The Story of Mike

[Stefan.]

Hello all. This is my current story from BUYG, and I thought that I'd post it here as well as a seperate fanfic. Hope you enjoy!

 

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Chapter 1: The Prologue

 

It was a cool day outside. The moist, fresh air started to soak into my skin as if it were a sponge. I could smell something different in the fresh, mountainous air. A burning smell, coming from San Fierro to the north. That was nothing unusual; a logging company usually burned some trees along the bank of the Whetstone River.

 

I carefully climbed back inside my small cottage. This cottage was situated on a cliff overlooking the freeway which linked San Fierro with the capital of the state, Los Santos. I sat down on the small bed in the corner of the cottage, and turned on the television. Even though I lived in a wooden cottage, there was still electricity connected to the cottage, and I was able to watch television, talk on the telephone, go on the internet, etc. I sipped from a warm, cup of cocoa. The scents of the melted chocolate rised to meet my nostrils. I was in heaven.

 

On the television was a basketball game; the Los Santos Saints were playing an away game to the Liberty City Knicks. The Knicks were leading 17-13 with 3:30 left in the first quarter. Damn, I thought, I bet 50 on the Saints to be up by at least 10 at the quarter. Anyway, money was easy to come by for me. I could have done much better, I admit, but this cottage is still pretty cosy. I still drove a relatively nice car; a 2002 Mercedes-Benz C180 Kompressor, Classic Edition.

 

My phone started to ring. I quickly rushed over to the opposite wall to pick up the telephone. A strong, booming voice answered on the other line.

 

"Hey Mike."

 

"Hey, Jo," I replied. The man was none other than Joseph Gerrard. Joseph was from the hood; he used to 'be down' with the Front Yard Ballas, but they split a long time ago. Now he lived in San Fierro, working as a weapons dealer but also having a front by running a cafe in Paradiso. He and I had been freinds since Junior High.

 

"I heard the Knicks are up 20-13 at the quarter."

 

"Damn!"

 

"I told you brother; Sasa Vujanic is back from injury, and he wasn't gonna disappoint."

 

"Oh well. You still think they can win?" I was surprised because I heard no reply. He had hang up. That was awfully strange, as he rarely hangs up on me. I turned around, and saw that the television was off. Something was not right. I could sense that something that wasn't meant to be there, was. This thought of mine went to rest as I fell to the ground; the back of my head had been struck by a heavy pipe. I tried to contemplate what was happening, but I started going into a deep sleep.

 

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[Stefan.]

I see some views, but still no replies. Maybe if I post more chapters, it will become up and running.

 

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Chapter 2: Meeting Mihayl

 

I woke up. My head was buzzing as if it had been hit. Oh wait...where was I? I looked around and found myself in a dark room. A small, faded light hung directly above my head; it's heat was pulsating into the top of my scalp. My arms were tied behind my back, around a chair. However, my legs were still free to move.

 

"Hey...where am I?" I shouted out. My voice seemed to echo out slightly from my position. I then became distracted by a small, lit window at a 90 degree angle to my left. It was about a metre square, and the only thing I could make out behind it was a fading white. I became distracted for a second time when I heard the sound of an old, creaky door opening. The sound radiated across the room, coming from my right. In the doorway was a tall, dark figure. His image was a mere silhouette against the white corridor behind. He walked inside, and closed the door again. Suddenly, the light above went out. I was in pitch black darkness. But then, just that millisecond later, three other lights went on. These lights illuminated the entire room. The room I was in was not as big as I thought it was. It was the size of perhaps a typical family kitchen and dining room area, put together. I looked at the man. I couldn't believe who it was.

 

"Jo?" I asked him, puzzled.

 

"Hello, Mike," he replied, his big, pulsating muscles were bulging through his dark blue pimp-style suit. He was wearing a white undershirt, and matching blue pants. His shoes were pristine and polished, and his earring was sparkling off his left ear. His dreadlocks hung down to his shoulders, and he was wearing sunglasses. He looked like a typical upper-class Jamaican gangster. In some respects, he is Jamaican. His father, Charles Gerrard, was born in Jamaica, and emigrated to Los Santos when he was 23. His mother, Jeannie-Marrianne Gerrard (nee Richetes), was born in Haiti to a father from Cameroon and a mother from Algeria. Mike had been with the Front Yard Ballas for five years, but left when his father was mysteriously murdered in a drive-by. He blamed the Yard for the work, and was 'exiled', per se, to San Fierro. There, he started dealing in guns to various criminal organisations, including the Russian, Chinese and Bulgarian Mafias. Like me, he was 29 years of age.

 

"Where am I Mike? What did you do to me?"

 

"Oh, I didn't do anything," he retorted quickly, his deep, booming voice echoing against the stone walls. "That was the work of the boss."

 

"Who?" I replied, puzzled again.

 

"You know...Mihayl Rizhniyev."

 

"Him?" I replied, my look of confusion still enlightening my face. Mihayl Rizhniyev was a Macedonian born Albanian of Bulgarian parents, who worked as a drug dealer in Las Venturas. He had previously had some dealings with the Sindacco family, but was known to also be friendly with the Leones. He then went into hiding, after he was thought to be responsible for organising some hits on various criminal members across the state. Nobody had heard from or about him since; that was 6 years ago. "What does he want from me?" I asked Jo again.

 

"I dunno man. He did the same to me, except he was a little more friendly."

 

"Did you organise this?"

 

"Me? Naw...hell no. Man you my dog!"

 

"I hope you are..."

 

"Chill, relax. Hey, I'll let you go."

 

"OK," I reluctantly accepted. My arms were now painfully aching, and I was dying to feel that sensation of walking again. Jo helped me out of the chair, and led me out of the room into a whitewashed corridor. The corridor smelt of paint; it was difficult to distinguish whether there were chromers around or the walls were painted recently. Nonetheless, it still smelt. I followed Jo to the end of the room, where a small staircase led to a hatch. The hatch opened up to reveal the burning, San Andreas sky. I climbed out to find myself at the bottom of Hunter Quarry. Men were doing their usual jobs: digging for rocks, pulverising materials, going down elevators deep underground. However, one thing was on my mind: why the hell did I end up here? Anyway, this thought quickly went away as I followed Jo into a sleek, black Mitsubishi Magna; it's big, shiny black spoiler was protruding from the back of the car like a bushy piece of air sticking out the back of a swimming cap. I entered the car in the rear passenger row, and Jo started driving. He started talking.

 

"We're going to Los Santos."

 

"Why?"

 

"Hey dude, why you so tense? I'm you're homie, man."

 

"Sorry, I just have a migrain, that's all. Hey, how'd the Saints go?"

 

"Well, you wouldn't believe it. Vujanic got an injury early in the second; the Saints rallied and rallied, and ended up creaming the Knicks 112-74."

 

"Really?!"

 

"Oh yeah!" I hi-fived Jo as he turned around to help celebrate. However, it was a big mistake as when he turned around again, he had lost control, and was driving across the hard, gravelly, desert sand. That, however, was not the issue. The main issue was the fact that three, Mafia looking cars were patched on a small patch of road. Around them were three men, dressed in all black outfits. He brought the car to a stop, and turned around. "You got a piece?"

 

"No."

 

"Here, take this, but put it in your pocket."

 

"OK," I said, taking the Colt 45. into my hands. Jo stepped out of the car, and started walking to the three men. One of them stepped forward and started talking in what I made out to be a Slavic language. I could here the conversation thanks to the driver window rolled down. I then stepped out of the car, and stood next to Jo.

 

"Who's he?" the front man said in a deep, Slavic voice.

 

"This is the man, homie. His name is Michael Marterelli. He works for the Leones."

 

"Ah, Il Famiglia Di Leone, eh?"

 

"Uh...si." I replied, a slight smile coming across my face.

 

"Good. I know your leader, Joey. He's a good man, he quite is."

 

"Uh, thank you. I haven't seem him in a long while, though."

 

"That doesn't matter. What matters is a small package I want you to pick up from a car in the car park of Los Santos International."

 

"Al...right." I agreed, although a slight sense of concern crossed my mind. "When would you like it given to you?"

 

"Preferably by tomorrow. OK?"

 

"OK," I said, shaking the man's hand. Jo and I quickly ran back to the car, stepped in, and started to drive off. When we were out of viewing distance of the other cars. I stopped the car. "Hey, Jo, should I have done that?"

 

"Well, with the crap that he has, yeah it is worth it."

 

"And," I said, interrupting Jo, "who was that guy?"

 

"That was him. Mihayl."

 

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Hope you likey likey.

[Oblivionz]

I was thinking of doing this.

Good work, dude.

[Bartleby]

I commend you for not writing your story in the hackneyed, incredibly boring style that is the "screenplay technique" that's used a lot around here.

 

Example:

 

 

Carl: GSF, foo!

 

*Carl shoots the drug deal in the head and walks off with the money*

 

Good on you.

[soydog2]

great work keep it coming....... aussie pride...

[Stefan.]

@soydog: Hell yeah man.

 

@Bartleby: I didn't get honours in English for no reason. I type (write) the way I was taught in class; the proper way.

 

@Oblivionz: I did it because people could follow it easier. With BUYG, it was messed up, with people posting different chapters. At least here, it's all within easy reach of each other.

 

Thanks for all your support guys; will be posting the 3rd Chapter up tomorrow morning.

Edited November 13, 2007 by Stefan Matovic Cvetkovic

[Stefan.]

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Chapter 3: Tragedy

 

I quickly drove down the Red County freeway. The cars looked like slow moving turtles compared to mine. As I whooshed past one, a sea of leaves rose from the ground in a death of enthusiasm. Autumn was in the air, again.

 

As I approached the Mulholland Intersection, Jo told me to slow down. "Hey Mike, take a chill pill, man. You have nothing to lose."

 

"I wanna get this over and done with," I replied, a look of near anger consuming my face.

 

"Look, when I said that things could stuff up...I didn't mean it that highly."

 

"I don't care," I quickly said, as I swerved dangerously around a slow moving Faggio. "When someone tells me there's a chance of a bad thing happening, I always take normal precautionary measures."

 

The car was now approaching speeds of 200km. I almost lost control as the freeway sloped downwards towards the airport. I had to slow down to avoid crashing into a large, grey pillar centred in between the lanes.

 

"That's it up there." Jo pointed to a slick, black Toyota Corolla parked not far from the control tower. I took the first exit, and managed to navigate my way to the car park. It was rush hour; cars were driving around in an emphatic manner. I parked the Golf about 100 feet from the car. It was parked in an area of the lot where no other cars were parked. I felt a bit suspicious, but I tried to keep myself down. I was that type of person; I could very well lose control easily.

 

I decided to stay in the car to have a smoke. Jo wanted to go and turn on the car, and get it idling. He also wanted to look for the package.

 

He got out of the car; his thick, brown walking boots were crunching the small stones on the ground. He pacefully walked over to the car, tried to open the car, and saw that it was open. Climbing inside, he called out to me that everything was OK so far. He could also observe that there was a key locked into the ignition. As he closed the door, he twisted the ignition. However, what was happening next would change my life forever.

 

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Here's today's Chapter.

[Stefan.]

I'll keep posting. I'm not gonna abandon this.

 

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Chapter 4: Fernan

 

I couldn't believe it. The flames were being ushered away as the cool, spray-like water engulfed them. A sorry sight came across my eyes; Jo's dead and crumpled body, charred to pieces. He was being carried on a stretcher into the back of an Ambulance. Again, my emotions went wild. I couldn't cope with it.

 

Perhaps I should have. Now, I'm in a police cell at Los Santos Police headquarters. Due to my unbelievably high emotions, I picked up a stick and managed to hit three police officers with it. They weren't severely injured, but still received quite a lot of scratches and bruises. The man sitting in the cell directly across me looked like quite a character: he was a 6-foot tall Latino man, wearing nothing but a cream tank top and beige pants. His shiny, basketball runners were a neat distraction from his messed up features. His left arm was covered with a huge tattoo of Mary, while his right arm was inprinted with a tattoo of a cross. He had cropped hair, although he had a 6-inch rat's tail at the back. He had a black goatee which encircled his rusty lips. He had a reasonable physique; his biceps and triceps were bulging out like a pimple filled with pus. His 6-pack was very noticeable underneath his tank top.

 

The bloke's name was Fernan. We hadn't talked much (in fact, we hadn't talked at all), but when the officer was dropping me off, he called out to him 'Hi, Fernan'. Of course, I had been there only fifteen minutes, but he was busy entertaining himself with a packet of cards. Speaking of the devil, he just spoke.

 

"So, what are you hear for?"

 

"Assault. You?"

 

"Armed Robbery," he replied. Everything's good so far. After a brief akward silence, I gave him a dashing compliment.

 

"Nice tats, man."

 

"Thanks, ese."

 

"They look like Idelwood tats. My cousin used to get his ink there."

 

"Nah, hombre. This is fresh Las Calinas ink. Real dependable, and cheap I might add." His strong, Mexican voice was fluctuating the former silence of the small corridor. From what I could tell, there was noone else in the cells next to mine. "I'm Fernan, by the way. Fernan Charras."

 

"Nice to meet you, I'm Mike. Mike Marterelli." This was the start of one of my most last-longing friendships ever.

 

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[Oblivionz]

Like your story, man. I've read it occasionally when I wrote mine.

Damn gang war is interfering with my personal story time.

[Stefan.]

Thanks for some feedback. Perhaps some advertisement in my signature might help.

 

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Chapter 5: The Break Out

 

The plan was laid out. When Fernan is being led to court by the police officer, he'll jump on him, knocking him out, taking his key, and unlock my door. We'll both escape from the station, and get to his hideout up in the Las Calinas hills.

 

A touch of anxiety was threatening me. What if it all went wrong? What if something stuffed up? What if the officer didn't come? Various thoughts were scrambling my head in an illusion of disarray. However, in my sub-conscious mind, a feeling of great confidence and ecstacy was overwhelming me. I felt that I will escape, and once I get out, nothing will stop me.

 

The moment had arrived. As I sat there in anguish, a tall, burly police officer was walking down the corridor. He was walking at a careful, leisurely pace; his cell keys were swinging around as they hung from his back pocket. His short, blonde hair was popping out the back of his police cap, and one's reflection could be seen if you were to stare in his eagle-like, marble-polished eyes.

 

The frolicking officer came to a halt in front of Fernan's cell. He looked at him and seemed to mutter something under his breath. For Fernan, it sounded as if he was saying: "It's time." As for me, I thought he said: "Time to go." Apart from this slight ambigous phrase, nothing was going wrong so far.

 

Fernan got up as the officer stood aside, opening the cell door in the process. With one fierce punch, the once burly officer was now on the floor, crumpled up like a ball, clutching his face. Fernan bent down, picked him up off the ground, and laid another handsome punch on him. By the sound of the crack, it sounded like as if he had broken his left zygomatic bone. The unconscious officer fell straight to the floor; his drop creating a loud, echoing sound which radiated around the corridor. Without haste, Fernan bent down to pick up his key, and quickly unlocked my cell door. After sitting here for 17 hours, I was finally free again; free to face the world which nearly destroyed my life. I was a man on a mission: a mission to now get back at those that took away one of the most important people in my life.

 

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Edited November 17, 2007 by Stefan Matovic Cvetkovic

[Stefan.]

Here's today's Chapter.

 

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Chapter 6: Freedom

 

The fresh air of freedom was upon me. I was in an extensive period of ecstacy; I could now practically do what I want, where I want, when I want. I wouldn't have to be held back anymore by the authorities. The choices of the world were upon me; it was my destiny to make things happen.

 

"Hey, hombre, stop daydreaming! We gotta get out quickly, ese!" Fernan's scratchy, Mexican voice brought me quickly and drastically back to reality. A siren hadn't been turned on yet, but we still had to get out of there as quickly as possible.

 

No matter how, there is nothing worse than being caught inside the Los Santos Police Station trying to break out. Around the underground, it was known as the 'Pig's Crap'. The pigs would really beat their hearts out in there to try and stop you. It was feared, and many Leone's predecing me had experienced it's full force. One of these was a man by the name of Francesco De Monte. De Monte was no more a soldier, but he was one of the most respected soldiers in the family in the early '90's. He would have been higher, but the old boss, Salvatore, somehow didn't trust him. In '93, he was arrested for one count of first degree homicide after a bar fight in San Fierro. He was found guilty and was sentenced for eight years and four months in prison, with parole after five years and seven months. After one month in the slammer, he tried to excape, but was caught right in 'The Pig's Nest'. His parole was removed, and added on to his full sentence, which made his sentence thirteen years and eleven months. Last year he was released, and, considering that he was already well off, moved with his wife and his now nineteen year old son to live down in Vice City.

 

I couldn't stand that happening to me. That was back in 1993, and now it's 2007. The level of protection and ferocity used by the police would have increased three-fold since then. Nonetheless, I was one to take chances, and I continued towards my goal of freedom.

 

Fernan carefully set off out of the corridor into a small waiting room, where an attractive blonde was sitting at the desk, typing away at her laptop computer. Fernan whispered to me that we needed a distraction if we were to get past. I had no other option but to agree, but there was no need as the tall blonde stood up from her computer, and walked into a room behind her. As her high-heels were tapping on the tiled floor, I followed Fernan across the waiting room into the gauntlet: the main corridor.

 

Fortunately for us, today happened to be a Sunday, so there were not as many authorities prowling around. However, the corridor was still a good twenty metres long, and there were numerous rooms on either side which led into well occupied areas. The one closest to us was the local FBI room. Guards usually stood near the entrance of this room; a monstrocity in it's own right. As I followed Fernan, the thought of consequences popped back into my head again. We stopped at the FBI doorway, and Fernan slowly, but carefully peeked inside. Surprisingly, there was noone inside, so Fernan quickly set off, continuing down the corridor. Good, I thought. That was where 'The Pig's Crap' was most ferocious.

 

There was still three doors seperating me and the small foyer. These rooms were the SWAT room, the Vice Squad room, and the IT laboratory. As I set off from the FBI doorway, Fernan was stationed beside the doorway of the SWAT room. Unlike the previous obstacle, this own had some company, with three differently placed SWAT officers casually standing inside the room, drinking coffee. These three men were on the other side of the room, and appeared to be watching something on television. Thankfully, they were facing away from us, so we assumed that it was safe to go.

 

Two down, two to go. The Vice Squad room was the smallest out of the four, and generally had the least amount of people in it. As we positioned ourselves at the doorway, it was I who decided to peek inside the doorway. Like the FBI room, this one had no company inside. We quickly set off for the last obstacle of the gauntlent.

 

IT laboratories were known to be a haven for officers inside police stations. It was only fitting for the most difficult obstacle to be our last of the gauntlet. The laboratory was quite long and narrow, and contained no less than thirty computers on a single wall. God knows how many officers could be typing there now. The thing that made this situation so difficult was the fact that there was an officer sitting at the computer beside the doorway. If we were to have any chance of being out in the free world again, we would have to create a distraction. I wasn't good with distractions, but luckily my pal Fernan was. However, the distraction he decided to use now was quite peculiar. After inhaling the full force of his flatulence, the officer inside got up and shouted acorss the laboratoy: "Oh, God...no...hey Jonny, I thought I told you that we'd get you if you ever let one rip again."

 

Hee, I thought, perfect. The officer walked across the laboratory, and as we walked into the reception area, the muffled sounds of a beating were radiating throughout the nearby vicinity. "Man, that does stink," I said to Fernan as I squinted my eyes and scrunched my face in order to get a clear grasp of my senses.

 

"Well, when you order a pizza, someone has to deliver." Fernan's clever little metaphor lightened the fact that there was a secretary sitting at the desk in the reception area. Unlike the previous obstacles in this long, treacherous course, this one had some objects to hide behind as one makes his way across. Fernan was the first to set off, and he crouched behind a tall, mahogany table in the direct centre of the reception area. Luckily, the bench surrounding the receptionist was quite high, and it was quite possible to stand and still make our way across. This, however, was too bad of a risk to take, and we were more keen on making it across safely. The next spot to hide behind was a tall plant next to the doorway, and Fernan waited here as I made my way accross to him. This was it: the moment of freedom. Fernan and I were about to step out.

 

Unfortunately, the door was squeaky. As Fernan and I walked outside, the receptionist got up and saw enough to see that people were leaving. Although this was oblivious to us, we still had a sense of knowing that we still could be caught. Based on this, we decided to sprint across the road, weaving between slow moving vehicles, into the City Square. It used to be called Pershing Square, but in 2000 it was renamed City in honour of the city's 150th anniversary. City Square was based around a monument of Hercenios do Malona, a Spanish explorer who discovered the city. Around the monument was a small park, with a low colourful wall bordering the complex. 4 entrances in the wall led people inside. We entered through the south entrance, before turning left and stopping next to the wall, 4 or so metres from a toilet block. We stopped to catch our breaths, and to contemplate what was going on.

 

"Phew, that was close," Fernan said to me as he breathed a sigh of relief. We were free finally, however my problems were not finished yet. I still had to take out those that took away Jo.

 

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[Stefan.]

Here's another chapter.

 

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Chapter 7: Back in it Again

 

We hailed a cab at the side of the road. It was a slow moving cab; a big, fat chunky thing, it looked like as if it was going to collapse. I could sense that Fernan was not to pleased with it, but we were still in the midst of the police station, so this is best thing we had to take ourselves away.

 

Fernan got into the front seat, and I got into the back. I supposed that Fernan's dislike for the cab could have helped us: the cab driver then pulled out a small club, and knocked Fernan out. I looked on in horror, and tried to pull myself out of the cab, but I was too slow. My now painful body slumped onto the back of the seat in front of me as the driver swiped his club with a clean swoosh across my face.

 

We woke up, and we were cold. It was no surprise, since both Fernan and I had been 'stripped down' to our underwear. We were both chained into small, metal chairs, which, believe me, are not a good idea in these conditions. The air was quite foggy, and the room we were in seemed as if it could echo. I knew for certain that we were not in Los Santos anymore.

 

"Hey, man," Fernan said quietly as he woke up, "Where are we?"

 

"SILENCE!" a loud echo radiated across the room. It was him, the man I was looking for. Mikayl Rizhniyev. He started pacing the room; his long, Russian made blazer was sweeping the floor like a Mexican janitor. He stopped next to Fernan, and slapped him.

 

"'Ey, leave him alone! You've already done enough with Jo!"

 

"Oh, him. Yeah...about that..."

 

"What about that! You knew there was a bomb in the car, and yet you still told us to go there! I was lucky not to be killed!" My rage was ensuing me. I felt the sublime urge to rip out of the chair, and punch Mihayl right in the face. However, seeing as I was chained to a metal chair, I couldn't do so, unfortunately.

 

"Look, what happened with Jo was a very unfortunate incident. Even I made my apologies. But look on the bright side; you two are still alive, and that's all I need."

 

A look of anguish and disgust came onto both mine and Fernan's faces. We were not liking where this is going.

 

"Don't tell me that we're-"

 

"Yep," Mihayl replied quickly. A smirk engulfed his face, and he started to chuckle underneath his breath. "Definitely."

 

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Enjoy.

[Stefan.]

Another Chapter.

 

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"So you knew Jo to, 'eh?" Fernan broke the silence as I stopped at the red light. The engine gently rumbled in the background as I sat there, trying to conjure a good answer.

 

"Yeah. We were best friends since 5th Grade."

 

"Crap, man...I hadn't met him since only last year, holmes. He sold me a Tec-9 at a relatively cheap price. And, it worked fine."

 

"That's great, man." The lights signaled to green, and I continued driving. We were sitting in an old, rusty Clover. The cold hideout where we had been kidnapped to turned out to be the saw-mill in Angel Pine, Whetstone. Now, it was about 4:30 a.m., and we were driving towards Los Santos. Now, I had just officially entered the County at the south-west gate at Rodeo. Rizhniyev had sent us on a small job to retrieve a package of money, which was held up by gangbangers in El Corona. He had dressed us up in electrician gear, and gave us only Mac-10's to complete the job.

 

"Hey, uh Mike. I have something to tell you," Fernan spoke quietly as I reached another red traffic light.

 

"What? What is it?"

 

"I...I ordered a hit on Rizhniyev."

 

"You...huh?"

 

"I ordered a hit on Rizhniyev. There, you happy now?" Fernan turned away, looking embarrassed.

 

"Hey, that's great news man! No need to be embarrassed or anything!"

 

"You think?"

 

"Nah! We both hate him, right? Plus, after he's gone, we can continue on with our lives, ese."

 

"That's good man. I thought you'd crack it." Fernan now had a smile on his face as I kept driving. I wondered who he hired. If it was a Leone, then we were in business. "Who'd you hire?"

 

"Some guy named Giuseppe, but he called himself 'Platinum Man'." I then brought the car to a complete stop on the side of the road as I tried to contemplate what he had just said. "What?" Fernan asked, looking shocked.

 

"Oh my goodness...that's my long-lost brother."

 

"He's a...Leone?"

 

"Yeah, like me. But we had a falling out around 7 years ago. We had an argument, and I left Liberty City after that, straight for Los Santos. That's when my ties with the Leones started to weaken."

 

"But, those ties are still there, aren't they?"

 

"Oh yeah, definitely." My thoughts then vanquished as something completely different occured. As I was sitting there in the car, I was shot in the shoulder, and Fernan was shot in the chest.

 

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[Stefan.]

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Chapter 9: The Revelation

 

I woke up and found myself in an echoing room, one that was similar to the one at the saw mill. Yet things were still coming back; my head had been fuzzy when I woke up, but now it was better. Soon, I realised that I had, in fact, been in a hospital bed, and an attractive brunette nurse was sitting at the end of the bed, looking over some medical forms.

 

"Hey...you." The nurse quietly looked up. She was beautiful. Her bulgind, blue eys sparkled like diamonds. Her skin looked as if it were made of soft, charming leather. She truly was natural.

 

"Yes?" she replied.

 

"Where is...uh...my friend...his name is Fernan Charras?"

 

"Ah, yes. Him. He's right over there." The nurse pointed to an indentical bed to the left of me, where Fernan was lying, sleeping. The nurse told me, however, that he was still unconscious, yet was alive and breathing. I had apprently been shot in the right shoulder, while he was shot in the chest. "Usually, they'd die at first, but his only got flesh. Missed the main organs completely."

 

"So that's why he's alive?"

 

"Yep." I wanted to get this over with. Rizhniyev didn't give us a time limit, but I felt that this was the work of him. My memory tried to kick into gear, and try and picture the face of the would-be assassin.

 

"Oh, God," I heard myself saying, as the nurse turned around.

 

"What? What's wrong?" she said while leaning forwards, her considerably large bosoms were slightly poking out of her blouse.

 

"It was..him."

 

"Who?"

 

"My brother."

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[grim reaper22]

This is from

 

right?Well it is pretty cool And the only thing I can think of is...COOL

[Stefan.]

Did you have to post such a big picture? Bandwith, people.

 

Nonetheless, thanks for the support.

[Stefan.]

Don't worry, guys. I haven't abandoned this. I've been down with my time lately, and haven't gone around to posting a story. My next chapter will, unfortunately, be up on Saturday 8th Decenber. See you then!

[2008 Ford Explorer]

I love this, your writing style keeps my attention.

 

 

Edited January 17, 2009 by Bloodware

[Oxidizer]

Your skills are excellent!

Truly, man.

 

I've been really gettin' into first-person[?] narratives lately, and this is just as good as those I've read. You just earned yourself a new fan!

 

Looking forward to the next part!

[Stefan.]

Wow, thanks for the replies. I honestly wasn't expecting them.

 

Sorry I couldn't post my chapter as planned. My computer received a spyware/virus and was down for about a week. A lot of the files were transferred into new files while it was being fixed, including the story. It might be a couple of days until you here more of this story.

 

Luckily, the computer is working now. Oh, and if you're curious, I'm using a laptop now.