RP Stories topic

[Drizz]

 

The Role-Played stories topic.

 

I role-play on SA:MP and when good role-plays happen on our server, we usually write stories about these. Resuming the whole RP in a story about the characters. Sometimes, the stories don't have an ending, because the role-play scenario isn't finished, but I'll be updating this as it goes.

 

 

"Death of Denver Graceland."

By BOT

BOT playing Sid,

Wespe playing Denver,

Wispah playing Zilo

 

 

Sid stood in the middle of metallics room, in the old metal processing room of the diffiCULT factory. There Denver's body lay on the conveyor belt, about to be combined with molten steel, smashed, hammered, and processed. Sid let out a careful "Goodbye, old friend." before the conveyor belt cranked to life. Instantly, Denver's lifeless corpse was dumped into a hole, the hole was then filled with molten, steaming metal. After half an hour of settling, the contents were then emptied by machine into a another bowl.

 

The machine emptied the excess molten metal, it slid around the now mush and metal Denver Graceland. The machine than set to work molding the sticky, quickly drying metal, combined with Denver's blood, skin, and innards, into a small ball. Draining excess fluids in the process.

 

It only took an hour before Denver's blood and skin had been reduced to a small metal ball, no bigger than a large tennis ball. The machine cooled the metal ball, and dumped it out into a crate. Sid grabbed the tennis-ball size and shaped piece of metal with blood cleanly coated on it, and set to work carving a pendant out of it, shining it afterwards.

 

FLASHBACK

 

Denver and Sid were riding in "Alice", Denver's old 1985, white Picador. Denver was behind the wheel, and Sid was sitting contently in the passenger side. Denver began to drive fast, he was after something. A biker, and on the bike was a man named Zilo, a racing kingpin.

Denver attempted to ram him off of his bike, but the biker prevailed the first time, dodging  around the hood with clean precision.

 

Denver got the best of him the second time, and smacked him far off the road. Sending the man's bike sliding down the street. "Who is this man?" Sid asked, to no answer. Once they had left the car to confront the man, Denver immediately grabbed him, and set to work bending his wrists. "Who is this man?" Sid asked again. "Zilo, a racing kingpin." Denver replied. Sid just looked at him, questioning his motive. "And what are his infractions? Besides his wrist." Sid said with a chuckle, and Denver replied aggressively "Racketeering, and Gambling." Sid just glared at Denver, in denial that he didn't understand what Sid meant. Sid sighed as Denver picked the man up, and loaded him in the back of the Picador.

 

Sid sat down in the passenger's side, and hung his head low. Denver peeled out of the town, and drove towards Fort Carson. "There's a Cluckin' bell in Fort Carson, I think." Sid nodded, and they drove for Fort Carson. Even through the bumpy off-road ride, Zilo stayed in the back of the truck.

 

They pulled up to the Clucking Bell, on the outskirts of Fort Carson, Denver asked Sid to stay inside, and Sid stupidly, nodded his head in trust. Denver pulled out his shotgun, and ran in the Cluckin' Bell. A gunshot went off, and at least five or six people sprinted out of the Cluckin' Bell, only to be answered by a few rounds from Denver's shotgun in the back. Four dead, two got away.

 

Sid's eyes just widened as he removed his mask, and contacts. Showing his aged face, and graying blonde hair. Blue eyes, and somewhat sickly appearance. He stared at the mirror, watching Denver grab the man and heave him into the Cluckin' Bell. "Give me a hand, Sid." Denver called out, and Sid came out in turn, and followed them into the Clucking Bell.

 

Blood was sprayed all over the counter, with food wrappers, drinks, and various items knocked off their counters and tables, onto the floor in the panic. Sid turned and looked at the man who was slumped over the counter with blood dripping from a messy hole in his head. It was a kid, no older than eighteen.

 

Sid just grew a frown, and followed Denver, who was dragging the hostage to the fat fryer in the back.

 

"Ah, apparently you have a little bit of Japanese in you? You know our tactics of torture." Zilo replied. Denver replied with an evil look, ramming the mans first hand into the fryer. The man held his composure for the first three seconds, but Denver instead held his hand there, eager to see the man's pain. The man began to wail out, and in answer, Denver shoved his second hand in the fryer, pinning them both down with his strength.

 

Sid's wise-eyes clicked into motion, and a sudden frustration hit them. "Denver, what the hell are you doing?" Denver growled, too distracted by the sick gratification of causing someone else pain. Sid only repeated himself, loudly. "Denver, what the HELL are you doing?"

Denver turned his head and glared at Sid, holding the man's hands in the fryer all the while. "And who are you to ask that kind of question, Commander?" Sid glared at Denver, and the man's screams couldn't even break the coming storm. "Let him go." Sid uttered. Denver turned and glared at Sid. "You've gone soft on me!"

 

Sid stared at Denver with plea in his eyes. "I've gone smart, Denver. What you're doing is self-destruction." Denver growled in retort "Mine, and nobody else's."  "You're blinded by your obsession for blood, Denver. You've lost touch with everything else." Denver retched out aggressively "If by obsession, you mean passion. It's not for blood, it's for suffering." Sid glared at Denver, narrowing his eyes and letting out a weak sigh. "I'm sorry, Denver. Your greed and emotion has ruined you."

 

Sid quickly drew his fifty caliber Desert Eagle side-arm, and aimed it for Denver's neck. Denver finally let the man go. Zilo stared at his now contorted, and mutilated hands. Ravaged by third and second degree burns. Denver only stopped to draw two colts, and aims them at Sid. "NO, DON'T YOU DO THIS." Denver shouted out. "YOU'RE WEAK, AND SICK. I'M TWICE AS FAST, AND HEALTHY AS AN OX." Denver growled, only to be answered with his captive, elbowing him in the face.

 

In this moment of distraction, Sid fired a round off, it landed cleanly in Denver's neck. Denver fell backwards, growling and wailing out in his hoarse, weakening voice. "HYPOCRITE!!" He shouted at Sid as he took cover on the other side of the counter. Denver's blood was quickly rushing out of him, and he gripped his neck in the agony.

 

Sid wailed out at Denver. "You're sick, Denver. You're selfish, you have no appreciation of life whatsoever." Denver shouted back. "GUILTY, I'm selfish, all by myself!" Sid growled "You live a cold, lonely, useless existence, Denver!" "..and I'm f*cking proud! I'm selfish, and PROUD." Denver growled back.

 

Sid closed his eyes, and his voice grew a little weak. "I've been testing you, Denver." Sid sighed. "You've failed.." Denver didn't reply, and merely listened. "Game over." Sid said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Good deal." Denver replied, Sid stood from his cover, and with a loud bang, the chamber for the end of tomorrow sprung into life, and in an instant, Denver's life highlights flashed in front of his eyes.

 

"A Soldiers Guide to War: The Battlefield and You"

"Man, it sure is hot out here, Johnny"

"Well, that's what you get for bein' in Nam, Sarge."

"What's that..?"

 

Followed by an ear ringing scream, and a fade to black.

 

 

A single, lonely tear, rolled down Sid's face, as he stared at his dead partner.

 

 

 

"Death of Don Cross."

By BOT

BOT playing Don Cross,

Silveh playing Danny Wicker,

Myself playing one of the three thugs (Denzell De'Moris) that attempts to save Don,

Poptarts playing the other thug.

 

 

Lieutenant Cross. Thirty year veteran of the police force. Two time captain of the San Fierro Police Department. Present Lieutenant of the Los Santos Police Department. Cross went in to visit Danny Wicker in his injured state, demanding answers from him as to how it happened. He never got them. Steele returned from his confrontation with Wicker and his friends in the hospital bed, to his squad car outside.

 

Cross couldn't remember the last time he had a good night's sleep, and his chronic migraines just seemed to be getting worse everyday. What made it worse, were the three friends or visitors to Wicker came from the hospital, only to heckle Don while he was leaning against his car, smoking his last Marlboro Blue.

 

The three thugs continued to heckle him for about half an hour, further tensing his oncoming migraine. He did his job as a police officer and dealt with the boys in the best way he could. By the time they finally decided to leave Cross alone, he was already in pain from one of his migraines. Wicker had been strolled out in his wheel chair, mid-argument and only helped fuel Don's stress. Wicker tried to talk to Cross but only to be answered by the sound of the cruiser door shutting, and the loud click of the locks shutting afterwards. Don looked in the glove box for his doctor prescribed migraine pills. He grabbed the bottle of pills, opened it, and took one out. Swallowing it.

 

Cross went to put the bottle back in the glove compartment when he had a change of thought, and for the longest five seconds in his life, Don decided it was finally time to end. Don kept his grip on the opened bottle of migraine medicine, holding it to his mouth and choking down the entire bottle of pills. He then reached down, and reclined his seat, closing his eyes and waiting to go numb.

 

By now, Wicker had noticed by now what was going on and wheeled himself over to the squad car, shouting at Cross to open the door, and get out, but to no avail. Wicker smashed the window open with his elbow, and unlocked the door from the inside.

 

Wicker tried to pull Don out, but to no avail. Don harshly shoved him back, and lay back in his seat. Wicker stared, to weak to do any good. The heckling thugs came back to watch, one questioning the others if he should help Cross. Don reached for his gun, deciding his plan of going down peacefully had been thwarted. He reached for his gun, and clicked the safety off. Holding it tightly to his temple.

 

"Sometimes a man just gets tired, Wicker" Don grumbled out. Don grimaced, putting his finger on the trigger. At that exact moment, the same thug that questioned whether or not to help Cross, jumped out and grabbed for Cross. The gun slid down slightly from Don's temple, and went out with a loud, nightmarish BANG. The bullet shot straight through Don's lower jaw, and came out the other side; narrowly missing the thug who attempted to help. Cross stumbled out of the car wailing off a hellish scream of pain. He couldn't stop, begging for someone to give him the gun so that he could finish the job.

 

Cross staggered around in blurs, his nervous system was in shock. He collapsed on the ground, out like a light..

 

..but it wasn't even ten seconds before he woke up again, screaming. Too weak to move, bleeding everywhere. Wicker couldn't stand the disturbing sight. He rolled his wheelchair over to Don, reached down with what strength he had left. Grabbed Don's neck, and promptly twisted it, snapping it cleanly. Letting out a disturbing "Shhh. . " as he did so.

 

Don lie against the ground, limp, dead. It wasn't long before the "thugs" decided that they needed to get rid of the squad car, and Don's body. FAST. Don, carried in the trunk of his squad car, was taken to a remote location, and thrown off a cliff.

 

The squad car was later destroyed through other means.

 

 

 

 

 

Viddick Steele, takes Don's place in the LSPD.

 

 

"I shot the sheriff!"

By myself

Myself playing Denzell,

Acid playing Mike,

Wispah playing Zilo,

Catalyst playing Marcus.

 

 

Denzell took his bag and shook hands with Dwayne, who decided to stay with Olivia. He walked out of The Black Crow Tavern's door and hopped in his new, shiny, modified Cheetah. Like every early hours of the morning, he drove to the place where he buried Shaniqua, put new flowers on her grave and then sat down, contemplating the sunrise. "We'll soon be together... Soon. I just need to finish my life's mission and we'll be together," He always whispered, looking to the sky.

 

Once the sun climbed up from behind the mountains, Denzell got in his car and went to drive around the calm town, where people was just waking up, and nobody, but a few hobos was on the streets. Suddenly, he heard a loud "Rrrrrroar" of a car engine and the annoying sound of tires screeching. Moments after, his cellphone rang. "Hello?" He said, wondering who it might be. "Hey. Denzell, it's Zilo. I have Yale on my ass now, come help me out. We're in Blueberry," Zilo responded, and before Denzell could answer, he heard Zilo's phone dropping on the floor and turning off.

 

Presuming that the loud sounds he just heard must be from the chase, he followed them. Soon, he noticed Zilo's new 'Bullet' far away and a police cruiser chasing it. Denzell pressed the NoS button and put his pedal to the metal, speeding towards the conflict. They passed Solve et Coagula's factory and got in the countryside. The cop car was doing pretty good, and before it scratched Zilo's ricer, Denzell pulled out a P.I.T. maneuver on the cop, who flipped and spinned away. To the Denzell's amazement, the police cruiser landed well and put its sirens back up, facing the red Cheetah.

 

The cop found himself a better target - Denzell, the first on the top wanted list. They drove all the way back to Blueberry, but the latter felt like trying to loose the annoying cop at the farm. Unfortunately, he ran in a wall and got blocked by the police cruiser from the rear. Denzell looked in his side mirror and noticed Sheriff Yale, the cause of all the misfortune that happened to him, since he arrived to Blueberry. He knew, this meeting was their last, and somebody had to die, and since Denzell had no firearm on him, he had to find a better plan.

 

Mike aimed his gun at Denzell's uncovered head and shouted: "Come out with your hands up!". The latter did. "What game're you playing, Den'?.. Not going to shoot me?.. Not going to slit my throat?" Yale shouted and then ordered him to get on the ground, facing the car. "Toss away all of your weapons!" He said, but Denzell had nothing on him, besides his 'Bleeding Rose' scimitar, so he just shook his head and shrugged, trying to tell Mike that he was unarmed. "I won't repeat it again! Throw 'em all!" Mike didn't believe. Denzell struggled with his hurt throat, and, resisting the sharp pain said, "I'm unarmed, idiot. If you don't believe, come and frisk me!" Apparently, Sheriff Yale didn't believe, but he was also too scared to approach Denz.

 

"Don't play games with me! Throw 'em away!" He shouted again, but Denzell just repeated what he said before. Yale tossed a handcuffs to the guy and told him to lock himself up. He did it without protesting. Distrustful, Mike approached Denzell, holding the gun in his right hand, aimed at the criminal's head. He dragged Denz on his feet and smashed him against the car. Then, he started frisking him with his left hand.

 

Denzell took a look back and noticed the hole of Yale's Desert Eagle pointing his head. Now, he knew what to do. While Mike was busy looking through the pockets, Denzell quickly moved his tors to the right and delivered a back-kick in the Sheriff's nuts. The last one dropped his gun and stopped for a second, holding his nuts. Obviously, the whole thing wasn't going to stop now, and another kick smacked the cop across the jaw, throwing him on the floor. Denzell walked up closer to Yale and made a friendly smile, while the Sheriff was trying to get himself up. "Our positions reverse, dear friend," the most wanted said and gave a real hard kick in his opponent's solar plexus.

 

Mike fell on his back, gasping for air, but finding none, while his enemy walked closer to him and put his foot on his cranium. Moments before Denzell achieved Yale, Zilo arrived on the scene, with a shotgun in his hands. Denzell stepped back and a couple of bullets hit the Sheriff's body armor, giving him bruises and a nice pass-out. "Hello, Mr. Kashiwa," Denzell nodded and unstrapped his scimitar. "Hi, Denzell," Zilo responded in a calm voice and turned to Mike, "You're dead now, idiot! YOU ARE DEAD!" The racing king-pin chopped off Mike's hand and was about to chop him in pieces with his katana, but he was stopped by Denz, who imagined something worse and even more disgraceful for the Sheriff. Leaving Zilo with the mission to keep Mike Yale awoken and fresh, Denzell went to set up the torture place in a barn.

 

He came back in about 30 minutes and they tied Yale up. Then, Denzell picked the Sheriff on his shoulder and carried him in the torture chamber, where a huge metallic, rusty and sharp pole sat in the middle. He got upstairs and, with Zilo's help managed to put Mike's asshole above the sharp end of the pole. "I'll meet you in hell, . . .'Sheriff'," Denzell said and let the pole penetrate Yale's tiny hole. For the next minutes, nothing but screams of pain and despair could be heard in the torture chamber. Mike was begging for them to just shoot him, but in vain.

 

Denzell took more rope and tied it around Yale's neck and to a piece of chain hanging down the roof, so it slows down his sliding a little bit, giving more pain and a slower death. While the rusty pole was ripping and cutting up Mike's lower organs , the most wanted arranged the cameras set up in every corner of the place. "Well, sorry, Mike, but we have to go. It's already 4 in the morning and I didn't get any sleep for ages. I'll let you die alone. Have fun," Denzell said with a slight chuckle and exited the torture chamber along with Mr. Kashiwa, who also seemed satisfied of this death. He was followed by Yale's screaming. They locked all the windows and finally got outside, locking the door. "I set up cameras in the room, so we'll be able to watch it later," Denz explained, "Let's bet. I bet he will be dead by the morning. . ." And they drove off in the direction of The Black Crow Tavern. (ex) Sheriff Mike Yale died with the sunrise.

 

Next day, Denzell and Marcus Walker came to check the spot and get the tapes. A pool of blood was on the ground, under Mike's body which slid down, however, his head was a few meters higher, because of the rope that didn't go any lower. The old, rusty pole was sticking out of the ex-Sheriff's neck.

 

 

 

"Woah! A treasure?

By myself, again.

Lason Deangelo (Narrator) played by myself,

"Clown" played by BOT

Redneck played by Pendejo

Cypher played by Catalyst

Julius played by Motherland

Deron played by Akreaveter

 

 

  First, a crazy looking man with white clown'ish paint on his face, then, a zombie-minded redneck with a chainsaw. Then, screaming, and finally, only the crazy looking man with the clown paint. Wow, where am I, actually? Trees, trees, trees, night and dirty, brown water of the lake. I hear voices somewhere, who are these people? Oh, here, I can recognize Cypher, here - Julius and there, Deron. But still, what the hell is happening, I can't understand. People keep talking, walking and running somewhere, but I feel as if I was underwater. Suddenly... "AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" I hear this distant cry, scream, whatever.

 

  I turn towards the place where the sound came from, and I start jogging there. I feel like in a dream, I really do. Sounds are all distant and... Did the world turn blurry, or it is just me? I climb up the cliff and look around. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" Again, very close to me. I turn around and see one of these deformed rednecks with an ax, about six meters away from me. He brings his weapon high in the air, about to let it drop on a body laying on the ground, right in front of him. BANG! A bullet flies right between his eyes and he falls down, right on it's victim. "Damn, who did that?" I wonder, and just now, I realize I have that rifle on me, and it's smoking.

 

  "Woah. Nice shot, Lase," I congratulate myself and walk up to the bodies. The redneck looks pretty much dead, so I kick him off with my new Timberland boot and look at the victim, who seems passed out. It's a girl, around fifteen years old, sixteen maximum, she looks pretty bruised and beat up. I raise my eyes on her face and suddenly flashbacks start attacking my mind, each of them giving the feeling of a grenade exploding right above my head. "The... Evil men. They killed my parents. Now they're coming for me! Please, don't let them get me!" The little girl I met in that abandoned house in the country comes back in my memory. "I don't have anybody, just kitty now. They took my sister too. Hurry! We can find her."

 

  ...Sound of a shotgun. Damn! ...A scream. No don't let me see this again, dear God, plea-... Oh God. Last flashback hits my mind and I see that ugly scene again. Bullets from the shotgun send the little girl flying against the wall of the shack, and then she falls in a pool of her own blood. Finally, the flashbacks end and I look at the young lady's face again. She looks just like her little sister, just older. I realize, the least I could do for that dead little girl, is to take her sister. I check her pulse, she's alive, so I pick her up on my shoulder and run down, back to the crowd. It looks like everybody is rushing somewhere, getting in cars, shouting and maybe panicking. I hop on the pick-up and put the girl down. No idea how, I find a 'First Aid' kit in my hands and I start treating her wounds... "Wow, Lase, I never knew you learned anything in that first aid class in school," I think. Apparently, I did. I put the kit away, when my eyes fix on the girl's face and I start idly admiring her. Suddenly, the whole world fades for me. I try to hold on the edge of reality, but my hands slip and I fall in the darkness.

 

  "Laso-o-o-on! Wake up! I need you to go to the corner store and get some bread!" I open my eyes, yawn and look through my window, sun shining on my face. Slowly walking to the living room, I pick up an apple and start munching it. Munchie-munchie-munchie-munchie. "Good morning, mom," I say, yawning and make my way to the kitchen, looking for some milk. Mom is watching TV. TV... Wait, what the hell? "A five years old girl was found brutally murdered in the countryside. The weapon used is most likely a shotgun..." My eyes widen as I peer around the corner, contemplating the murder scene shown on the news. Suddenly, I remember everything that I saw before I woke up. "No... No. It's a dream, it can't be true. It's just a bad dream, a deja-vu. It is..." I repeat to myself. "...Is it?" A barely heard, almost whispering female voice echoes in my head. My vision gets blurry again, sounds become distant, everything looks like underwater, but I clearly see one thing... The young lady I "met" yesterday.

 

Black-Out

 

...I open my eyes and look around. Woah, is it already 6 PM? The hell did I do this morning? Vaguely, I remember what I saw on TV, and everything. "Nah, this is a dream," I finally convince myself. "La-a-a-ason. Get up, I gotta talk to you!" My mother yells out of the living room. Slowly, I make my way to her and lean on the wall, yawning. "What?" I say, lazily. "Son," She begins and I already understand what will the conversation be about, "All you do is sleep and relax. I`m worried about your future, but I think you need to get your life together yourself. So, I decided to send you to Las Venturas college..."

 

  My eyes widen and I sigh. "Nigga, you crazy?" I think, but then, I remember that my mom is white. Next thing she knows, I am packing my bags and say, "Mom. Sorry. But I decided to move out. I`ll rent a house with the money I saved and I`ll find a job. I`ll come see you every week-end." In four hours, I was already sitting in my new trailer in The Bros` trailer park, smoking a cheap cigarette and listening to oldschool hip-hop. Things just ran through my mind, my old life, peaceful house, my father, everything...

 

  I finish the smoke, hop in my old vehicle, which I didn't even bother getting an insurance on. I just wanted to drive around in the night, feeling the freedom. Damn, it was good, clear road, starry sky and only a couple of pedestrians on the side walk. Nothing beats the feeling of freedom, even a sh*tty vehicle like mine. Idly looking outside the window, my eyes suddenly stop on one person and don't move away from it. At first, I don't really get who it is... Dressed in clothes that look almost like rags, tan skin, untied, long black hair falling down on her shoulders and an ankle bracelet on her left leg. Just now, I realize that I see the same girl I saw in my "dream". I feel the urgent need to go to speak to her, but the traffic just doesn't let me get out of my car. In two minutes or so, I finally find a place to park and I run out of the car. Unfortunately, she's nowhere to be found. "God damn," I swear and sigh, getting back in my car.

 

 

 

The PD, turned.

By Dameon

Dameon as Steven,

Acid as Joseph,

Dolle as Frank,

Me as Layla (>.<)

 

 

WARNING. MATURE THEMES ENCLOSED. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY LEWD ACTS DO NOT READ FURTHER.

 

 

What is life? That which is so precious... so giving... why is it so easy to snuff out, like a flame upon a candle wick. Horrible people did such work for a living, horrible people murdered, raped, stole, beat... they did all those and went to sleep that night with a clean concience. Somehow those bastards could commit any of the seven sins and be fresh as a daisy as the morning sun came rolling through their windows. Steven was not one of those people. Steven sat, cold and lonely in his modest apartment, clutching a small picture to his chest. The voices in his head were loud.

 

So f*cking loud... he could hear them firing off their opinions like pop-guns, one in his left, the other in his right. He just wanted it all to stop. He wanted to die! He wanted it never to have happened! The weight on his shoulders was pressing down on him. The human life that he took was like a noose tightening around his neck. He let his fingers slide across the silky smooth surface of the photo, the child inside it smiling back, torturing him with eyes that shone with reddish fire. He shut his eyes. "How did this even happen..." He whispered to himself, as the voices whispered back, informing him of all the wrongs the had commited in the past two days. His grip tightened on the picture. He remembered...

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The woman spoke with what sounded like a mexican accent, it drawled out long and hard on the vowels, lowering and raising it's pitch at the beginning and end of each sentence. Her grip on her purse was like a vice, it was as thought she wanted no one to take the little bag from her, and there, right behind he bush she was leaning against, was Steven. Steven Carl Rogers, of the San Fierro Police department, grinning like a madman, and waiting for incriminating evidence. "Man... not even one customer today..." He heard her whisper, and that was all he needed to hear. He slunk through the branches and leaves, grinning like a madman as he appeared behind her turned back. "Boo." He whispered. The woman jumped back a couple feet. She turned, and then let out a loud sigh. "Oh... hell... police. Look, I wasn't doing nothin', okay? Just go back to your route, pig." Steven's eyes narrowed into a glare. He hated it when people didn't respect the uniform. It was him that kept the streets safe day after day, not some f*cking pimp with a cane the size of someone's arm.

 

"Pig?" Steven asked. "No, miss. I'm a police officer. And right now I have reason to believe you may be involved in a count of prostitution."  She took a step back, shaking her head. "No, man. You've got it all wrong, I work at---" Her phone rang at this point, a basic tone, nothing special, and she raced to pick it up. "Saved by the bell." Muttered Steven, the right side of his lips turning up into a cruel smile. The woman took several steps back, her smooth legs swiveling as she did so, it looked like she was getting ready to run. Steven took a step forward, placing his hand on his baton, just in case he had to subdue her, even though technically all he had was a turn of phrase to rely on. But that was when he saw it, a small baggy fell out of her purse, and landed on the ground next to her foot. Steven clicked on his mike, and spoke into it. The lady payed no notice, despite the fact she was sweating profusely, she seemed very absorbed in her telephone call. Sirens wailed in the background as two police cars showed up. A little bit excessive, but Steven had been noticing the fact that the cops had been cracking down lately.

 

"Ma'am, put your hands behind your back!" Cried officer Oates, his gun out and ready to fire at the tiniest sign of trouble. "Yeah! What he said!" said officer  Frank. Steven didn't care much for Frank, he always seemed the type of guy that would shoot you in the back rather than leave you behind. The lady hung up her cellphone and placed it in her purse. "You ain't got sh*t on me!" She screamed, her voice high pitched and tinny. She was ready to fight for her right to be on the streets. "On the contrary, miss." said Steven, bending down and rubbing his hand against the whore's ankle. She shuddered, and took a step back, right off the marijuana that had fallen out of her purse. Her eyes bulged, and she licked her lips. She didn't have anything to say. "Look... I..."

 

"You don't have to say anything. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." as Oates rattled off her rights and cuffed her, Steven took a sniff of the weed inside the small baggy. It was powerful stuff. Probably went for a high street price. "Hey, toss that here!" said Frank, and Steven complied. The tiny baggy flying through the air and landing squarely in the officer's palm. He sniffed it as well, and came to the same conclusion. Even though he decided to do something different with the evidence. He snuck inside his car, and began to roll up, giggling to himself. Steven just shook his head and turned to Joseph, who had confiscated her purse and tossed her in the back of the vehicle. "Get in, Rogers. We're going for a little ride."

 

The lady in the back continued to curse as they road down the back-roads towards the police station, screaming about her rights and how'd she'd never, ever go to jail, she screamed how she had friends, and they'd lay into Steven and Joseph like hell. Joseph just shook his head, and continued on past the police station. "Hey! Hey!" Screamed the whore. "The police station's back there, where are you taking me?!" Joseph just shook his head and nudged Steven. Steven nodded. The whore struggled with the cuffs on her as Joseph turned right into Red County, sirens on and zooming past the slower cars on the road. "I'll f*cking kill you, pigs! f*cking pigs!" She cursed, trying to tuck her legs under her cuffed wrists. Joseph pulled to a stop in front of a "69" gas station, grinning. "Pitch the deal, Steven. Frank and I need to have a smoke." Steven nodded, and turned in his seat.

 

"Now then, miss. I'm not going to lie to you. You're in deep sh*t. But we're willing to make it all go away, for a price." The whore squinted her eyes, clutching her legs close to her body. Steven found that if he looked just right, he could see straight up her skirt. He decided it was best to be respectful, and continued staring at those wild, crazy eyes that she possessed. "What price?" said the woman, curious now. Her hatred of cops still shone through as bitter cynicism, and she wasn't willing to believe the police force was willing to let her go, for any price. "You'll work for us now. You'll do what we want, when we want." The woman narrowed her eyes, and clenched her fist. "I'll never work for you, puto." She hissed. Her voice was was seething with malice. He could tell that if she could, she'd be ripping his throat out right now. "That's a shame." He opened the car door, slamming it behind him. "She said no, boys. I guess that means we're just going to have to take it from her."

 

Joseph Oates, Frank, and Steven chuckled to themselves menacingly, as one of them opened the door. The woman came tumbling out, legs splayed and hands still cuffed firmly behind her back. "f*ckers! Police pigs! I swear to god I'll..." Steven grinned, and stood her up, easily lifting her by the elbows. "You'll do nothing, bitch. Except lay down and take it like a good little whore." His hands were rough against her skin, and she could feel him breathing heavily behind her. He yanked down her skirt, tearing the cheap fabric at the crotch and revealing her smooth legs to the various cars that were driving by. Not a one of them payed attention to what was going on, merely saw the cop cars and decided justice was being served. "Little american cock..." she hissed, her toungue as venemous as a Black Widow, struggling all the while as her panties were yanked down to her ankles just like her skirt. "You couldn't hope to please a woman like me! I'll snap your dick in have you little bii---AGH!" Steven didn't speak, didn't make any sound at all, just penetrated her with  enough force to make her scream and clench ever muscle in her body.

 

She cursed at him, she hissed as he thrusted in and out of her, she wanted him dead. She wished he was dead! She wished she could just crawl into a corner and be somewhere else! Hot tears rolled down both orifices as he continued his un-ending assault. Her fists clenched and unclenched as he pumped his sheathed cock within her. "Annh... Ungh! Unnn god! No!" She cried, sobbing continously. Frank and Joseph on the other-hand, were enjoying the show. Frank more than Joseph, considerably. The whore finally shuddered, and went limp, soon followed by Steven, who only made a tiny grunt as he pulled out of her. The first time he made a noise since he started several minutes ago. He tossed the condom he had applied to himself to the side, and turned to Frank. "Your turn." He said. His voice was rough, gravelly. It was as though someone else was talking. But Frank payed it no mind.

 

"Your ass is mine, whore." He hissed, and after wrapping his tool, he went to work, penetrating her tight ass with gusto. She screamed hard as she felt him inside her, invading her, making her his. Her face was pressed against the leather seat, he had opened the door and propped her up, laughing to himself as he was forced upon her. "Does it feel good?!" He whispered, pulling her hair back and hearing her scream. "Yeah.. you like it up the ass, you love it!" She shook her head and sobbed into the leather, as Steven and Joseph spoke quietly, watching the cars as they passed. "You know, up until this point, I had not considered the benefits of being corrupt." said Joseph, his voice barely audible over the screaming the woman did. Steven nodded, understanding. "It does have it's perks..." Frank waved his arms, calling from the distance. "Hey, I'm done over here... who's next?" Joseph calmly approached the woman, who lay quietly against the leather of the car. Her whole body was limp. She didn't care any more. Joseph did what had to be done, after expressing distaste as to Frank's action. "I don't want to see blood ever coming out of that body part, ever again!" Steven just smirked and put his hands in his pockets, waiting for Joseph to finish.

 

"Alright boys. Were' finished here."

 

"Who's gonna driver her home?"

 

"Not me! She'll bleed all over my car!"

 

"Sure as hell ain't gonna be me. I don't want that all on the leather!"

 

"...I'll do it. Meet you guys back at PD."

 

And so they drove. Steven felt terrible about the deed they had done, but was in turmoil. He had already crossed over, already stepped into the domain most cops dared not to tread... and now there was no going back. He fumbled into his wallet and withdrew a few hundred dollars. What was left of his paycheck from last time, and tossed them over to the bleeding, crying woman in the back-seat. "Here. Least I can do." He mumbled. She just stared at him, silent now as they drove back to her house. Back to her child that Steven had no clue existed.

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It was almost a day later when they got the call. A suicide, should have been routine... but no. They had personal ties to this one, or at the very least, Steven and Joseph did. The helicopter's rotors beat rythmically in the air as the woman screamed that she was going to jump. "No! No you can't do this!" He cried, eyes welling with tears. He tried everything in the book to convince her not to jump. He tried to say that it was his fault. That he could help her. But she would have none of it. She was going to do it. He even attempted to talk her into not jumping because of the pain. Most jumpers died, but what if she didn't? But that would not work. She claimed nothing could compare to the pain she experienced now. Steven dove forward, attempting to catch her. This girl who's name he didn't even know, but she clawed into him, her fingernails like tiny sharks, biting into his flesh and drawing blood. "My name is Layla! Layla Reem! And I will be your demon forever!!!" She screamed, as Steven's grip failed. She went falling, down, down, down. And met oblivion upon the pavement.

 

Joseph and Steven sat at their desks a few hours later going through her personal effects. A purse, a wallet. A photo. They stared at it wide eyed, mouth slack. "She had a kid..." Joseph whispered.

 

"Dear god..."

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Well, there's a sh*tload more, I just didn't know what -exactly- to post. Leave some feed-back please, because amateur writers always love it. If you'd like, I'll post some more role-play stories.

 

Note: All of this happens in-game or is something following in-game events.

Edited February 20, 2007 by Drizz

[Dr.pay'n spray]

I'm BOT, by the way.

[Drizz]

Hey there, BOT :3

[THEGOVERNMENTCAN'TSTOPJAKE]

Dat sh*t waz FLY. I'm Catalyst, BOT 'n TitZ. :3

[Drizz]

Heya, Catmolester. :3

[Tony[OMG]]

HELLO GUYS. Nice stories, btw. :3

[Drizz]

Heya, Tony too.

 

What else should I add?..

[THEGOVERNMENTCAN'TSTOPJAKE]

My death story for Ricardo. That sh*t owned.

[Drizz]

Will do later.

 

For now, updated the first post with Dameon's "The PD, turned." ;3