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Build Up Your Gang

BUYG: Build Up Your Gang IV

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Omnia sunt Communia

I would like to join the Triads at Sum Yung Gai in Dukes, please. May I also purchase a Pony before I write my first story? Thank you.

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Jacky, did you get my PM about BUYG I've send you yesterday?


Ah anyway, my story will come in two or three weeks, that okay?

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Build Up Your Gang

mark-2007: Thats how you write a story! I could see the persons and the atmosphere infront of me while reading it. Well done!



Jacky Fiend: Done wink.gif


Rated by Rucke

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Cheers Rucke! I've been working on my second chapter since I posted that one. Not far in, but should have it up perhaps by Monday. Also plotting out some storyline to build up to. I hope to get a fair few stories under my belt for the Pavanos.

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I'd like to join the Angels of Death, Navy Yard, Please!


Chapter one


"Can we hurry this up? I'm f*cking starvin'." I exclaimed, smoke leaving my mouth as I spoke. "Yeah yeah, chill out, 'aight?", he replied. We were recieving crates of Cocaine from the Spanish Lords tonight. I was in charge of making sure everything went smoothly. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, a Whiz. Flipping it open, I looked at the time, 1:03 AM. Putting it back into my pocket, I then shifted my gaze to the crate in front me, nodding to the man staring me down. "Thanks." I bent over and reached into my boot, pulling out a butterfly knife. Flipping it open in my hand, I cut open the crate. I examined the Cocaine, shifting it around in my hands. "It's good." I looked back up, the man delivering the Cocaine was already starting off in his Squalo.


Just then I heard the sound of an engine rumbling, turning around, my switchblade still in hand. The engine stopped, a man dressed in black baggy cargo jeans and a leather jacket hopped out of the green Bobcat. "I'm here for the Cocaine, Lester sent me.", He exclaimed. I narrowed my eyes, inspecting him. The Angels of Death logo planted upon his shirt. "Yea, sure." I replied, closing the switchblade and putting it back into my boot. I took a few steps to the right, nodding my head torwards the three crates.


His face wasn't visible, all the lights were off at the dock. I could see his rugged gray beard wave in the intense winds. As he finished loading the crates into the back of the Bobcat, it started raining, hard. The hard ground under my feet already was starting to shine, droplets of water making small bangs against the Platypus.

"Hey, kid, help me put a cover on the back." He said. His voice was raspy and deep. "Sure." I replied. I walked over to him, taking another drag on my cigarette before flinging it into the water. He walked over to the passenger side of the truck and popped open the door, rolling out a grey, plastic cover. Smoke escaped my mouth as I spoke. "Ya' got a name?" I said, letting out a small laugh. "Kevin.", was his response. "Johnson?" "Yeah, Kevin Johnson. What about you, kid?" "Justin." He nodded, throwing the plastic cover over the back of the Bobcat. I bent over as I took the strings that were hanging loose over the side and tied them together, tugging on them to make sure they were secure and tied and strong enough to stay put.



I stood back up slowly, sighing. "Need a ride kid?", he exclaimed as he shifted his gaze to me. "Na, I'm good.", I replied. "Suit yourself, see ya around." "Yea, see ya." I watched him as he hopped in the truck, the engine struggling to start at first. He pressed hard on the ignition, a massive cloud of smoke escaping the exhaust pipe. I lifted up my hand to my face, coughing. "f*ck, fix ya' car.", I said, letting out a small laugh. I started on over to my Hellfury. It was black as night, with red rims and white skulls with crossbones on the seat and sides of the bike. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys, looking through them, I finally found the one I needed. I lifted my leg over the bike, sitting on it. I shoved the key into the keyhole and turned it, starting the bike. I sighed a sigh of tiredness and relief, leaning over onto the handlebars, closing my eyes. I layed there like that for a few seconds, before lifting my head back up and leaning back, cracking my back. "Ah, that f*ckin' hurt.", I exclaimed grunting. I put my foot on the pedal and twisting the handlebar, my bike zoomed forward.


I rode all the way to the Burger Shot on Carson Street, off of the Dukes Expressway. I parked my bike in the parking lot, pulling the key out of the ignition. I hopped off of my bike, putting my keys in my pocket and walked around the corner, eyeing the doors of Burger Shot. I went up the walkway and pushed open the doors. I was soaking wet from the rain, my dark brown hair was sprawled all over my face, covering my eyes. As I walked over to the counter my boots squeaked, leaving footprints of mud in my trail. "Yea, I'll have a Bleeder.", I said as I leaned over the counter, water dripping off of me and onto the counter, forming a small puddle. The lady simply nodded and turned her back to me, taking a grab of the burger, wrapped in paper. I smiled as she turned back around, placing it onto the counter. "Two dollars." She exclaimed as she pressed on the cash register. I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet. I reached into it and went through it, pulling out two dollar bills. "Here ya go.", I said nodding and smiling as I handed it to her. She shifted her gaze back to me with a smile, her short brown hair touching her shoulders, highlighted pink at the tips of the bottom. She grabbed the from the counter, tilting her head, her smile still glued to her face. "You don't look like one of those biker fellows."


She was right. I stood at a height of 6'2, I was somewhat muscular. My short brown hair covering my eyes, it was stuck to my face. I had just one tattoo, which was my name going up my wrist. I had a scar on my right cheek, from when I was stabbed. I let out another small laugh. "You don't look like one of those to work at Burger Shot, too pretty.", I replied. Her face lit up, biting her bottom lip. I tilted my head lightly as I let out a smile, leaning over the counter and running a gloved, wet hand through her hair once. "Would you like to go out some time?", I said. Her face lit up, a tint of curiousity in her expression. "Oh, you'd want to date me? Uhm..Yea sure, I'd love to!" I nodded, a smile still on my face. I took a napkin out of the container and a pen that was next to the cash register and wrote my number on it before tucking it into her pocket that was on the breast of her shirt. She eyed my hand as I did so, letting out the cutest laugh I've ever heard. "I'll see ya' around." "Oh, you will.", she replied, her expression turned from cute to mischievous and sexy, winking at me as I turned to walk out the door.


As I exited Burger Shot I unwrapped my burger, taking a big bite out of it. I walked back around to the parking lot and hopped on my bike, starting it once more. There were no cars to be seen, nobody around. Only me in the darkness of Liberty City. The rain still pounding upon the ground, everything within view seemed to shine and reflect from it. I pulled out of the parking lot, starting to my apartment. The wheels of my Hellfury splashing water up from the ground, the loud engine was the only sound to be heard within earshot.

After about 10 minutes I pulled up to my apartment on Yorktown Avenue in Steinway. I slowed down my speed, parking up next to the curb. I hopped off my bike and pulled the keys out of the ignition. I bent over, stretching, then leaning backwards, cracking my back once more. "Jesus Christ, I think I gotta do something with that f*cking seat." I turned around and kicked my bike on the back tire. "f*ck you." I exclaimed with a grunt. I turned back around and pushed open the glass door, eyeing the complex. "I really 'oughta move outta this sh*tty place." I lived in a brownstone apartment near the Steinway Beer Garden. I slowly paced over to the elevator, walking in.


I pressed the button numbered '12', living on the 12th floor. The elevator stopped with a jolt, the lights flickering as a 'ding' sound was made. The doors opened slowly, creeking as it did. I walked out, making a left down the hallway. While I was walking, I pulled my keys out of my pocket once more, shuffling through them. As soon as I reached my room, room 1237, I found the right key. I leaned in and shoved it in the keyhole. As I turned the key I heard it click. I withdrew the key and turned the doorknob.


The door swung open, hitting the wall with with a bang as I walked in. I turned around, grabbing the door and shutting it slowly before taking my vest off and throwing it over the television. As I locked the door, a gust of wind hit, making an incredibly loud howling sound. "Shut the f*ck up!" I yelled, walking over to my bed. I jumped onto it, sprawling myself all over my bed. I rolled over to face the small table next to my bed and grabbed the remote, pointing it at the television and pressing the 'on' button. It came on with a flash, lighting up the then dark room. I sighed, leaning my head back on the pillow. I kiced at my left foot with the right, the boot flying off, doing the same with the other. I lifted up my shirt and took the my Combat Pistol out of the waistband and put it on the table. I closed my eyes, swinging my arm back over my head and turning on the air conditioner. The room smelled fresh, I paid the prostitute who 'visited' me last night extra to clean up around here for me. She did better than I thought she would. I didn't even bother to pull down the covers on the bed, I just lay there, fully clothed as I drifted off to sleep. 'I'm not f*cking waking up tomorrow.', was my last thought, before I doze off.




I hope that was a good enough story, first time wow.gif

Edited by Katalix

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Oops, double post. Sorry!

Edited by Katalix

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Pegorino Crime Family



Chapter 41: Is this Liberty?


"Johnny my man! How are you old friend?" I asked when I got out the car.

"Hey Albert. I'm really happy to see you after all this time. Oh, I can see you've put on some weight." Johnny joked.

"You f*cking jerk, I was gonna say you looked exactly the same but now I don't." I laughed.

"Now when I'm out, let's celibrate. Why don't we go to Jaggy's Steakhouse?" Johhny asked while we got in the car.

"They closed 4 years ago..." I said.

"Dammit, I liked that place." Johnny said.

"Look if you want to get back on your feet and earn back some respect I might have a job for you." I said.

"I'm always open for that." Johnny said and smiled at me.


I had a quick flashback from back when Johnny Spaneglia just had been released from prison. I had him set up with money, a job in my crew and powerful connections. And for what? Not even a year after his release he brought down the entire family by ratting us out to the FBI. Right now he was under what they called witness protection. I wasn't even sure if he still lived in America. However, I knew I had to forget about all this; I lived a new life in Vice City now. No ties to the La Cosa Nostra what so ever. I wasn't completely clean from crime though. Together with Ruben and James I managed to set up a money laundering operation with the Russian mafia back in Liberty City. The Russians owned an online poker site name Top-Poker-Night.com. The Russians didn't pay any tax for the money they earned and needed a place to launder. Our newly opened club was the perfect place. Three times every month trucks loaded with money arrived from Liberty City to Vice City. We washed the money at our club and sent it back to Liberty by the time the next load reached us.


Right now I was at the docks area of Vice City. A new load had just come in. Dog Corella and Emanuel "Manny Contra" Contreras was helping the Russians unload the money from their truck. I was talking to Sasha Kevorkov, the Russian who managed the website and the money laundering business. Usually he lived in Hove Beach but last year he could finally afford a luxury vacation home here in Vice City. He was dressed in a purple dress shirt and black pants. He had dark hair with stripes of grey. I had never asked him about his age but I guessed him to be in his early fifties.


"So, how is business up north?" I asked Sasha while the guys continued with the loading.

"Believe it or not, better than ever." He said and lit a cigarette. "Why don't you come back up north? Your old family is falling apart; I think they could need your leadership up there right now." Sasha continued.

"I've told you already, my life is down here right now."

"And what about Johnny Spaneglia? Are you just gonna let him go?"

"I got no idea where he might be, he's under witness protection. There is no way I can get to him now." I explained.

"I got a guy, an FBI agent. I think you know him, he's name is Ceasar McNorton. If you want he can help you look for Johnny. I can call him some day and arrange a meeting." Sasha said.

"Albert, we're done with the loading." I could hear Dog Corella yell.


On our way back to the club I thought about Sasha's offer. After all Johnny was the one ratting out almost the entire family. I knew I could trust Agent McNorton, he was almost as corrupt as us wiseguys. Dog Corella, who was driving the truck, headed for Vice Beach, where the club was located. Dog loved Vice City and his new life. Being a nightclub owner wasn't very different from being a wiseguy in Dog's eyes. It was still about making as much money as possible. It was fun to see Dog in different clothes. Back home he always used to wear that some old track suit, here he wore a nice white and purple Hawaiian shirt. Working for me was also hitman Manny Contra. After his previous jobs in Liberty City, Ruben let him retire from the hitman work and work directly under me instead. Manny was dressed in a black leather jacket and sunglasses, even though it was in the middle of the night. Myself, I was dressed in a dark purple dress shirt with black stripes, black pants and black loafers.


"So what did Sasha have to say?" Dog asked while we closed in on the club.

"Apparently the business is better than ever, so we can count on a big share this month."

"And?" Dog said and looked at me. He could see that I was withholding information for him.

"He told me that he got an FBI Agent that can help us find the location of Johnny."

"Aw f*ck Albert. I thought you had put all that sh*t behind you. What did you tell him?" Dog asked.

"I haven't decided what to do yet." I told Dog as he parked to truck at the back of the club.


Inside the club the flow was good. The dance floor was smokin' and the line outside was like two miles long. In the wooden decorated office upstairs Ruben Gomez and James Thorne was sitting. We carried the money upstairs and put it into the safe. James was counting money from the bar while Ruben looked down at the dance floor. "Good month, eh?" James said while I kept loading the money into the safe. Before I was able to answer, someone called my cell phone. I looked at the screen and a text with "Sasha Kevorkov is calling" popped up.


"Yeah it's Albert?" I said once I had pressed the green answer button on my Whiz Wireless cell phone.

"Albert, it's Sasha. Listen, Agent McNorton wants to meet you, but it has to take place in Liberty City. Can you meet him at your old restaurant in Little Italy? Drusilla's or whatever it was called?" Sasha asked.

"Can't he come down here instead? I don't like to be seen in Liberty City, I got to many former friends there." I explained to Sasha.

"Sorry, but it got to be in Liberty City."

"Alright, tell him that I'll meet him over at Drusilla's by tomorrow afternoon." I said and hung up.




So here I was, on my way back to Liberty City, I thought that day would never come. The flight was going to land at Francis International Airport in about one hour. Before we went to the meeting at Drusilla's, Dog Corella and Manny Contra would go and collect a couple of guns from the local gun store to guarantee our security. You never knew what old friends you might run into in Little Italy.


Chapter 41 end.


Chapter 42 coming soon.


Damn it feels good to be back on track again!


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Can I join the Lost MC at their Clubhouse in Alderney?

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no one has fixed the bracketed totals, Colt and WTLC are still wrong, Jacky's wasn't added and mark-2007 wasn't updated, it took me ages to sort them out and I really don't want to be lumbered with always doing the mundane jobs while other staff rush to do the ratings, Colt is 29 btw and WTLC 7 you’ll have to check Jacky’s and just add a single story to Mark’s. and just to repeat myself again, if we update as we go it makes it easier for all of the staff not just you

Also I think if staff are planning to do a rating they should declare it in forum as more than one staff member can be logged in at once, there is nothing to stop two of us doing the same rating, and in that situation the thorough rating will always be redundant and the instant one sentence rating will always count, it just encourages as little effort as possible which isn’t fair on the writers.

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Review previous scene


user posted image

(Story #5)

Episode One, "Vicissitude", Part Five

It was a typical 1950s-style, Alderney, wood-and-brick home in Aspdin Drive. Joel and Slugger stood near the old fireplace that had been converted to electric without damaging its crumbling 1950's brickwork. The decor looked much as it did when Motelli's mother lived there. The curtains were the same, and around them, the time-worn faded-green drapes hung elegantly, fraying at their lace-like edges.


The modestly-sized living room was crowded, bustling, full of people and noise. They had come to pay their respects to Jimmy Pegorino, whose barely-smiling face stood six-foot tall at the kitchen-end of the room.


"Joel!" It was Big Lou, shouting across the crowded room from the entrance hall as he pressed through the crowd.


Joel turned toward Slugger on his right and rolled his eyes. "Here we go," he casually remarked. As Lou got within six feet, Joel put back on a smile and opened his arms in welcome. "Big Lou! How the f*ck are ya?"


"Did you f*ckin' put Paddy Kelly's nephew in intensive care?"


"What?!" Joel dropped his friendly pretence, his arms and his smile.


"Patrick Kelly's nephew is in intensive care, and his friends are fingering you and Slugger," Big Lou said, somewhat agitated.


"What the f*ck is with people these days?" Joel demanded as he turned, aggrieved at the insult's sting. He turned back to Lou and put a finger in his face. "Who the f*ck," he spat, "do these little f*cks think they are to be fingering anyone?" He turned and paced angrily, shouting, "C*ckroaches!", disturbing the room's gentle hub-bub.


"I think you're missing the big picture here, Joel," Big Lou offered through gritted teeth. "That was a Kelly. You know how these f*ckin' paddies are with their blood."


"Ah, what the f*ck. What are they gonna do?" Joel retorted, pacing and flinging his arms dismissively. "I don't give a f*ck about no paddies. F*ck 'em."


"This could bring some serious sh!t down on us," Lou said quietly. "We aint in no position to take on the Pavanos, Ancelottis AND the Irish."


"Gentlemen, Gentlemen," came a voice a few feet away. A black-haired gentleman with thick black eyebrows approached, his arms open, his hands landing gently on Big Lou and Joel's shoulders. While he directed his words at the two men, clearly the whole room was his intended audience. "What's all the commotion? We're here to honour Jimmy's memory."


Now within close quarters, Sammy wrenched Lou and Joel closer, whispering emphatically to both of them. "What the f*ck! Tell me you c*cksuckers aren't trying to broadcast our business to the Mayor. Huh?


"Gino's got the Chief of D's over there, who, I might add, IS Irish, and you want to try and explain to him that he didn't just hear a crime spelled out for him?"


Both men calmed, the huddle broke up, and Sammy, restoring his smooth, jocular persona, moved to greet a woman in the crowded room. Joel shrugged at Big Lou. "I'm sorry, Lou, but I don't give a f*ck. Go ahead, raise it tonight," he shrugged, referring to the Family meeting. "I know you will.


"But it's nothing. A blip."


"Gino may tolerate this sh!t, Joel, but the Don would never...-"


Joel's face lit-up with mocking glee. "The Don?! You gotta be kidding me," he said, looking to Slugger to share the joke. "F*ck the Don. He's worm-food, Lou."


"Watch your tongue, Joel!" Lou growled threateningly, taking a step forward to tower over Joel, and press his finger into Joel's sternum. Slugger tensed like a coiled spring.


Joel studied the situation for a moment, his face betraying his astonishment that something had gotten the Lou riled. "Alright, Lou," he said soothingly, unable to hide a wide grin, "calm down. I mean nothing by it."


Lou took a step back and regained his composure. Joel straightened his shirt. Slugger uncoiled. "You sure take the old man's legacy seriously, don't you, Lou?" Joel noted.


Lou paused a moment, reflecting. "You've no idea."


Four days earlier


The room swirled with smoke and the unmistakable odours of sweat, cash and adrenalin. At one end of the room, an old 70's-style home-made bar, replete with imitation-leather upholstery along its outer surfaces. At the other, a greying gentleman stood behind a makeshift wooden counter dispensing chips in exchange for cash, while a brick wall of a man, in black pants and a grey t-shirt, stood menacingly at the steel exit. In the middle, three tables, obscured by cigar smoke, half-filled glasses, and casino chips, were surrounded by numerous men alternately concentrating, joking, and talking about football, while Lola, sucking a bright red lollipop, circled about refreshing drinks.


To the right of the bar, a black door was opened on a dimly-lit inner sanctum, and Tommy "Blackjack" Valenti emerged to whisper to Lola, prompting a new round for the dimly-lit room's patrons. Blackjack took a measure of the room. Patrons happy; check. No trouble tonight; check. Four guys at the ready with baseball bats; check. He allowed himself a deep breath and a quiet sigh of satisfaction.


Rhythmic rapping at the metal door interrupted Blackjack's concentration. He tensed while Tony, the brick wall, opened the peephole, and then the door, for Monday-night regular, Joey Malone.


"Heya, boys!" Joey shouted to the far table as he exchanged a muddled pile of screwed-up twenties. "Get ready to rumble," he warned.


"Oh, great," lamented one of the half-dozen men around the table, "is it quitting time already?"


"Get ready to win some cash, and listen to some sparkling repartee, boys," quipped another. The table chuckled.


"Not tonight, guys," Malone warned. "Tonight, I'm on a winning streak." As the room groaned in unison, Blackjack permitted himself a slight grin before another rapping at the door caused him to tense once again. This time, it was Big Lou.


The room burst into cheers, greetings, "Salute"s, mostly without looking away from the activity on their tables.


"Big Lou," chimed one patron, "you gonna join us and let me win back some of my money?"


A round of chuckles circled the room. "Can't afford to give it to you, Dukey."


"Yeah, he's saving up for more bullets."


The room's laughter gained a nervous edge, as someone else added their quip. "He's saving up for a new suit," a slight pause for effect, "which comes with its own area code." The room laughed, but he wasn't done. "Seriously, Lou, tell me you're not getting shorter. 'Cuz the proportions are all wrong."


The room's laughter rapidly cooled into cautious chuckles as the tension rose. "Oh, this from a guy who leaves footprints in the concrete," Lou retorted. The room burst into raucous, slightly-relieved laughter and shouts of "he gotcha".


Blackjack approached the chips counter, quietly expressed his sorrow to Lou over Jimmy's very-recent, violent demise, and he and Lou embraced, slapping eachother heartily on the back.


"How we doin'?"


"Well, the violence has taken its toll," Blackjack admitted, sweeping his hand to point at empty chairs by tables, "but it's been pretty good."


"Hey, Lou," one of the patrons voiced over the quiet of the room, "sorry to hear about Jimmy."


"Yeah, Lou. Jimmy was good people. And that's some evil sh!t."


Lou turned and thanked them, as the rest of the room chimed in their condolences.


"So, are we down?" Lou bent down to look directly into Blackjack's eyes, registering his concern.


"No, Lou. It's tight," Blackjack said, grimacing slightly, "but we're okay." Blackjack signaled to the counterman, and a white envelope passed from behind the counter, to Blackjack, to Lou. Meanwhile, the room's conversation had turned from memorialising Jimmy to his predecessor.


"Now, Big Don Pegorino, there was a real nice guy."


"Didn't he return to the old country or something?" another added.


"I heard he was dead," another said, not looking up from his cards. A couple o' guys crossed themselves with hands still holding cigars.


"Nah, I think Phil's right. He retired to become a monk or somethin'" Laughter echoed around the room, but Eddie insisted that was what he'd heard.


Always ready to one-up the crowd, Joey Malone joined in. "Nah, I heard he's in some retirement home in Vice City," he said. The trickle of chuckles only emboldened him. "Pissing himself and droolin' in his soup."


"Oh!" the room echoed in chorus, accompanied by a few tense chuckles.


"You're f*ckin' ridin' the whirlwi...-"


Pat Wilson's words were instantly choked-off at the heavy cracking sound of wood against bone. For with lightning speed, Big Lou had collected a baseball bat from the counter, crossed the room and buried it in the back of the head of Joey Malone. Hard.


Joey's face smashed with speed into his whiskey, glass splintering and showering the table, as neat stacks of casino chips were shaken into disorderly piles like an earthquake-afflicted cityscape. The table's players scrambled from their seats.


The normally-affable Lou towered over Joey's groaning body like a predator over its prey, eyeing every man in the room as a potential threat. The room was dead silent.


"I'll take all manner of sh!t, on my person from you f*cks," Lou spat from between gritted teeth, "I'll take it, and I'll laugh."


Blood oozed from Joey's sliced and bloody face as Lou lifted it from the table and spat out his warning. "But, don't let me hear another f*ckin' guy say another f*ckin' thing about Don Peg'."


"F*ck, whatever you say, Lou," and "Okay, sure, Lou," patrons stammered quietly, reassuringly, while backing away from the table. Even those on other tables unnervedly watched Lou, deflecting their gaze if Lou looked their way. Barely conscious, Joey groaned and spat out a tooth.


"You f*cks couldn't rise to the level of his piss!" Lou slammed and Joey's face back down on the table for emphasis.


Lou approached Blackjack, speaking quietly but angrily. "Not another man will ever say another bad word about the Don in this place, you hear me?"


"Absolutely, Lou," Blackjack replied emphatically.


"That man was a Saint!" Lou shouted waving the bloodied bat at the room. No one moved; no one made a sound.


Wiping blood from his hand, Lou thought a moment. "Was Joey winning?"


Blackjack signalled to the table's dealer, who signalled an answer. "Nah, Lou, three large down."


"Already?" Adjusting his shirt, Lou provided a considered reply. "Reimburse him his money and get him to the hospital."


"Sure thing, Lou." As Lou walked out the reinforced door, two of the guys carried Joey, who merely groaned.


Present day


"Doc" Cirillo pulled the Sentinel to the curb at the busstop outside Gino's home. Mad Tony climbed in the back, and Leo, once securely in the front, door closed, gave quiet instructions to Doc. "We're heading for Mueri and Farnsworth, but we're gonna drive around for an hour, lose any tail. Head north along Aspdin, and turn toward town. Take your time.


"When we get there," Leo continued, "Tony, you'll get out with me, and you'll be on security for Jackie Martino. Doc, pull the car away and go park somewhere nearby. Wait for my call. They don't want an army of cars waiting out the front." Neither Doc nor Tony needed to ask about the precautions, not after the car bomb at the Cathedral, and, being newly purchased, the Recycling Plant was probably not yet secure enough to repel an attack, making subterfuge their best defence.


After a long silence in the car, Doc spoke. "How was it?"


"It was fine," Leo reflected, watching the street-scene change from nicely kept houses to wrecks and ruins opposite the campus. "Everyone said their nice words for Jimmy. Lou and Joel had a stand-up." Doc and Tony chuckled. Nothing new there, they thought.


"The whole night youse were in there, The Lost were across the street watchin' our every move," Tony added.


"Yeah, we saw 'em," Leo replied. "Gino's mother's house is just down the road from the Lost Clubhouse, if you can believe it," he added with a chuckle.


"We weren't worried?" Doc asked.


"I asked Big Lou that," Tony interjected. "He said, 'So many Family members turn up to a house just down the road from your clubhouse, who do you think was more worried? Us or them?'"


Leo laughed. "He's got a point."


For almost an hour, they alternately drove and parked around Alderney City, Tony turning around on the rear seat watching for suspicious cars behind them, Leo watching the late night traffic and streetlights dance along the window, before Leo gave the word to head for the Recycling Plant. Doc turned the car south onto Keneckie Avenue, but as they passed the dip in the road, Doc leaned forward staring at the bright orange glow in the night sky.


Before Leo could comment, a loud siren approached at speed from behind, forcing Doc to kerb the car. The firetruck screeched tires as it turned into Vitullo. Leo and Doc looked at eachother.


A light-change later, they turned into Vitullo, straining their necks to see through the building and brick wall obscuring their view, when a second firetruck passed them turning into Bear street, police waving them through. They stopped behind a long line of immobile cars turning into Bear Street, sirens echoing loudly and red flashing lights reflecting off the warehouse ahead of them accompanying the bright orange glow in the sky.


"We can't stop," Leo said, pointing Doc into the left lane. "I'm not gonna be late for the first meet."


Instead, Doc drove through the intersection, Leo blindly tapping the steering wheel and instructing him: "Slow! Slow, slow!" as he, Leo and Tony peered into the distance to identify the scene. Only Leo commented. "F*ck."


Doc was mystified, but Tony understood. "Was that Carlo Clemenza's place, Leo?"


"F*ck, uh, I dunno, I couldn't get a clear...- F*CK!" Leo was agitated. Doc didn't understand.


"Just about every weapon the Family has is in that place," Leo explained before screaming another loud expletive. As they reached Koresh Square, Leo directed Doc to head for Babbage Drive, but they soon found their passage blocked by police, and their view by firetrucks.


Rationality then overcame Leo. "Alright, Doc listen to me. Head for the new place.


"But, when you're done, I want you to come back this way and check out the fire. Find out if it's Carlo's building, the one above the walkway, above the nail salon, and find out if Carlo's penthouse has burned out. But, listen, you be f*ckin' discrete, hear? Park the car another block away."


"You got it, Leo."


Taking the long way around, via Roebuck, Doc pulled up outside the old roadside service building with the green, white and red flags, the new headquarters of the Family. Leo then Tony climbed from the Sentinel, and grimaced as they looked north toward the fiery orange glow still visible in the Alderney night sky.


I am genuinely interested in feedback. If you'd prefer not to clog the thread, feel free to PM instead.

This story earned $48, and the staff comment "It was really refreshing to see a Pegorino story actually taking place in Alderney. It’s very apparent that you are a careful proof-reader who takes pride in his work, you have excellent grammar and a certain style that is fast becoming an Aragond trademark."


View next scene

Edited by aragond

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I'm sorry that I've been inactive. My computer runs really slow when it starts up (I don't know why, it was excellent before), and I didn't have much time to write anyway. I'll try to be more active in the future. Anyway, I didn't see a post that said I was removed due to inactivity, unless I missed something, so here's my second chapter.


Chapter II: Whatever Comes...


I sat there at the table in Drusilla‘s, dressed in ash pants, with a turtleneck suit, and my double breasted jacket, eating a salad. I wasn’t too comfortable with eating at a restaurant where a mafia capo regularly hangs out. I was asked by Eduard, my associate, to meet him at the restaurant at 6:32 P.M, for some new information about the police informant I was meant to kill. I arrived early, as I didn’t know what was going to come up. I looked down at my watch. 6:15 P.M. It wouldn’t be too long.


I looked around the restaurant. There were a lot of people that were dressed sharply. I suspected that most of the people in the restaurant were members of the Pegorino Family, as capo Ray Boccino hangs out here a lot. I didn’t know if they would really approve of having a Russian gangster in their hangout, mostly because some of them were staring me, and looked as though they were prepared to shoot when I gave them any excuse to attack. Speaking of Russian gangsters, our own gang hasn’t been doing so well lately. With the police on our asses and plenty of lazy members, I’m probably better off stealing cars for some car garage.


I walked outside the restaurant after 13 minutes. I couldn’t believe it but I was starting to grow impatient, and that wasn’t like me. I guess I’d finally grown restless after 7 years of working for the Petrovic Crew. I hoped that Eduard would get there soon. After two more minutes, a black Rebla parked up at my location, and a Russian male with a small mustache, dressed in a cream sportcoat with carbon pants from Perseus, and also holding a cigarette, stepped out. This man was not Eduard, it was-


“Oleg, why are you and not Eduard standing right there?”


“Well, he told me to come to assist you in killing this informant.” He answered, taking a draw of his cigarette. “He didn’t tell you?”


“No he-” I remembered that I’ve never personally been on a job with Eduard. “Never mind.”


Two other men stepped out of the Rebla. Both of them were part of the crew. The first one had some scars on his face, and they were very noticeable. He also looked kind of old, at least in his sixties. The second looked much younger, and was free of scars. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and it was sure as hell hard to believe that this guy was capable of fighting anyone that deserved to be called “gangster”, let alone cop.


“Oh, Viktor, meet Boris Abelev and Pavel Gorbachov.” Oleg pointed to both of them.


“A pleasure.” Pavel’s voice trembled as he held his hand out.


I shook his hand, then I looked at Boris. He had a grim look on his scarred face. He also stared at the ground, apparently not paying any attention. I tried to ignore my curiosity as to what he’s been through, and instead turned to Oleg.


“Get in the car, and I’ll explain everything.” He said, and as he stepped into the driver’s seat, he started coughing as he took another draw of his cigarette.


“First time?” I asked, chuckling.


“f*ck off, you’ve never done it before.” He said, looking slightly embarrassed.


Once we were all in the Rebla, Oleg started the car up, and began to inform us of the police informant’s whereabouts.


“Alright, we’re going to the projects over in Northwood. You know where I’m talking about, Viktor.” Oleg said, throwing his cigarette out of the window. “We’ve got some heavy firepower in the back of the car.”


I wondered why we would need “heavy firepower” just to kill one police informant. Maybe the guy could handle himself. Nothing can ever be that easy, at least not in my experiences. As we drove through Star Junction, Oleg started up some conversation.


“So, Pavel and Boris, how long have you been working for Petrovic?” He asked, his eyes still on the road.


“Only six weeks, I haven‘t done too much yet.” Pavel said nervously.


“Eighteen years.” Boris said quietly, although I still managed to hear him.


“I’ve been here for seven.” I revealed to them. “And what about you, Oleg?”


“Four years of well pay.” He answered.


After 25 more minutes of driving, we arrived at the projects. I looked at the others, and I saw that Pavel looked kind of uneasy. He said that he’d only been working for Petrovic for six weeks, so I guessed that he hadn’t done anything like murder before. I thought that I should look out for him until he got used to this type of thing. As for the mission itself, I hoped that it would end with all four of us leaving this place.

Edited by Spank-head69

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Here's the second installment of my Pavano Family storyline. Hope you like it!




The Pavano Crime Family

2. New Faces


On his way over to Purgatory to meet Corrola, Vinny was pleasantly surprised to find the afternoon traffic to be relatively quiet. As he made his way over the East Borough Bridge in the Marbelle that had been marked with yellow spray paint, the other vehicles on the road wandered between lanes at a gentle pace in stark contrast with the agitated ferociousness of the rush hour drivers who’d occupy the roads a few hours later on Vinny’s trek back to Bohan. Street performers were dancing and singing to the gathered crowd of tourists outside of the Libertonian Museum, which, much to the latter’s dismay, had been closed for renovation. Travelling through the canyons of Algonquin, where the steep-sided walls were the towering skyscrapers and the deep valley was the surface upon which he drove, Vinny turned off of Nickel Street and onto Frankfort Avenue, heading south into Purgatory.


Joe Corrola’s place sat atop an Art Deco apartment block on Lorimar Street, dating to the ‘Roaring ‘20s’, the Mafia’s Golden Age. Corrola had initially owned only a half of the top floor but as he began to earn more and more in his line of work, he bought out his neighbour and now he resided in an enviable top floor apartment which gave a decent view of Star Junction’s high-rises. Vinny pulled into an alleyway alongside the building and, after notifying Joe to his presence, manoeuvred the Marbelle into a now open garage in the adjacent building.


Worn out from fixing cars all morning, Vinny decided against taking the stairs and instead called an elevator down and waited for it. The doors glided open and Vinny stepped out into a narrow hallways. Two doors faced him: the fire escape and the door to Joe’s apartment.


Vinny rapped his knuckles against the mahogany and called out, “Hey, it’s Vinny.”

“Door’s open, come on in,” came the reply.


A cloud of cigar smoke greeted his lungs as he entered the apartment. Joe Corrola sat at the kitchen table, cigar held between his thumb and forefinger. Sporting the usual three day stubble, his dark brown hair was combed back from his face and his equally deep brown eyes held Vinny in an analytical gaze. Sitting across from him was lean man with a long face upon which sat a large nose. Silvery stubble clung to his face, contrasting with his black hair and ending abruptly at a deep scar running vertically down his right cheek. His black hair was combed back much like Corrola’s was; seemingly a fashion statement in these circles.


“Hey Arty, this is the guy I was on about,” Corrola said to the man opposite and motioned towards Vinny. “Vinny de Luca, this is Arthur Zapulla. He’s a friend of mine.”

Vinny moved towards him and offered a hand, which was shook firmly. Arthur smiled and said, “Good to meet you finally.” His voice was typical Liberty City.

“Vinny’s the guy to get things done,” Joe said then, turning to me, continued, “hope you don’t mind Vinny, but I gave Arty here your number and email.”

“Not at all, thanks.”

“Yeah, I’m always in need of a guy to get things done efficiently,” Zapulla told Vinny. “Anyways, I hate to leave so soon, but I’ve got lunch with Mary to get to and I better leave now to beat the traffic.”


Quarter of an hour later, after Arthur had left and Joe had locked his apartment door behind him, the two men stood in the garage beside the building. Having retrieved the bags of heroin from within the tires and car door linings, Vinny and Joe were heading out to sell the drugs. Joe had his contacts in North Holland. This wasn’t the only area that the Pavanos sold to; in fact they had operations in every borough of the city and even some more low-key stuff across the West River in Alderney. Northern Algonquin, however, was their most profitable area and thus Corrola was placed in charge of supervising the heroin deals in the area.


“Hey, you drive,” Joe said and tossed the keys to Vinny. “My knee doesn’t feel so good. I think I must’ve pulled something.”

“Alright, where to?”

“Some place on Xenotime Street up in North Holland. The guy calls himself Playboy X, thinks he’s all that.”


Revving the engine up, Vinny waited for the electronically-operated garage door to wind all the way up before backing out and into the Liberty City sunlight on his way to North Holland.




So, a new face in that chapter, and a familiar one to you all is coming soon! Thanks for reading.


Also, for those wondering (not many), http://snapmap.wikigta.org/index.php?map=I...et=342,309]here is where I have in mind for Joe Corrola's apartment.

Edited by mark-2007

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can i be the spanish lords in the projects

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Colt M14
can i be the spanish lords in the projects

Already taken buddy. Choose another place in another gang please.

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It's so quiet! Where IS everybody?


(And, no, I'm not wondering about staff to rate the stories. I mean storytellers. Like is there some event I'm not aware of? Just asking.)

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Hi BUYGers. Wuirt, being the lovely chap he is, has made some BUYG pips to fit snugly alongside whatever sig you have.


user posted image





user posted image





Hope you like 'em. Feel free to put 'em in your sig. Also, BUYG staff, these can go in the first post.


If you do put one in your sig, don't forget to include a link to the topic by enclosing the image in a URL tag. Example,

[img=BUYG image]


Edited by mark-2007

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Hi BUYGers. Wuirt, being the lovely chap he is, has made some BUYG pips to fit snugly alongside whatever sig you have.


user posted image





user posted image





Hope you like 'em. Feel free to put 'em in your sig. Also, BUYG staff, these can go in the first post.


If you do put one in your sig, don't forget to include a link to the topic by enclosing the image in a URL tag. Example,

[img=BUYG image]


Wow well done man! They look great, especially the second one icon14.gif

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i'm gonna ask again. Can I join The Lost MC in clubhouse in Alderney?

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Can I join the Lost MC at their Clubhouse in Alderney?


i'm gonna ask again. Can I join The Lost MC in clubhouse in Alderney?

You may. Go for it!

Just post your first story for the Lost, and when the staff rate it, they'll also change the front page to reflect your location.

So, get posting. smile.gif

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Tycek as long as the property is available you can start writing ASAP. You don't have to wait for someone to say yes.

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Thanks. I didn't know that. Here's my first story about The Lost MC. I want to apologize for any mistakes that may appear in the story. English isn't my native language. Hope you like it



user posted image

The Lost MC chapter one: New Member


I was sitting by the bar and slowly sipping whisky on the rocks. The day rolled slowly as all cloudy and cold days. Alcohol also didn’t taste as good as always. AoD didn’t show up for some time. Everything sucked. I drank the drink up and left the clubhouse.

Jim Fitzgerald just did something by his motorbike.


“Hi, Jim” I said.


“Oh, hello Ralph” he answered rising his head.


“What are you doing?” I asked.


“I am adjusting the carburetor, because is “coughing” a little.”


“Can I help you with something?”


“No thanks. I almost finished anyway,” he answered and looked again in the engine.


Oh, well, there was nothing to do. Johnny and Billy went somewhere talking Brian with them. Jim was repairing the motorbike. I thought about going somewhere on my bike, so I came to the parking bay in front of our clubhouse and sat on my Zombie. I just wanted to start the engine when I saw Tommy Rafferty approaching the clubhouse. I knew him from my childhood. We were brought up on the same street, although I was playing with his older brother Kevin, who was also a member of Lost MC.


“How’s it going, Tommy?” I asked.


“Ralph, I have a question. How can I join the Lost?”


“You want to join? What for?”


“My brother is already riding with you. I would also want.”


“You must have a word with Billy. He will come back soon.”


“Cool,” he said and smiled.


“Let’s walk and talk,” I said and got off my bike.


We slowly moved to the Aspidin Dr. It was bad day for walking. All people whom we passed were bundled up with warm clothes and they were walking quickly to their homes. Cars had closed windshields and sunroofs. Everything was grey and dull. A late autumn looks terrible in Alderney. And winter will come soon, which is even worse.


“Why do you want to join the Lost?” I asked.


“Because my brother in the gang. In addition, I have nothing else to do. I don’t know my father, my mother is a crackhead. Can I do something else? What can I do? Tell me if you know. I barely finish high school. I can’t be a doctor or lawyer. I can be worker, drug dealer or/and gang member.”


I lowered my head, because I didn’t know what to tell him. Tommy, life sucks, wear a hat? So much, he knew without me. I tried to change the subject.


“You know that life in gang isn’t easier?”


“I know, but it is better than apathy. Better than sitting and staring at shabby-looking walls of the cheap flat in Acter, right?”


“Right. You’re completely right.”


We turned on Aspidin Dr. and we went to the south. Bigger street means bigger traffic. More cars and more people on sidewalks, but like everything in southern Alderney they were poor and dirty. Workers coming back from work to their homes, beggars trying to rip every dollar from the working class and hookers trying to earn a dollar by selling last thing they still had. We lived in such reality. Sometimes when I was looking at highlighted Algonquin skyscrapers, I was furious. The reason of my fury was simple: Because I can’t live in big penthouse and spit on bypassing people’s head, because I can’t sit in the nightclubs, get laid and write about this on the blog, because I don’t have expensive car and clothes that cost few thousand dollars. Because I was born in worker’s family in Acter, because my father died during outburst in the refinery and my mother run with some white trash leaving me on the street. That’s why.


We did a circle around Lee Rd and Vitullo Ave. and we came back to the clubhouse. Johnny’s, Billy’s and Brian’s motorbikes were standing in front of the building.


“C’mon. I’ll enter with you,” I said and we walked up the stairs to the meeting with Billy, who was president of our club. He was sitting by the bar and drinking whisky straight from the bottle. You could tell he is satisfied. He put the bottle and he looked at us.


“What’s up?” he asked.


“Tommy. This is your turn,” I said and took few steps back.


“I would like to join your gang,” Tommy threw point-blank.


“This isn’t gang for pussies. Go home, sonny,” he said, laughed and came back to his bottle.


Tommy lowered his head and it became clear to me that he is losing ground. I tried to defend him.


“Maybe you should give him a chance?”


Billy jumped down off the stool and came to me. His breath could bring the elephant down and his eyes were almost burning.


“Do you have something to say Randolph? Maybe you want to join him? You can start some pussy gang. How about that?”


“You could give him a chance at last. If he proves false, we simply won’t accept him, I said.


Next thing I felt was reliable blow to the face after which I ended on the tabletop.


“I’m the leader here and I’m establishing the principles. Do you understand Randolph? I, not you, not Johnny or anyone else,” he screamed, drew a gun and stick it to my head. "I am establishing principles. Do you understand?”


I was waiting for the shot. Billy was a terribly impetuous madman. If he didn't like something he simply was destroying it, smashing it up or killing it. I knew that it could be mine last minute. And all this happened, because I stood in Tommy’s defence. I heard a loud slam. It wasn’t shot fortunately, it was Johnny who opened the door wide open.


"What is going on round here for f*ck’s sake?" It was Johnny Klebitz – vice president

of the gang. "Are you completely f*cked up? Why do you want to kill Randolph. Give the gun back."


He came to Billy, tore the weapon out from his hand and threw it on the floor. Then he took Billy from me and picked me up from the tabletop.


"What are you doing?" Johnny shouted.


"Are you also questioning my orders Jonathan? Are you questioning my leadership?"


"No, but I want to know what's the problem?"


Tommy being silent so far spoke.


"I wanted to join your gang. Billy refused, and Ralph stopped in my defence. He asked whether Billy could give me the chance. Then Billy attacked Ralph."


Klebitz looked at me, and I nodded. Then he looked on Billy and said sharply.


"We are giving the chance to everyone, because this is the law of The Lost. If he won’t pass the test, he will get back home and there will be a peace. If he will pass the test he will become a member of the brotherhood. We are at war with A.O.D Do you remember about it? Every member is worth his weight in gold."


"Jonathan do you want to take over my role? Do you want to become the president of the gang?"


"No William, I don't have such an intention. I only want you to treat everyone fairly. If there is such c*nt in the gang as Brian why Tommy could not be in it. We accepted his brother."


"You are becoming soft Jonathan, one day you will pay for it. You will see. Let give this pussy a chance. Maybe a driving test? Let him defeat Jim at the motorcycling. If will reach the finish first, he will be in the gang."


"Okay" Tommy said. "Now?"


"Right away" Billy said and he came back to his bottle.


Klebitz shook his head and he left the clubhouse. I went to the bathroom to wash blood running down my chin. The race was supposed to be held along Berners, Schneider, Babbage, Odhner, Hardtrack, Lee and Aspidin streets. On the start line in front of the club stood two motorbikes. Two Zombies. Jim’s black and gray and Tommy’s pitch-black. Billy gave the sign and two steel steeds moved around Acter streets. They went almost neck and neck, but Jim slowly came out for the lead. His motorbike was really fast despite the age and the technical condition. Jim did something around it almost every day all the time adjusting something. Jim would win this race easily if some drunk bastard haven’t rode his Biff on Babbage Drive. Jim jumped out around Schneider Ave with the high speed and he would overtake the dumper truck with no problems if it wouldn’t drove from curb to curb. Jim felt the strong blow in the rear wheel and in the next second, he was on asphalt. His motorbike was lying a few meters from him. A truck driver didn't even stop. After a few seconds Tommy reached the place where Jim was lying. He stopped the motorbike and he jumped down from it.


"Are you alive?" Tommy asked


"Yes, ouch, my ribs. They are broken probably. I don't know if I can stand up."


"Try, I will help you." He said and he caught Jim most gently how he could.


"Damn, this hurts a lot. The hospital is here at the corner. Perhaps I will try approach it, but you must help me."


They reached North Tudor Med Center after a while. X-ray showed two broken ribs on the left side.


"You will have to stay at the hospital." Doctor said. "We rang your wife. She is already going here."


Only Tommy reached to the finish and when he stopped his motorbike everyone leaped at him questioning what happened and where is Jim. Tommy explained everything exactly and accurately, and the part of members of the brotherhood decided to go to the hospital to meet wounded companion. I came to Tommy and said:


"You are a member of the Lost, what do you say?" I asked.


"I didn’t want to win in this way, but it happened." He explained.


"Not your fault, simple accident."


"Good work brother." Tommy heard the voice and he turned around. His elder brother was standing behind him and smiling.

"Good work. We must drink to that."


They entered clubhouse, and I stayed outside looking at highlighted Algonquin tower blocks.


"Well, maybe it’s good that I was born in Acter" I thought and I went behind them.








Edited by Tycek

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I'm working on a story latter today. Expect it by the end of today.

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*first post*

hi can i come in ya gang



Edited by Xcommunicated

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hi can i come in ya gang

If I may offer one piece of advice, I would strongly advise you not to quote the entire first post of BUYG when asking to join. It's not necessary to do, and it kinda annoys the staff you're asking (or has done in the past).


Edit: @xcommunicated: thank you!


That said, the way to join BUYG is to look at the second post in the thread, choose an empty gang location (preferrably one that someone hasn't written for in the past couple of pages, too) and write-n-post your first story for that gang and location.

Staff will update the front-page when they rate your story. Which will probably be soon. rolleyes.gif


But, really, about the big-long-quote, lose it. It's just taking up space and bytes.


@MrCtothaJ: You don't need to announce things like that except when we haven't heard from you for a couple of weeks and you don't want staff to remove you from the list for inactivity. But, look forward to next story.


@Tycek: thanks for the change to quoted text rather than dashes for dialogue.

Edited by aragond

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I wrote a story a few posts back, and I still haven't been written down on the list as 'in'. Can I continue to write stories or am I not 'accepted'?

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I wrote a story a few posts back, and I still haven't been written down on the list as 'in'. Can I continue to write stories or am I not 'accepted'?

You are allowed to write how many stories you want before the next rating.

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Colt M14

Can I get my count changed to the right thing? Thanks. I'm not going to have any real main character. This story will be in 3rd person.


user posted image


Chapter 1


Michael DeCruz, Or Mikey, strolled casually down the gassy Bohan street. The usual people, offering items from their stores, drug addicts buying coke off of dirty dealers. The name Spanish Lords rang through his head. He had attempted to get affiliated with them. They had viciously rejected. Anger surged through his head. A Spanish Lord was walking the opposite way. Mikey shoved him into a wall. "The f*ck, Puto?" The man dressed in red and yellow

yelled back. He clenched his fist tightly.


Mikey swung at him, cracking him across the face. Blood flickered over the concrete path. The Lord slipped out a cheap pistol from his waistline. Reloading it, he jammed it into Mikey's face. "f*ckin' touch me again, And tu a dead Puto." The Lord hissed through his teeth.


Mikey's response, "f*ck. You." The curse echoed though his head. The Lord pulled the trigger slowly. Mikey swung his hand out swiftly, knocking the gun out of his face. The bullet flew into the crowded street. The Lord slapped his face as the bullet flew over and hit a Police cruiser.


"For f*cks sake!" He screamed, sprinting down the street. The Cop swung his door open, a pistol in hand. Mikey casually brushed his track jacket down and spat on the ground. With a quick sigh of relief, he hailed a Taxi.


The Yellow car rolled slowly to the curb. Mikey opened the back door and slid in. "Jerkov's Bar. And step on it Puta," He ordered to the Driver.


"Whatever." He mumbled. Mikey heard the quiet slip of 'Jackass' but had his mind on more important things.


Jose Ortiz slammed a clip into his pistol. He flicked the trigger a few times, hitting each target. The dirty old rusty cans fell off the concrete wall. "Bullseye, Holmes. Beat that Ey." He cracked to his counter-part.


"Ah f*ck tu, Cabrone." The other man replied, clearly joking.


"Comon' Sonny." Jose said laughing. Sonny flashed his middle finger and snatched the gun.


He grabbed the spare clip and loaded it. Pulling the trigger a few times, the bullets flew everywhere. A few in the side of a building, another few into a line of drying clothes and the last into the yellow car fitted with scarlet rims.


"My f*ckin' ride, tu f*ckin' Cabrone!" Jose screamed out, running over to check his vehicle. He swung his arms around the side, "Tu gunna pay for all this shi' Puta." He snarled angrily at the close-by Sonny. Sonny, again, flicked his middle finger up and walked inside.


Jose walked around the car, checking out the damage. His ringtone started buzzing. He scrounged in his pocket and slid out his Whiz Wireless. "Que Pasa?" He mumbled slowly into his phone. "Wait, who?" He added. "The f*ck? Get to the Barrio now Vato." He yelled, slamming the phone onto the hood of his car. "f*ck!" He yelled again. Sonny rushed out into the yard.


"The f*ck tu screamin' 'bout, Vato?" Sonny asked, jogging up to the car. Beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead. He wiped his hand across his face, wiping the sweat off.


"One thing, Get in f*ckin' shape tu fat Puto. Two, those f*ckin' MOB are playin' with out barrio." Jose snarled back. Sonny, with his jiggling beer gut, ran around to the passenger side of the car.


Mikey cracked his knuckles violently. Sliding his jacket off, he went into a boxers pose, his hands covering his face. The black gangsta took a swing at Mikey. His fist flew past Mikeys face. Mikey grabbed the black guys wrist, twisted it around and knee'd him in the face. Carlos, Mikey's friend, jogged up to him. "The f*ck tu doin' to that Puto?" He asked, swinging his arms in the air.


"The Cabrone called me a Chongo." Mikey swung his knee up again, cracking the black mans jaw. Mikey let him go, to where he fell to the ground. They both spat on the man, struggling to get up.


"So Mikey, How was tu trip down Bohan Projects Ey?" Carlos asked nervously. They had

both wanted to join.


"f*ckin' sh*t if tu ask me ey, But tu get used to it." Mikey said, strolling past a mechanics store. Carlos stayed silent as they both walked over to their apartment, walked in and made themselves comfortable. "We need to make 'em think that some ese is attacking their Barrio ey. Then we, the new guys, come in and f*ck those Cabrones up. How 'bout it Holmes?" Mikey explained. Carlos shrugged slightly. "You're no f*ckin' help." Mikey said, scooping up his keys.


A random black guy had a pocket full of bills, and a pistol in his hand. He was paid to roll in there, bust some of those Chongos, and let the two guys that paid him, chase him off. Little did he know, Mikey planned to kill him. He loaded a round into the gun and sprinted out into the crowded area. He spread ammo into the crowd, bodies falling one by one. A yellow car skid around the corner, two Mexican guys climbed out, slid pistols from their Jackets. Mikey jogged around the corner of a building, bullets flicking off the street.


Jose and Sonny pulled up exactly at the right moment. Mikey rolled from his cover, loaded a clip into the decoy and blew the smoke off the end of his gun. Sonny jogged slowly over to the dead decoy. "Shi' Holmes, tu f*ckin' popped that Puto." He yelled out, swinging his left arm in the air. "The Cabrone didn't stand a chance." He added on the end, smiling.


Mikey strolled up to the two, grimaced and holstered his pistol down his belt line. "Nice shootin' Holmes." Jose nodded slowly. He crouched down, took the planted money and shoved it into his own pocket. "Ever though of joinin' the Lords? We could use some good shootin' like yours." Jose pulled a piece of scrunched up paper from his jeans pocket. He handed it to Mikey. "Call me if tu wanna work for us Holmes." Mikey nodded slowly, still looking at the paper. They were one step closer.




Any feedback would be nice, Thanks for reading.

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I'll sort out the bracketed numbers tomorrow and if no one has rated by the time I do, I'll do those as well.


Edit: done bracketed number counts, not done ratings yet, feel free to do them if you want otherwise I'll do in a bit


Edit2: I've done up to and including mark-2007 chapter 2, but I am having a break so if another staff member logs in, only rate after that point please


edit3:I've done a draft rating for all of the stories but I want to take another break, so please no one log in and post a rating now that will render my effort worthless.

Edited by vinnygorgeous

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Build Up Your Gang

Katalix, Angels of Death, Navy Yard

Chapter one

A diligently described day in the life, with ample detail you could picture everything in real-time. I especially liked using a prostitute as an ad hoc maid. You did use a Bobcat, a vehicle that your gang doesn’t own, as its your first story, I will let you off with a warning but next time you will be docked money.



Rucke, Pegorino Crime Family, Drusilla’s

Chapter forty-one

The rebirth of your old characters was always going to be a safe bet and I’m sure many regular readers will greet your return to familiar ground with bated breath. Another good effort from a prolific writer.



Aragond, Pegorino Crime Family, Recycling Plant.

Chapter five

It was really refreshing to see a Pegorino story actually taking place in Alderney. It’s very apparent that you are a careful proof-reader who takes pride in his work, you have excellent grammar and a certain style that is fast becoming an Aragond trademark.

$48 + multiple of five $100 = $148


Spank-head69, Petrovic bratva, Kenny Petrovic Mansion

Chapter two

Always spell out numbers, including times and use … to signify a pause or a sentence breaking off. A comma would have been more appropriate than a full stop in some places but aside from these minor technical points it was a decent story, undoubtedly setting up a more action filled upcoming chapter.



mark-2007, Pavano Crime Family, Industrial Dock Yard

Chapter two

I’ve really enjoyed your first two chapters and you’ve instantly become one of my favourite writers. You did use a vehicle which your gang doesn’t own (Marbelle) and as you’re a founder of BUYGIV it’s hard to believe you didn’t know the rules so I will dock you $5, do it again and it will be more.

I know it’s not that relevant but for future reference the golden age of the mafia was not the 20s, it was only formed as such in 1931 and hit its prime in the 50s.

$48 - $5 = $43 + multiple of five $100 = $143


Tycek, Lost MC, Clubhouse

Chapter one

The fact that English isn’t your first language did unfortunately show and there were many errors which are easily apparent to a native English speaker, however I did find there were less errors in the second half. I should probably add though that I couldn’t write in another language and what I really enjoyed was a different cultural perspective lurking within the story which I found quite apt. I think as your English improves your stories will progress by leaps and bounds.



Colt M14, Spanish Lords, South Bohan Projects

Chapter one

A really enjoyable chapter that relative to the last rating I did for you (the redundant rating) was drastically better. It was well written and the dialogue seemed authentic, to me anyway but I am not Spanish, but very good indeed.

$48 + $100 multiple of five = $148


Rated by Vinny

Edited by Build Up Your Gang

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mark-2007, Pavano Crime Family, Industrial Dock Yard

Chapter two

I’ve really enjoyed your first two chapters and you’ve instantly become one of my favourite writers. You did use a vehicle which your gang doesn’t own (Marbelle) and as you’re a founder of BUYGIV it’s hard to believe you didn’t know the rules so I will dock you $5, do it again and it will be more.

I know it’s not that relevant but for future reference the golden age of the mafia was not the 20s, it was only formed as such in 1931 and hit its prime in the 50s.

$48 - $5 = $43 + multiple of five $100 = $143

Yeah, I was aware of the Marbelle. Should've asked to buy it but it was just a one-off for the story. I suppose I needn't have mentioned the name though, sorry.


And yeah, my bad about the 'Golden Age' bit - I should've put something like "harking back to the birthplace of the Mafia in Prohibition America" or something like that.


Also, for simplicity, could you not count my three Gambetti stories? It'd be easier on the staff's part with bracketed numbers. Just have it as a simple '2' and count from now. I'm not that arsed about my Gambetti stories being counted. You can detract the $100 for now and just give it back when I get my fifth Pavano story out.

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