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The quiet side of Hell...

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Before I get started, I'd just like to say that this isn't finished yet. I''m building a novel and this is the first of 8 chapters so far. It's a different perspective on my GTA Online character's life. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. :)



I awoke with a start, gun in hand, waving it mercilessly around my bedroom. It took me a second to realise it had happened again, another one of my nightly terrors. There wasn’t any danger, why would there be? I’m the most dangerous man in San Andreas. I put my gun down on the dresser, next to the clock, 3:42am it read. There was no point in going back to sleep, as I would only descend into the awful abyss of my dreamscape. I headed to the shower to wash away the rest of my fear. They never tell you of the horrors of being a criminal. To everyone else I’m just a bad motherf*cker who deserves to be in the ground. But I would welcome death. The money, flashy Richards Majestic apartment and the nice cars just mask my nightmares. Killing someone sticks with you forever. There’s no new leaves, every time you close your eyes you see them, you see their wives mourning, their kids missing daddy, and it gets to you…


I left the shower wrapped in a towel and donned my work clothes. Baseball tee, jeans, sneakers, I was ready. The past few weeks have been rough, so now I’ve had to slow down a bit. Take a break from those high-paying, high-risk jobs I used to always jump at doing. Now, I repossess cars. Hah, I know, a rich mass-murdering psycho towing cars for a living, not exactly the usual stereotype. I head out the door of my apartment, glancing cautiously behind me to check whether my demons have left me. It seems they had, for now. As I rode the elevator down to my garage I anxiously nipped at my fingernails, as it had become my new daily habit. The doors swung open and I was greeted by my ten beauties. My 10 glistening, shiny rides sat waiting idly for me, ready for me to take them for a spin. I had to think for a moment what to take. Thanks to my pal Lester I know exactly what’s going on at any given time in the Los Santos Police Department. Eight of my cars had APB’s on them. I knew it wasn’t worth risking it, and I headed out my garage door on foot. I couldn’t believe I was taking the bus today! The bus! What a loser I must be.


Premium Deluxe motorsport rolled into view from the buses window. The bus pulled up and I hopped off, my pistols trigger catching on my leg hair as I kept walking. It was bugging the sh*t out of me, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Don’t want to let anyone know that the 21 year old, hipster in denial was packing heat, not in this neighbourhood anyway. The dealer was just on the outskirts of downtown Los Santos, overshadowed by the FIB and IAA buildings. The most wanted man in America working in the shadows of two ruthless law enforcement agencies. How convenient.

I tried to sneak through the back door of the dealership but was caught by one of my colleagues. Ky, a slender rather tall man with a terrible taste in cars and the fastest wit you’ve ever seen.

“Hey man” I said as I knew I was discovered.

“Oh, hey Ezza.” He replied. Most co-workers like to talk about their lives but we generally don’t. There’s four of us usually in the group. We don’t talk much. In fact apart from the odd greeting and the occasional co-ordination while on a job, we don’t talk at all. Ky and I stood together as we watched Simeon work his magic with a buyer. You gotta give the man credit. While he may be some Armenian gangster who thinks he’s a saint, he’s hella good at selling cars. If there’s money in sight at the end of the deal, then Simeon becomes a mad man. He’ll pull the racism card on you, make you feel like you deserve exactly this, then rope you in on a five grand a month deal. I swear half the people in LS are fools anyway. Just as Simeon was about to shake this guy’s hand on a finance deal, we were all startled by insanely loud music coming from out back. A Yellow Overflod Entity XF pulled into the small servicing area behind the showroom, and out from this puke coloured beast emerged two other familiar faces. A short, muscular woman wearing a smoking monkey mask whom we call Turtle and a small pasty dude known as Robbie. We nod at each other in greeting and wait for Simeon. We didn’t have to wait long. Simeon stormed round the corner, angry at us, like every other Monday morning.


“Look what you have done! Scared away another business opportunity!” Simeon yelled at us, for about five minutes, lecturing us on his corrupted idea of capitalism, until I guess he decided he could have better things to do. So he gave us our first repo for the day. Two Hypercars, a Truffade Adder and a Pegassi Zentorno, were seized in a drug raid and were being kept at the impound yard. Now when I said we do repo’s, I use that term euphemistically, we’re more of a “I can make money selling these, bring them to me” kind of deal. So we headed off. Robbie and Turtle riding in the puke-mobile, and Ky and I taking his race-spec British Massacro. You’d think that a bunch of mass-murdering psychos would be discreet but, you know…


We pulled up to the impound, and without even talking to each other we knew what to do. Masks on, Turtle and Robbie got out and scaled the wall of the impound. I followed Turtle and gave cover with my pistol while she hotwired the Adder’s engine. Ky was doing the same for Robbie. We would’ve got out clean too if that cop hadn’t been respectful enough to take a phone call outside. His face dropped as he saw the undeniable sight. A bunch of freaks trying to steal two million dollar hypercars. He could’ve just left it there but he didn’t. I didn’t want to have to kill another, innocent person but it seemed there was no other option. He drew his gun and aimed it at Turtle. My instincts took over, and my finger pulled back on the trigger. The bullet made contact with the officer’s forehead and he fell to the ground, limp, dropping his gun and his phone. A tear rolled down my cheek as I realised what I had done. I had taken another good man’s life. I don’t know why, but I walked over to him, lying on the ground. “Mendoza” his badge read. But it wasn’t his nametag that got to me, but rather his phone. His iFruit 9iX sat there, and I could hear a confused voice from the other side. The words of this person on the other side sounded muffled and confused. I picked up the phone and put it to my ear. I could make out the words and the voice now, and it sent a chill down my spine that rocked me to my bones, “Daddy?!” “Daddy?!” was all that the little boy on the other side of the line said.

I dropped the phone and slowly backed away from the body, once I reached the others I grabbed my head in pain. I had killed another father, made another widow and destroyed another child’s future. I felt sick, and heaved over in pain. I stood up with a start at the sound of the Adder’s engine. I had to focus again, I couldn’t let the reality of what I’ve just done impair my judgement. I hit the impound gate switch and waited for it to open. Turtle and Robbie took the cars and floored them out of the gates. Turtle tossed me her keys to her own hypercar, the puke-mobile Entity, as she drove off. I got in her car and started the engine. Usually I’d orgasm to the purr of this baby, but today I couldn’t even bring myself to a smile. Ky took off and signalled me to follow him. As I drove off I could hear the faintest of yells from another cop.


“Get an ambulance! Mendoza’s been hit! Mendoza’s been f*cking hit!”

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I’m not even going to pretend that I’m going to enjoy going through this, purely based on the fact you’re probably never going to return to this section. But I’ll go ahead anyway.
I work on STORY/STORY FORM. I’ll talk about your story, what I liked, what could do with improving, and then I’ll focus on the form, and how you come across as a writer.
So, we’ve got a character. A psychotic, gang-banging hipster who wakes up one day, terrified, but he’s unsure of what exactly. There’s not much here of a character—he comes off like a typical GTA stock character. He’s rich, he’s dangerous, and he owns ten cars. I’ll go ahead right now and tell you, do not write a novel based on GTA: Online. It’s a pointless endeavor that will not come to fruition. Your character barely comes across as a character as much as they do a GTA: Online character. A real character has wants, values, motivation, fears, and habits. There’s no story here beyond your stock character doing stock things.
You’re sticking too close to GTA: Online rules. Your friends don’t talk much? I can understand this is a hint to the fact you’re mostly mute, but really? It’s too obvious, and comes off shallow.
There’s no story here really. If I was you, I’d look inside you and think of something original to write. I’d like to see what you could come up with away from Grand Theft Auto.
The writing feels a little strange to me at times, like so:
I awoke with a start, gun in hand, waving it mercilessly around my bedroom. It took me a second to realise it had happened again, another one of my nightly terrors. There wasn’t any danger, why would there be? I’m the most dangerous man in San Andreas.


Each sentence here feels obtuse, and somewhat odd. I woke up. I realized it happened. There’s no danger. I’m the most dangerous man in San Andreas. Nobody would wake up thinking this, not even the most dangerous psychopaths.
“I put my gun down on the dresser, next to the clock, 3:42am it read.”



This line feels odd too. Something more like:

I eyed the clock as I placed my gun on the dresser. It read 3:42am.
The rest of the story appears to be very much shameless plugs of flashy cars, and a typical GTA: Online job. I might sound like a prick, and I’ll put my hands up, but honestly, there’s not much here in the way of a story. You gave it a try, but I’d prefer to see you write something else. If you want help in writing something greater than this, I'm only a private message away.
Edited by Ziggy455

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Cool, thanks for the advice.

It's only the first chapter so the character development is improved in the next few chapters. It's meant to be an insight into a man who kills for a living, but can't seem to deal with the fact that he's killed so many to get to where he is. A more, psychological based story. With the first chapter being a shameless, flashy intro into LS, it changes pace after this


He's falling into psychosis, and it becomes more and more apparent as the story progresses. Anyway, already being 8 chapters in, I don't wanna dump the project yet.


It's only my first major writing project (apart from work, I'm a lawyer, so I write a lot), more persuasive stuff, nothing too creative





Thanks for the advice.

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