RAISA FILE: Group of Interest [DEFUNCT]
GOI-001: Chicago Spirit


{Carroll 124: The Estate}


Carroll 124: The Estate.

{Where It Is}

Just off of State St, smack-dab in the center of downtown. Don't worry about any cops lurking around. Nine times out of ten, they're one of ours. And if it's the tenth, the other nine will take care of him before he gets anywhere near the entrance. Once you get in, make a beeline for the gruff-looking blond feller at the desk. He'll make sure you're clear.

{Who Knows About It}

Only the highest of our people know where this place is. Mind you, everyone knows it exists. Just not exactly where it's located. One of Chappell's bodyguards will make sure you're on the list before you can enter the elevator. Once you're in the elevator, do not press any other button than the one marked "Under".

{how we use it}

We've needed a stronghold in the center of the city for quite some time now. This is that stronghold. From here, we plan our movements, send out couriers, and host our guests. The true brain of the Chicago Spirit. The upper floor is even more closely guarded than the basement. That's because this is the elusive building Chappell chooses to call home. All of the upper floors are his. Nobody goes up there without permission. Not if you value your life.

{How We Acquired It}

We knew about the Downtown place for a while. Our men in downtown always reported activity near it. After a couple of months of intense reconnaissance, we discovered that it was the Midwest stronghold of our more legitimate cousins, the Bankers2

But the place was always too well-guarded for us to make a move. We were still weak, and they had so many cops in the city that we would've been riddled before we opened the door. So we backed off. We still expanded, but we moved around it. Waiting, watching. By '20, we finally had grown enough to let our members walk through the streets and have the cops turn tail instead of the other way around.

That all changed on May 22nd.

The Bankers had a courier running through the city. A small truck filled to the brim with Carrolls, taking them out of the city to a train station so they could be shipped to Boston. We weren't willing to let that happen. The truck barely made it onto the Magnificent Mile before the mine detonated underneath it. We had a couple dozen guys all across the street who dashed in and grabbed the goods, loading them into our own truck. We expected a response, of course. We didn't expect what we got. It's been years, and people are stilling calling that the Summer of Blood.

It was open war across the city. We'd vastly underestimated how many men the Bankers had in the city. Streets that were usually lively were dead during the day, everyone inside for fear of their lives. The police were outgunned, powerless to stop any of it. By the end of June, we lost 92 of our men. We can only guess how many the other side lost. We were holding on, but just barely. The last thing we need during our expansion into New York was combat at home. Chappell and everyone at the top decided something had to be done.

And the only way to kill the wasps is to burn the hive.

On Independence Day, Chappell sent out three dozen men to mix in with the crowds near the stronghold. The people were finally out, willing to risk it to enjoy the atmosphere. We waited until a Moneymaker entered the building, and then our boys busted in and riddled everyone in the lobby. The cops were gonna be busy, but that would only slow them down. We piled into the freight elevator and down we went, Scipka heading us.

As soon as the elevator door opens, the onslaught begun. It was a tiny cellar, a couple guards keeping watch. They had no idea what hit them. The 30 of us kept moving, opening door after door after door into concrete bunkers and gardens, filled with Bankers.

Gardens. Honest-to-god open-air gardens, a dozen meters underground. I could feel the sun on my brow. That's when we knew we had walked into a Carroll prepared for the wrong fight.

But it didn't matter. Scipka ordered us to keep moving. We had lost 13 men across 7 firefights, and we had no clue how deep this thing ran. We tried to explain to him, but he refused to listen. Said we were his troops, and he'd kill the next yellow-bellied fuck who tried to retreat.

It ended up taking two months of focused effort to finally let us purge every last Moneymaker from that basement. But when we retreated after that first endeavor, Scipka didn't come with us.

We must've lost track of him on our way back.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License