her. It didn�t matter that Tiptoe was wearing a gasmask that night; she could smell revolution in the air like it was gasoline. There was a spark of truth in Strega�s drunken tirade. Jeung�s clan was about to strike out on its own.
Cue Mishca Sennet&
Tiptoe stepped from the crowd. The craziest-looking S&M bitch imaginable with a six-pack so hard you could have polished marble on it. The beat-down she gave Strega Bloodrose was as savage as it was shocking � no one expected her to survive the onslaught that followed as psycho-ballerina, Lilith Bloodrose, complete with a seven-inch switchblade, charged at her in retaliation.
Thirty seconds later a legend was born. Lilith, the unstoppable force, was unconscious. Her right eye swollen shut. She�d be pissing blood for a week. Jeung, Charlotte, and Pagan didn�t dare do shit. Their surprise was palpable, their silence deafening. When the guns finally came out, they were pointing in all directions. A classic movie standoff. The crew was divided. The revolution would not be televised.
�Be careful when you speak on Tyron Sennet,� Tiptoe rasped through the gas mask. The labored sounds of her breathing cut through the silence beautifully. She couldn't resist the next line: �he�s my father.� Her voice boomed theatrically for all to hear. The bay mist was up. The streets were smothered in it. A minute or two later and she and the rest of her elite brood withdrew into the shadows, their guns still trained on the bewildered faces of all that remained. She left them with a parting shot. �Watch your step. Tyron Sennet knows everything about you. Play nice or you won�t play at all&�