Grand Theft Auto: The Saga of Sinners

[The Rocker]

 

 

 

Prologue: The Hand of Fate

 

It’s winter and fresh crisp snow is falling all around Liberty City as cars trek their way slowly to work. At this moment, approximately 06:15 AM on a fine Sunday morning, a lone gray Stallion is leaving Upstate Liberty, winding through the wide-lane roads. The driver is breathing difficultly, his warm breath misting up the windows, his gloved hands freezing on the steering wheel. He looks at his watch, grunts, and pushes down a little harder on the throttle. He only has fifteen minutes left to get all the way to Portland’s Red Light District.

 

Damned hard-targets, he thinks, and all at once the face of his last target appeared before his eyes. The Man in the Black Suit could smell his tainted breath, could almost see the fear in his eyes, could still hear the echoing of the gun’s bang.

 

Up ahead, the police have created a roadblock near to the Staunton Bridge. He stops in the line of cars, and waits for his turn. Is he worried? Not in the least. He has enough experience in the extermination business to know exactly what to do, and when to do it. A tubby police officer walks up to his car, and knocks on the window, and the Man in the Black Suit says, “Good morning, officer.”

 

“Mind if we quickly check your car, sir?” the officer asks.

 

The Man in the Black Suit smiles and opens his door, stepping out. “Of course, officer.”

 

The officer takes his flash light and starts inspecting the car, checking under the seats and between the creases in the seat, in the glove compartment, and the trunk. The Man in the Black Suit stands off to one side, smoking a Redwood, checking his watch periodically. Finally, the police officer searches him, and finds nothing out of the ordinary. The Man in the Black Suit smiles, shakes the police officer’s hand, and climbs back into his gray Stallion, speeding towards Staunton Island.

 

He dodges traffic, and finally comes to the Staunton-Portland Ferry. After parking his car in a nearby parking lot, he boards the Ferry. It takes a little long, but he has no problem waiting. Recalculations have already been made – if he misses him entering Marco’s Bistro, he can easily get him another way. All he has to do is stall the meeting. When the Ferry has finally landed in Portland, he begins walking towards Saint Mark’s.

 

As he nears, after perhaps half an hour, he is relaxed, smiling, and confident that his own personal revenge will be carried out. After picking up a pistol he stashed in Hepburn Heights behind the HEAD Radio Station building, he quickly hides in an alleyway and waits for Abramo Leone to walk past. He’s on his way to Marco’s Bistro to meet up with the portion of his family that now reside in Liberty City; he himself is from Sicily, the old country.

 

As Abramo walks past, and the Man in the Black Suit is safely in the shadows, he thinks: Now you die.

 

The bullet flies true, and hits Abramo Leone right in the ear. He disposes of the gun and walks on, hurrying. As he rounds the corner at the top of Saint Mark’s Hill, he looks out over the clear blue ocean, and thinks, Now... On to the real piece of meat! Oh, Alfonso, you betrayed me for the last time! You’re going to be sleeping with the fishes real soon...

 

He walks up the stairs to Marco’s Bistro, and sits down at one of the tables. He pulls out his stashed gun from behind a loose brick in the wall when nobody is looking, and then Alfonso comes out saying, “Welcome to the world-famous Marco’s Bis–”

 

As soon as he sees the Man in the Black Suit, he stops dead in his tracks, and after a mere moment breaks out into a sprint, running north-west down the road towards the Leone House. The Man in the Black Suit stands up, and walks slowly towards the house. Alfonso enters the house, and locks the doors and windows, climbing down to the basement. The Man in the Black Suit walks down the sand walkway, and shoots the door open. The bang echoes loudly, and immediately the sound of crying comes from the basement.

 

“I hope you don’t think it’s fine to tell your uncle about me, you two-timing bastard,” the Man in the Black Suit says. “You’re in this, too, you know. Whether you want to be one or not, you’re an assassin till the day you die.”

 

The sobs from the basement grow louder, and the Man in the Black Suit heads towards the source of the pitiful sounds.

 

“So I guess you chose today to die,” he says, and kicks down the basement door.

 

------------

 

Graphics made by Unrated69!

Signature graphic-link created by DSMTuner!

Thanks guys!

Edited August 14, 2011 by The Rocker

[Rhoda]

The first thing I noticed is the image leading the topic. I find the format interesting, and it certainly livens things up. If I may make one suggestion for future installments though, it's that you may want to reduce the size of your text. I feel like I'm reading a large-print Barbara Cartland book, which really detracts from the story. It's almost like I can't take it seriously. I'm not saying it's a bad introduction because it isn't at all, but I suggest you keep the font size to standard.

 

At the moment, I can't say much but I like how you take me back to the days of playing III. I hope you've got something special planned, because this particular canon (and fan-fiction in general actually) can dry up and become very boring very quickly.

[The Rocker]

Thanks for the comment, Craig. I changed the font size back to normal, and I'm busy working on Chapter 1. It's set to be a pretty huge fan-fic, bigger than even Decline of Liberty. I'll be sure not to let it get stale, though.

[blitz]

I like how this looks, it has a pretty good potential. There are few stories about GTA, so I'd like to see how this one goes.

[The Rocker]

Chapter 1: Bad News

 

Outside Warehouse 3 – Portland Docks, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 13:42 PM

 

Michael Leone is at his job at the Portland Docks, busy unloading boxes from a freighter ship that docked last week. He looks at the large clock over Warehouse 4, and sighs. There are still two hours left on his shift, and already he is craving a meal. All around him, the city breathes and he can hear cars rushing by as people start thinking of what they’re going to order at the local Pizza Shack. As he is entering the warehouse for the umpteenth time, the loudspeaker beside the clock sounds: “Leone, your sister called. She says it’s urgent, go home immediately.”

 

A momentary look of puzzlement crosses his face, and then he walks quickly towards the parking bay and gets into his Perennial and heads north.

 

Living Room, Leone House – Saint Marks, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 14:05 PM

 

Michael Leone walks into the living room, and his sister, Donatella, is crying loudly. Michael walks up to her, and sits down next to her on the sofa. She immediately turns to him, throwing her arms around him, hugging him tight against her. As he gently strokes her back, confused, she says, “He’s d-d-dead, Mike...”

 

She sobs even harder, and Mike asks, “Who?”

 

But her misdemeanor tells him everything he has to know: it’s Pops. He knows it is... Who else? Who else would she be crying so much about? Who else would she be mourning in this very house? Finally, she answers the question on his mind, “I came home an hour ago after work, and began preparing dinner, but there... There wasn’t enough... Uhm, I think it was pepper... Not sure... Well I went down to the b-basement, and... And he was sh-shot.”

 

Mike goes silent, his face blank. Donatella’s tears run down her face, and Michael wipes them away. Finally, he says, “Did you see anybody?”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, skeptical.

 

“No f*cking sh*t, Mike!” she yells. “I would have murdered the man!”

 

“Okay, I’m going to go down and take a look,” he says, and rubs her shoulder quickly and kisses her on the cheek. He stands up and crosses the threshold and enters the kitchen, heading towards the doorframe where the basement door was. It looks as if it were kicked down, he reckons.

 

Basement, Leone House – Saint Marks, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 14:13 PM

 

Mike descends the stairs slowly, and takes a whiff of the air. It smells of warm blood mingled with dry sandstone.

 

As he walks into the shadows, he hears the sounds of rats scurrying on the ground, and follows them. From behind the crates of stuff they don’t use anymore, he can hear two rats squeaking. He slowly walks over, and through the gloomy darkness he can see two rats on his father’s face, bonking the sh*t out of each other.

 

“Shoo! Get away you f*cking pests!” he says with a thick voice, and when they won’t move, he shouts at them to get lost. Finally, they move their little orgy to another location. He looks into his father’s face, those old wrinkles and his stern face, and sees the drying tears on his cheeks. He smiles and sheds a light tear.

 

“Pops, what did they do to you?” he asks himself and turns his face away.

 

Unable to take it anymore, he heads back up to the kitchen.

 

Kitchen, Leone House – Saint Marks, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 14:21 PM

 

As Mike enters the kitchen, Donatella looks at him, still crying. He feels for his sister, really. She and their father were very close, as close as two people could ever be. His heart breaks for her, but he realizes that this was a murder – there’s no way his father would have just died in the basement, he was hardly 50, had no illnesses and didn’t even smoke – and that he needed help to find out who did it. But where could be possibly begin?

 

“Mike... Are you okay?” Donatella asks.

He nods his head, and gives her a hug. “I’m going to see Uncle Abramo, that old man that’s visiting from Sicily. Where does he stay?”

 

“I-I don’t know... Somewhere up the road...”

 

He walks out of the kitchen and leaves the room. Donatella flops down on the couch and carries on crying, unable to hold in her grief any longer.

 

Frontyard, Leone House – Saint Marks, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 14:26 PM

 

Mike climbs in his perennial, and then thinks better of it. Climbing out, he takes a knife from the glove compartment and heads towards the street. He then heads due south towards a small townhouse that was leased to Abramo Leone, the head of the Leone Family back in Sicily. He knocks on the door, and the few people passing by look at him strangely. Finally, however, after about ten knocks on the door and a try on the doorknob, a male pedestrian walks up to him and says, “You looking for the guy that lives here?”

 

Mike raises his eyebrows suspiciously. “Yeah?”

 

“Well,” the man says. “He was murdered this morning just south of here, in the Red Light District, I think. The police were here and everything. The police were here and everything, searched the place, apparently he was a Mafioso, you know that?”

 

“Who the f*ck are you, anyway? God?” Mike asks, lashing out. “Get the hell outta here before I kick your brains all over this sidewalk!”

 

Goddamn idiot, he thinks. My uncle was no mobster.

 

He falls down to the curb and sits there, his head in his hands, confused as one man could ever be. The man who had spoken to him was walking away, glancing back at him with a disapproving look on his face – something like sympathy, something all true Leone’s hated.

 

“Hey! Didn’t I tell you to f*ck off?” he yells, attracting a lot of attention, but not caring.

 

The man walks away quickly, and Mike gets up off the sidewalk, dusting himself off. Looking around him, he realizes that he has nowhere to go for leads, except perhaps for the Red Light District, and find out what Uncle Abramo was doing there in the first place.

 

 

Main Lobby, Leone’s Gentleman’s Club – Red Light District, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 14:47 PM

 

As he steps into the lobby, Mike looks around and sees that his father’s gentleman’s club is quite the place to be. However, he had never set foot in the place before, seeing as he didn’t have much interest in living the life of a faker, a man dressed in a suit and tie, drinking scotch and talking about business. It just didn’t interest him.

 

“Good afternoon, sir,” an elderly man in a brown suit says. “How may I help you today?”

 

“Did you know who Abramo Leone was?” he asks, getting straight to the point. “He was murdered this morning, apparently. I tried his apartment and I found nothing.”

 

The elderly man crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you want to know?” he asks. “Are you family, or asking out of curiosity?”

 

Good, somebody with common sense, he thinks, but says, “He was my uncle, though I didn’t know him; he came from Sicily, sir. Now tell me, is he dead?”

 

The elderly man uncrosses his arms and takes off his hat. “Yes, young sir.”

 

I knew it, Mike thinks. I wonder who the hell is responsible...

 

Then, he asks what is on his mind, “Did he have any enemies who could have done this? Anybody at all that comes to mind? I believe the same person killed my father, and I need to know who did it. My sister’s a mess, you know.”

 

The elderly man shakes his head. “Of course not, we hardly spoke,” he says. “But I can help you get in touch with somebody who might know the perpetrator.”

 

A faint glimmer of hope appears in Mike’s world once again, and he grabs it with both hands.

 

“And who might that be?” he asks. “I’ll do anything to find out, sir.”

 

The elderly man takes him by the shoulder and looks around to see if anybody is close. When a young waiter has just left their immediate vicinity, he says, “Look, your father wasn’t on the straight and narrow, as you might already have known. He was running a prostitution business from here, but his business partner quit, and I suspect that’s why your uncle came here in the first place – to help him get back in the business. If you want to know who might have killed them, your best bet is to start with his business partner.”

 

“And where might I find him?” Mike asks.

 

“Try Chinatown, rumor has it he’s got something going on with the Triads, a Chinese criminal organization that docked in Liberty City just four months ago, dealing in weapons and prostitution. Try the Punk Noodles stand in the alleyway. Wu, the dealer, should know a little bit more than myself. Maybe he can point you in the direction of your father's old business partner.”

 

Mike walks away, looks back, and says, “Thanks.”

 

“If you come back alive, ask for Tony.”

 

Mike smiles, “Will do.”

Edited August 14, 2011 by The Rocker

[The Rocker]

Chapter 2: The Chinese Gamble

 

Alleyway – Chinatown, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 15:07 PM

 

Mike is walking down Chinatown casually, still in his work clothes (an overall and a Portland Freighter hard hat). As he enters the alley, he sees the Punk Noodles stand, and walks towards it, looking around. He notices that a large number of Triads are staring at him, most of them wondering what an American is doing in their territory, he guesses.

 

He walks up to the stand, and says, “Are you Wu?”

 

“Yes, and what’s it to you?” the Chinese man asks, suspicious. “You a cop?”

 

“No, I’m a Leone,” he says, and immediately regrets what he has just said. He doesn’t know if his father was on good terms with the Triads or not, but his regret is soon disposed of when the Chinese man starts laughing.

 

“A Leone? Good,” he says, and smiles and shows all his teeth. “What can I do for you, Mr. Leone?”

 

Mike sighs with relief. “Thank God, didn’t know if you guys were on my side or not,” he says. “My father and my uncle were murdered this morning, and I need to know who did it. I’m willing to pay for information. Name your price.”

 

Wu’s smile fades. “Well, Mr. Leone, it’s a shame to hear the terrible news about your family,” he says, and his face hardens at once. “But walking in here, and demanding information and flaunting your money around like a spoilt rich American brat just won’t do. I don’t know if this is how you do things in your society, but my people do not condone this.”

 

Mike’s confidence immediately drops. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Wu, but I’m desperate for revenge on the man who did this to my family, and I’m still in shock.”

 

Wu looks at him, giving him a look of contempt, scanning him for any sort of irregularities. Mike doesn’t know why he would need to do this, unless their unofficial and short-lived alliance has been cut short. Finally Wu sighs, and says, “Now, why did you come here of all places? What makes you think we have the information you are looking for?”

 

“Well, somebody told me my father’s old business partner was allied with you guys,” Mike says, and immediately notices he has begun to speak the common kid he is inside. “I mean with your organization, Mr. Wu.”

 

“Mr. Martinez?” he asks, skeptical. “So you’ve already jumped to conclusions?”

 

Mike turns around, his rage building up within him once again. “Listen you prick, I ain’t jumping to conclusions, I just want to talk to this Martinez guy, but if you’re going to be of no help, then fine! f*ck you and have a nice day!”

 

He turns to walk away and then a spark goes off in his head, and he turns back and says, “Sek si.”*

 

Just as he is about to walk away, he sees a bullet whiz past his shoulder, and he falls to the ground, crying in anguish. Looking up at the sky, he sees the faces of about fifteen Triads appear out of the blue sky, and he immediately draws upon his memory. Recounting his childhood, martial arts lessons his late mother made him take, and the tricks the boys in the playground used to draw upon in their schoolyard fights, searching for something.

 

His mind searches aimlessly. Finally, after one of the Triads points his gun at his face, ready to finish him off, his mind goes into over-drive and comes out with a glimmering jewel.

 

He spins on his back, despite the pain in his shoulder, and trips all of the Triads in quick succession, and then takes the gun from the ground, wipes it off, and points it at the Triad’s head. The Chinese criminal cowers in fear, his eyes wide and filled with horror.

 

“Go niang yang de!”** he shouts, and shoots the Triad in the same shoulder he was shot in, and then bursts out running at full speed, terrified of what he has just done.

 

And nobody follows him, thank God in Heaven above.

 

Main Lobby, Leone’s Gentleman’s Club – Red Light District, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 15:39 PM

 

Mike stumbles into his father’s old Gentleman’s Club, clutching at his shoulder. He had been running until he got into the Red Light District, and now his entire body was aching with pain, and blood was running down his whole side in a torrent. Tony, the man he had spoken to before, is standing by the entrance, and immediately rushes over to him.

 

“God! Kid, what in the name of Sweet Jesus happened to you?”

 

Mike grits his teeth, and grimaces against the pain, making out one word alone. “Triads...”

 

Tony’s jaw drops, and he immediately toughens himself up. “Come, kid. We’re going to Staunton Island, there’s somebody you have to meet.”

 

Mike shakes his head and sticks out his hand, gasping for air, “No thanks, you crazy cocksucker!” His head starts to spin, and he loses his balance. “If I meet one more person you suggest, I’ll die – and I’d stake my life earnings on that!”

 

“Just come with me, kid,” Tony says. “We’re going to see the Don.”

 

Mike passes out right then, and Tony exclaims.

 

“f*ck them Triads!”

 

The Don’s Apartment – Belleville Park, Staunton Island, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 16:23 PM

 

Across from Belleville Park lies a building in which the Don of the Liberty City Mafia resides. He once owned a place in Shoreside Vale, well away from Liberty City’s street gangs, but it was burnt down by one of the street gangs. Mike and Tony walk in, and two Mafioso search them for weapons, and then discard Mike’s pistol he took from the Triad, and allow them in.

 

Tony walks ahead, leading Mike towards the main office.

 

The Don opens the door, and Mike immediately sees that he is clad in a black suit with a bow-tie, a sign of distinction. Tony greets him. As soon as the Don sees Mike, however, he asks, “Jesus Christ, son! What in the world happened to you?”

 

Tony says, “He was jumped by the Triads while scouting for information.”

 

The Don walks over to his desk, and sits down, with his elbows on the table – a sign of worry. “And who are you, son?”

 

“Michael Leone,” he says. “My father was–”

 

“My God, son!” he says. “You’re Alfonso’s son? My man, Alfonso?”

 

Tony and Mike glance at each other.

 

My father, a Mafioso?

 

“Surprised? Don’t be. Your father was one of the good men, he’s in Heaven now, son, don’t you worry.” The Don takes a cigar from a box on his desk and lights it. “Care for a cigar, son?”

 

Mike shakes his head. “No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

 

“A clean thinker! I like that!” he says. “Now, why the Triads? What information could those scumbags have for you?”

 

“Sorry, sir,” he says, grunting. “But my arm hurts like a motherf*cker – excuse my language – so I think we should do this some other day.”

 

“No need, son,” the Don says. “Hey! Terry! Call Doctor Simmons, my friend here needs medical attention right away!”

 

The Don carries on, knowing that Terry is on it. He says, “Go on, son.”

 

Technically, his arm doesn’t even hurt that much anymore. He’s feeling sort of numb, like he is stuck in some different universe, but he goes on anyway. “Well... Uhm... My father’s old business partner, Mr. Martinez, recently joined the Triads.”

 

“Jeremy Martinez,” the Don says with understanding. “My old right-hand man... Even though he’s only half-Italian, on his mom’s side... That man knows no boundaries. So you think it was Jeremy who knocked your father?”

 

Pardon the expression, Mike thinks, but says, “Yes, I do.”

 

“I do, too, actually,” he says, resigned. “Well, son, you know what you have to do!”

 

“Kill Martinez?”

 

“God! No! Are you f*cking insane, son?” the Don nearly shouts. “Martinez is a professional! He’ll kill you quicker than you could say your name!”

 

Jokes on you, old man, he thinks. My full name is Michael Ricardo Alfonso-Alessandro Leone!

 

“Then what do I have to do, sir, if it’s not avenging my father’s death?”

 

The Don smiles. “Did it hurt when the Triads shot you?” he asks. Mike nods. “Now, do you think it’s right of them to shoot you?”

 

Mike shakes his head, and says, “I guess not.”

 

“Then you’ve got to go over there and show them some manners. You can drive, right son?” he asks, sitting back in his chair. Mike nods and laughs a little. “Grab my car in the parking lot out back and go whack one of them.”

 

Mike stands up and begins walking to the door, and the Don stops him. “What about your shoulder, son?”

 

“Doesn’t hurt too much, will get it checked out after I’m done in Chinatown.”

 

Mike then walks out, and the Don smiles.

 

Tony looks at him. “What now, Nick?”

 

“Nothing... It’s just... That kid’s gonna go far,” he says. “I think I may be looking at my new Caporegime, Tony...”

 

“Oh... Really, Nick?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

------------

 

* Eat sh*t!

** Son of a bitch!

Edited August 19, 2011 by The Rocker

[The Rocker]

Interlude [1]: The Beginning of Betrayal

 

Outside the Don’s Apartment – Belleville Park, Staunton Island, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 16:49 PM

 

Tony dials a number on his cellphone, and waits while it rings. Agitated, he proceeds to mumble curses, and finally somebody on the other end picks up. He sighs and says, “Gregory, we have a problem here.”

 

Confused: “What, Tony?”

 

“You remember Jeremy Martinez?” he asks, and Gregory makes a grunting noise of approval. “Well, I think he killed Abramo and Alfonso Leone, and now Alfonso’s kid, Michael, is on a mission for revenge. That kid’s gonna get the Family in big trouble!”

 

Gregory sighs. “Tony, Don Callisto knows what he’s doing,” he says. “If he knew his family was in for trouble, he would’ve put an end to the kid’s mission. Trust the Don, Tony.”

 

“Just listen to me for a minute, Gregory, for Christ’s sake!” he exclaims into the phone, and then hushes his voice, and continues. “Michael Leone is on his way to Chinatown as we speak, they nearly killed him just now, and he’s going back to get his ass killed and put the Family on the line!”

 

“So what do you plan to do? Betray Don Callisto?”

 

There is a moment of silence, until Tony says, “Of course not, Gregory. What does old Don Callisto Castrogiovanni care about some Leone punk? In fact, he’ll be glad if the kid is out of the picture.”

 

“Think carefully before you do anything rash, Tony,” says Gregory, and hangs up.

 

Gregory’s Mansion – Cedar Grove, Shoreside Vale, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 16:56 PM

 

“Who the f*ck was that?”

 

Gregory turns around and all the men in his living room, strapped with pieces and hard looks of suffering upon their faces, notice the lines of grievance in his every movement.

 

“Boys, Tony has gone to take care of Alfonso Leone’s son,” he says, and all the men immediately break out into uproar. “Hey! Hey! Shut the f*ck up, you guys! We can’t let this happen, if he does this, the entire Leone family back in Sicily will come down here and wage war on the Castrogiovanni Family. And then, before we know it, Liberty City will be in complete turmoil.”

 

“Leone has family in Sicily?”

 

“Yes you dimwit!” says Gregory. “His family is, in fact, one of the biggest families in Sicily, and one of the most powerful.”

 

“Then how come he didn’t just stay there? You know, stay out of Callisto’s family?”

 

“I don’t know, but there’s no time for trying to figure it out, we gotta go now if we wanna get to Michael Leone in time and stop Tony.”

 

All the men get up and start leaving, filing out of the room one-by-one, until the last one turns back and asks, “Where’s it going down?”

 

“Chinatown, Portland.”

 

“Oh f*ck!”

[The Rocker]

Chapter 3: The Chinese Gamble [iI]

 

Chinatown, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 17:28 PM

 

Mike walks quickly down the sidewalks of Chinatown, expecting to be shot at any moment now. However, nothing happens. They all look at him, they all have their guns drawn, they all look like they mean to kill him – but nothing happens. Finally, just to provoke them a little, Mike screams, “Wu, where the f*ck are you?”

 

From behind him comes a whisper: “Here, you snotty Italian brat.”

 

Mike wheels on his heels, and sees Wu leaning against the Don’s Admiral, grinning. He lights a cigarette and then pulls out an Uzi from his pocket and begins shooting out the Admiral’s tires. Mike’s mind reels for something to do, but yet again he is left thinking, without anything coming to him. Finally, he thinks, f*ck it!

 

He pulls out his Colt .45 from his pocket, that he had found in the glove compartment of the Banshee, and shoots Wu straight through the head.

 

All the Triads stare at him in shock, and then scream.

 

Chinatown, Portland, Liberty City - October 1949

Sunday – 17:35 PM

 

“There goes the alliance with the Triads!”

 

Tony quickly runs down the fire-escape of the building across from the alleyway, and jumps to the ground, and grabs Mike hard by the shoulder. He pulls him back, running, and then shoves him in the backseat of the Admiral and speeds away. Mike stares at him, once again reeling for some sanity.

 

Tony? he thinks, and then says it.

 

“You just did one of the dumbest things in Liberty City’s entire history!” he screams. “You just f*cked up our alliance with the Triads, you dumb little f*ck! Have you got any idea what you just set in motion this day? The Triads control the whole of China! If we f*ck with them, we’re dead. And guess what, Michael, you just f*cked with them!”

 

Mike yells, “Well, what the f*ck was I supposed to do? Don’t forget – you told me to do it! You told me to get revenge! They know where Martinez is! And they won’t tell me? If you guys had such a great alliance, then tell me this: why the f*ck is Jeremy Martinez joining them after killing my father and uncle? Murder isn’t allowed in alliances!”

 

“Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn before you question me!” Tony cries, still speeding south towards the ferry station. “This isn’t the Liberty City you’re used to! This morning, your uncle was on his way to Marco’s Bistro to speak with your father, the Don, myself, and numerous others in the Family. And why, you may ask? Because something’s about to go down.”

 

Mike rolls his eyes. “And what may that be?”

 

“We don’t know! And even if I knew, why would I tell you?” Tony says, and takes a corner at full speed, nearly tipping the car, but maintaining it. Just then, a black oceanic roars around the corner, and begins to tail them.

 

“JESUS CHRIST!”

 

“Amen,” mumbles Mike.

 

“What the f*ck was that, you brat?” yells Tony as he bursts onto the grounds of Portland Docks, sending workers scrambling. “You trying to get smart with me?”

 

"No, but just chill about the Triads, Mike says. "I'm sure the Don knows what he's doing."

 

"HE DOESN'T! AND NEITHER DO YOU!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.

 

“Listen, Tony,” he says. “What’s your f*cking problem? Why you so uptight and f*cked up all of a sudden? Somebody crap in your cornflakes?”

 

“Excuse me, okay, but I can’t let you join the family! I’m doing this for your own good!”

 

“Listen, Tony, I don’t give a flying f*ck about the mob!” says Mike, nearly yelling. “All I want is to avenge my father’s death, and set things straight!”

 

“The Don wants to make you his caporegime, if you hang around, he’ll do it, and then we’re both f*cked!”

 

“Why? What’s so bad about that?”

 

They dodge another corner, and Mike nearly goes flying out of the window, but Tony steadies him. “You don’t understand! Your father’s only wish was that you don’t join the mafia or get your hands dirty! He said you were a good kid!”

 

“Do I look like a good kid?” he asks. “My father hid half of his life away from me, looking back on everything, it seems like I hardly ever knew him! How would you feel if you found out your father was a mobster, and you never knew it? That he didn’t even care enough to tell you? Hurt! That’s how I feel, Tony. f*cking hurt.”

 

“I know, kid. But listen, you might not know this, but your father had a large family back in Sicily – a mob larger than even the Castrogiovanni Family, which is the one you’re now becoming a part of! If they find out you’re a part of the mob, we’ll all be killed. The Don don’t care, of course, he’s getting along in his years, and we’re all pushing for his son to take his place as Don, but Nick ain’t batting for that one! He's insane! Lost his marbles a few years ago, already, sure he's got a head for business, but for danger? He thinks this is a game! And he wants you to be Don! And none of us can dare to question him! He just don’t have his wits about him anymore, you gotta get that–”

 

“Shut up and listen to me for a change!” Mike yells. “I don’t care! I’m getting revenge whether you like it or not! So...”

 

Tony looks at him, and Mike pulls out his pistol from his pocket, and points it at Tony’s face.

 

“Kid, what the f*ck do you think you’re doing?”

 

“I’m putting things right,” he says. “I’m sorry, Tony, but you’ve just complicated things. I don’t know where I’m gonna go after this, but all I know is that I can’t have enemies. I’ve always been good with getting what I want. I’m getting it this time, too.”

 

“Kid, if you shoot me, you’re a dead man.”

 

“Not with the Don on my side,” Mike says, regretfully. "And I'm sure he's smarter than you think, but then again - he made you part of the family, so who knows, maybe you're right. I guess I'll have to see for myself."

 

Mike pulls the trigger, splashing Tony’s brains all over the window, a hole punched straight through the glass. The car skids to a halt, and Mike leaves the car, running down Hepburn Park towards the Red Light District, towards Saint Marks, towards his home, his sister, and his only chance to save her before the bomb drops.

 

As he crosses Saint Marks, heading up the road towards his house, the same road the killer used not even twelve hours before, he thinks:

 

Oh my god, what have I just done?