Concept Grand Theft Auto IV - Heavy Lies The Crown [CONCEPT]

[The Notorious MOB]

Nice missions there Al. At first the second mission seemed too little since it was essentially just a cutscene but when you read them both together, it's a clear set up for the next. From a story telling standpoint it makes sense of course, but if it were an actual game it would probably be a little wiser to figure out a way to make them parts of one and the same.

[Datalvarezguy]

2 hours ago, The Notorious MOB said:

Nice missions there Al. At first the second mission seemed too little since it was essentially just a cutscene but when you read them both together, it's a clear set up for the next. From a story telling standpoint it makes sense of course, but if it were an actual game it would probably be a little wiser to figure out a way to make them parts of one and the same.

Didn't dawn on me until now, I *could* had mixed them up as a same chapter, but it's a tad too late for that. Thanks for the feedback. Hopefully next time I can catch it.

[The Coconut Kid]

Oh my. Two missions in the space of a week? You're insatiable.

 

I'll weigh in on the mission length first. I prefer them as two. It's much easier for me to digest small missions as a reader. It also introduces a very key character without loads of gunplay overwhelming them.

 

Your writing style is really good. There's no bullsh*t. No messing around. Be wary of mixing up your tenses though. You're beginning in past tense and then moving to present tense. Try and stick with one so it looks like this:

 

Salvador isn't particularly nervous. But he still paces around the alleyway. as opposed to... Salvador wasn't particularly nervous. But he still paced around the alleyway.

 

It keeps us in the action.

 

Your character models are really good. Rafa, in particular, is excellent.

 

Now, this passage was brilliant:

 

On 3/28/2022 at 9:23 PM, Datalvarezguy said:

Not many people are fit to run a massive street gang, and in reality, there really isn't any one person that fits the description. Ever since the beginning, the Lords have been less of a gang and more of an ethnic collective of all walks of life. Starting out as little more than warring tribes in Couira City in the 30's and uniting in the 60's under the Puerto Rico, Colombian and all-around Latin rights group ideals.

 

 They formed tribes. Coronas, councils. They organized not as an individual, but as a group. 

Then the FIB and DOA came with RICO and drug distribution charges in the 70's and most of the Coronas ended up in jail. Ironically, this is where the big boom came for the Lords. Alderney State Correctional, Cottonmouth County, overcrowding at Earl-Marston Correctional Center in Carcer City.  Got so insane that the Lords went international. Madrid, Bogotá, Buenos Aires.

And of course, Liberty City.

 

I loved learning about The Lords. They were criminally neglected in the games and you're filling in some big gaps. You make it clear to us that they're a different kind of organisation. I'm invested now.

 

And the little pieces of history in this are gold. The McReary-Gambetti origins of the card game in the 80s. The status of Cerveza Heights. It's all great.

 

But if I could give you one piece of advice? Try and put some of these words into your character's mouths. This is easier said than done. Try it anyway! If it doesn't work out, just cut the dialogue. It's not obligatory.

  

On 3/28/2022 at 9:23 PM, Datalvarezguy said:

"Kenny Lee knew where the game was being held. Two of the players were his boys."

 

This made me think of one of my favourite books: Cogan's Trade. I can see Kenny being set up to be the fall guy. It seems very... convenient.

 

I'll have a read of the third mission and fire off some comments in a few days. Good work Al.

[Datalvarezguy]

3 hours ago, The Coconut Kid said:

This made me think of one of my favourite books: Cogan's Trade. I can see Kenny being set up to be the fall guy. It seems very... convenient.

Gonna start bottom to top this time. ACT 1's biggest inspiration was Killing Them Softly, the film adaptation of Cogan's Trade. The book itself is in my radar, but I haven't had the time to start the search proper. Specially since in a way, some of that tension is gone. I know more or less what happens, except that from what I've heard, Dillon actually has more than a single scene in the whole movie, which is nice, Dillon seems like a larger character in the film, it's a bit smart what they do with him regardless.
 

 

 

3 hours ago, The Coconut Kid said:

But if I could give you one piece of advice? Try and put some of these words into your character's mouths. This is easier said than done. Try it anyway! If it doesn't work out, just cut the dialogue. It's not obligatory.

There's gonna be more chapters with this, mostly because for the sake of the flow, having Sal or Mickey go on tangents about the places they're visiting can get old, fast. That said I have some side chapters planned that could incorporate them in some way, alongside the typical IV style character development hangouts have. Some ideas roaming in my head, references here and there to some HBO shows, if I like what I write, I'll gladly show it everyone.

 

3 hours ago, The Coconut Kid said:

Your character models are really good. Rafa, in particular, is excellent.

While the writing I can take credit for, at least partially, the models I have to say smt very important rn. I designed them, more or less, but the behind the scenes work, textures and modeling was done by @Jeansowatyand @donnits, who taught me how to do models of my own. I can do them *now* but y'know, there's not much else to make.
 

 

3 hours ago, The Coconut Kid said:

Be wary of mixing up your tenses though. You're beginning in past tense and then moving to present tense. Try and stick with one so it looks like this:

MOB asked before if English was my secondary language, and yes, it is. That, and the in/on debacle will haunt my head until the day I die. I'll try my best to keep them up properly.

Thanks for the feedback man, can't wait for the next message.
 

[Jeansowaty]

On 4/4/2022 at 7:55 PM, The Notorious MOB said:

Nice missions there Al. At first the second mission seemed too little since it was essentially just a cutscene but when you read them both together, it's a clear set up for the next. From a story telling standpoint it makes sense of course, but if it were an actual game it would probably be a little wiser to figure out a way to make them parts of one and the same.

I think the idea Al tried to convey here is that it's a chapter, but not a mission of its own. It's basically an extension of the first mission. Al is going a more fanficky route in his concept, interpolating friend hang outs and whatnot into the affair, whereas I for example keep things simpler and just describe the mission, as it's ultimately up to the player to decide what they wanna do.

[Datalvarezguy]

 

 

Took another day before the second message came. Different phone, same words.  Same trip from Fortside to Cerveza. All the same except for one thing.

The phone call.

It had happened as Sal was getting in his car. Only one word in the caller ID.

Laura

 

If it wasn't enough with all of his friends bugging him about his goddamn sister all week long, now she'd somehow found out his number. Again.

 

Sal tries putting on his best voice as he answers. "Hey."

 

There’s a long pause.

 

"Hey."

Silence. Awkward, awkward silence.

 

"So, I-" Laura sighs on the other line. "Okay, I'm just gonna cut straight to the chase. It's been a while since we saw each other and I wanna see you."

"Why?"

"Does there have to be a goddamn reason? We're family, we're supposed to be close, and I haven't seen you since-"
 

"Since New Year's Eve. Yeah. I know.  You're not the only one suddenly remembering that goddamn night."

"Chava, you almost killed a police officer."

 

"He hit Ernesto's car-"

"He apologized."

"After I beat the sh*t out of him."

 

"Yeah, after the man so fresh out of prison you could still smell the shower rape decided to assault ANOTHER police officer. Ay, por Dios. Will you go out with me for dinner later, or what?"

"Fine. FINE. Tonight. You still live on Colony Island, nena?"

 

"Yep-yep. Same spot. I'll see you later, I suppose? Think of a good place to eat out, maybe."

"Right."

"I have to go, I'll see you tonight."

"Of course."

Click.

 

And that had been it. 

 

Laura lived away from the neighborhood. Did ever since mom died and the old apartment was sold. First it was Broker, then Algonquin for a while, until rent became an issue, then finally settling down in Colony Island, which was close enough to her job to be affordable, and cheap and small enough to be actually soothing for her nerves.

Sal gets there sometime after 20.00. Parks the Chino in the big parking lot, next to Laura's block, reaching for his phone, working over his contacts and sending a text.

 

"come down"

-Sent, 20:01

 

Ring.

"Comin"

-Received, 20:03

 

And then the door to her apartment complex opens, and there she is.

Laura Morales

 

Laura enters the Chino.

 

"Oye! You really are still proud of this junker, aren't you?"

"You start judging my sh*t, I'm driving this junker – as you so eloquenly f*cking put it – into the river."

 

"Glad to see you haven't changed a bit."

And so it begins. Sal steps on the pedal and the car is soon back on the road.

"I've been thinking for hours about how to start this conversation."

"I'm not that hard to talk to." Sal mutters.

 

She scoffs back. "No, mamao, it's not that. It's the fact you're… you. And I don't go around doing the sh*t you and your corillo do no more. We're on different wavelengths."

 

"You never did nothing, what are you talking about?"

"Oh c'mon, like I never broke no rules a bit when I was with Alfonso. How is he these days?"

 

"Oh y'know. Y'kno-"

"No. I don't know, be more specific."

 

"I dunno if it's safe to talk about it."

 

"What, you think someone bugged your car? Yes Sal, the FIB is listening right as we speak, half of your guys are already wearing wires!"

 

"Oh f*ck you. Y'know what I mean. I don't want to get you involved."

 

"I'm askin' 'bout my ex, not about who y'all killed today. How is he?"

"Fine. Been doing stuff together right now."

 

She just smiles at him. Looks at the streets as they get into Algonquin. "I'm glad," she says. "Tell him I said hi. That's gonna make his day. Oh, Sal, it's nice, being together again. Been too long." 

 

She changes the station, and what does it have to play?

f*cking Weazel news.

"...Thirteen dead after a botched robbery in Cerveza Heights! The authorities have confirmed that many of the deceased have alleged ties to the Liberty City Triads."

"¡Me caso en tó!" Sal tries to change the station, only for Laura to shush his hand away.

"No, no. I wanna hear this."

"…But authorities say many of the bodies were not able to be identified, being burnt beyond recognition. The most notable suspects for this act of criminal terror, according to authorities, are members of the Spanish Lords street gang. Police say this threat to public safety is not to be taken lightly. Attending a Korean barbecue - except instead of Korean, it’s Chinese, and the meat is not for consumption - I’m Mike Whitley, and this is WEAZEL NEWS!"

 

Salvador says nothing, just shuts off the radio. Nothing but the sound of the engine and the streets around him.

"Jesús, María y José." She looks at Sal, worried. "That you, huh? That’s this sh*t with Alfonso."

Sal is ashamed, doesn’t reply.

Laura sighs. “Look, I get it, you can't talk about it to-"

"f*ck it." Sal is visibly annoyed. “Don’t go all Spanish inquisition on me right now. I DO what I have to f*cking do for a living, oiteh? Either those f*ckers get fried or I do, cuz Jefe says so. I’m f*cking cold. And don’t bother changing this, okay?”

"Voro-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

Puts her hand on his arm, tries to calm him down.

"Aight, I'm talking about it, but this does NOT leave this car."

 

“Sure.”

“Jefe told me and Ernesto to f*ck up some of those Chinks. No puedo decir que no haya sido una buena pelea. They ain’t innocent. f*ck I know, maybe they was torturin’ some dudes, strippin’ off they skin and sh*t, who knows what before we did what we gotta do? Maybe I'm wrong, and I just killed the kindest gangsters in LC, f*ckin' doubt it. They guilty of the same sh*t I’m up to.”

 

“...and here I am, sitting with a f*cking psychopath. And he’s my brother! Hey Laura, how was your day? Oh just fine, had a bit of a scuffle at the office, and you? Not much, just burned some people alive for fun! Madre de dios, are you happy with yourself?”

 

“Yeah! ...No… maybe. I don’t know, who cares?”

“That ain’t no way to live life, not caring about anything, not living for nothing. Gotta know who you are before anything else. You wanna be a thug, a thief, a killer, so be it. It’s your choice. Just don’t expect me to tell my future kids that their uncle was burning people alive.”

 

“Smoked fish sounds fine to me. You’re making me all hungry.” 

 

Laura slaps him in the head. “You dumb f*ck. Those were people you killed. You can’t joke about that.”

 

“You and me, we both saw all this insane sh*t happening when we were kids. Remember what mom was doing when she rolled?”

“And now look at me. Am I that cold? You ain’t a killer, Sal. You have feelings, bro. I know it. You ain’t no psycho, just you got your feelings locked in the dark. You just need to find the right person to make them grow, like plants in the sunshine, y’know what I mean?”

 

“f*cking poet. No wonder you and Alfonso got along so well. Ride off into the sunset, that bullsh*t. And for the record, I’m my own judge. I set the limits, I deal the cards. I’m my own boss.”

 

“I’m my own boss, sucking Uncle Nick's dick whenever he waves it at your face. Good going.” - Laura bursts out laughing. - “I gotta admit, that was a good one! I need to write that down.” 

 

Sal instead is confused whether to laugh, ignore it or even start crying. All he can respond with is a simple “Whatever. Now I have to f*cking tell you about this. Can't weasel my way out of this one."
 

"Exactly, this is gonna be good."

 

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

 

There was pandemonium inside the dilapidated fast-food joint. 

 

There were several Lords, members of Sal and Ernesto's set, in the front. They surround Rafa and Alfonso, both going over and handing an assortment of pistols and shotguns to the bangers.

Some of them noticed Sal, wave dat them, shaked hands, showed signs of respect. "Que pasa Sal"s and "Whatup homeboy"s were said.

 

Sal pushed past the soldiers and headed towards the counter, where Miguel, Jefe and Ernesto are working on the plans.

 

"Yo, it works, donnit?"

 

"It's extremely risky, Miguel." That was Ernesto, working over the pump shotgun and loading several shells in.
 

"We take them outta the hood, c'mon broki, this is Liberty f*ckin' City-"

 

"We were planning on dealing with Kenny's enforcers, this has to happen." And that was Jefe, ending the debate.

 

"Right."

 

“Gentlemen.” - Sal approached, and clapped his hands together - “What did I miss?”

 

Ernesto handed him the loaded shotgun. "Revolución, hermano."

"I don't think killing triads is revolution." Sal snatched the pump-action, hanging the strap from his arm. - “We just waste the f*ckers and take they sh*t. But not in that Robin Hood type of way. Dar un tumbe, ‘hermano’.”

 

As Sal went on, Ernesto’s enthusiasm visibly dropped as he rolled his eyes. 

 

“Miguel went ahead and refilled these with gas.” - quipped Alfonso, as he approaches revealing a box full of molotov cocktails, setting them down on the counter.

"You won't believe the looks I got at the gas station." went Miguel.

 

"Don't complain, we had fun drinking some of these." Alfonso grabbed one of the bottles, handing it to Rafa.

 

"Gracias."

"Yeah, we did." Miguel chuckled, scratching his beard. 

 

“So what we gonna throw these motherf*ckers at?” - asked Sal.

Jefe reached for a nearby lighter, pulling out a cigar and placing it between his lips.

 

"YO-"

"UH-"

 

"Jefe-"

Jefe stopped right in his tracks as everyone stared horrified at him.

 

"Oh will you all relax! They're not gonna catch fire." he stood up from the counter and started pacing around the room.

 

"So," Jefe lighted up and took a long drag out of the cigar. "Kenny's biggest stakes are peddling downers to housewives and shaking down store owners. His enforcers, his earners, all work those joints. But, Cerveza's strip? It means Kenny's spread all over, and we can't just shoot up the neighbourhood, or every dude on the street gon’ have a big f*ckin’ problem. Russians, Irish - don’t forget the Wops."

 

“sh*t’s like diplomacy in the Middle Ages. You f*ck with one kingdom, you f*ck with a thousand.” - interrupted Miguel, much to Sal’s and Alfonso’s dismay.

Another drag. "So. We're setting up a lure."

"Elaborate." said Sal.

 

"You and Ernesto are going to piss off every triad in the neighbourhood and lead them to their scrap shop. The owner's apparently out of town, so there's a skeleton crew left over. Me and the boys are gonna put ‘em on a permanent vacation, hide the bodies, and wait for you to take them there. They'll think you'll be boxed in and go all in."

Longer drag, Jefe let out a cloud of smoke, letting the cigar's ashes fall.

 

"The Molotovs are a message,” Jefe continued. ``Kenny's gonna know we're gonna burn him and his eastern cunts outta this neighborhood for good."

 

“They just robbed a card game, you sure this... warrants a war crime response?" - Alfonso asked, nervously. Miguel and Ernesto shot him a worried, brief look, next to a smiling Sal and a deadpan, pensive Rafa. You could tell the combination of the words “war” and “crime” got some extreme reactions from folks.

 

"Absolutely. Remember this next time someone tricks or cheats or steals from you, Alfonso. When someone breaks your f*cking trust-" He approached him, wrapping his arm around his shoulder, and walking alongside. "-Your trust and your word, you break his f*cking legs. Comprende?”

 

“Boss."-Ernesto. " Hate to interrupt but, who’s going where then?”

Jefe let go of Alfonso, who nodded his head in approval.

"The scrapyard, my boys. The scrapyard. " Turned towards Sal and Ernesto. "And you two, raise hell. Rob their shops, shoot their cars, get as many behind you as you can, and then take them to the trap."

He braced himself towards the crowd of Spanish Lords, all waiting for the order.

"SEÑORES. HOY, VAMOS A LA GUERRA. ¡AMOR A LOS LORDS, IGUALDAD EN LA UNIDAD!"

All arms in the air. Beckoning, screaming.

"¡AMOR A LOS LORDS!"

 

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

The car parks.

 

 

"Read my mind. I'm itching for pizza." Laura opens the car door, stretching out as she exits. "I know you love your car and all, but it's like a tuna can sometimes."

 

Sal climbs out, stretches. "Alright, I'll give you that one."

 

If there is a word that describes Drusilla's, it is tacky.  Tacky and expensive. Pictures of wiseguys dot the exposed brickwork wall, like it was their version of the wallpaper. Wop themed wallpaper. The restaurant itself was quaint. Small. 10-12 tables inside, and a bar.

 

"I feel like I walked into the set of Badfellas." notes Sal, as the pair sit down at one of the inside tables and start looking over the menu.

 

"Don't go talking Calabrone movies in here, I heard mafiosos hate them."

 

"Mafiosos get lucky. They get all of these movies done, and street guys, boricuas, we get nada. We're under-represented in media."

"Right." Laura waved at the lone waiter, as he came out of the kitchen, alongside someone else. 

 

Someone Italian. Not much of a surprise.

 

And he is on the phone.

"Aight yeah, you know, you gotta do what you gotta do, I'm just sayin', you'se a tough kid, you know the- hold on, slow down, I can't understand you, whatd- whatdaymean six guys?"
 

And now, he's pissed.
 

"Whaddayamean six? I told you-" Grips the cellphone he's barking orders into until his knuckles go white, the phone almost snapping as the waiter just stares awkwardly at him.

"What are you doin' standin' around for?! GO AND SERVE!" He pushes off the bartender in Sal and Laura's direction, as he angrily storms into a table by the other end, continuing to practically shout into the now deformed piece of plastic. "I told you one guy, you mick piece of sh*t- ONE GUY, PATRICK, ONE f*ckIN' GUY!"

 

Laura and Sal stare in disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of them as the poor waiter gives them the welcoming pitch, asks if they've decided on a dish.

 

His jaw is clenched, for the momentary instance of him listening to this guy on the other side of the line [...] “Hey! Hey! I coulda taken care of it! It’s your own fault you’ve got—” but he stops, and suddenly emits a loud, something close to a growl.  “FINE! Fine, you want help? You got help! But you never pull any sh*t like this ever again, you hear me? "

 

Laura and Sal can't believe their eyes. They order as quickly as humanly possible and just stare at the barely-pretending-he's-not-a-gangster guy.

 

"I'm so glad you picked this restaurant, Sal."

"I'm giving you ten minutes before you want me to drag you back home."

 

Wiseguy seems to be at the end of his rope.

 

"Yeah, no- I'll be sendin' some guys, just stay hidden, and stay still. You can stay still, can't you, you goddamn lunatic- YES, GOODBYE." He starts clicking the disconnect button with his thumb over and over again, as if hitting it more would somehow make the other line shut up harder, throws the phone at the table and sighs. Sinks on his seat as he pinches the bridge of his nose and clicks his fingers at the waiter, who approaches him.

 

"This reminds me,” Sal says. “While we wait for the pizzas. You were telling me about today."

"Right. Therapy with Doctor Laura."

"You're the one who agreed to it."

 

"You're the one who pushed it-" Sal makes this middle point between a whisper and a snarl, not finishing before being shushed away by Laura.

"It's either that or we get first row tickets to what the Feds get to listen to everyday."

 

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

 

Walk Ernesto to his car.

 

"Walk with me, hermano." Ernesto and Sal left the restaurant, walking over to the parking lot in the back.
 

"What we hitting first, Che?"

"You see that shop over there? In front of the Burger shot?"

"The China shop?"

"Yeah, Wu's got some boys in there, holding something. Dunno what it is, but if we rob it, they're bound to come out and call for reinforcements."

The pair arrive at Ernesto's car. He opened the passenger side and got in. "You could have parked out front."

"And get bumped by every sh*tty driver on Huntington Street?" He pulled up a pair of magazines from the glovebox, throwing one at Sal as he entered the car.

 

 "You ready?"

"Sure. Here's hopin'."

 

The car left the parking lot, cycling around the neighbourhood, giving Cerveza a clearer look. 

 

Cerveza Heights. Ironic they gave the place a latin name, considering the whole neighbourhood was a white-only paradise that opened after Broker got connected to Algonquin with the bridge early last century. Started up as richtown until the depression, when they split everything in apartments and rentals, which finally saw non-white action in the 40's and 50's, when Latin, Black and Chinese inmigrants came flooding into the city, some clean, some carrying packages of opium and weed inside their luggages.

By the mid 70's, the crisis and the ever growing presence of organized crime, from the dominant mafia to the ever weaker Irish Mob, mixed with good old racial tension meant an exodus. Whites had had enough, and like people with money do, they just up and left.

 

Afterwards, it was just one gang after the other, the mob, the Catalina Cartel, the triads, the Russians when they were allowed in. Everyone had a stake in Cerveza. 

 

Real shame, that the peace was over.

 

Sal left the engine on, pulled out a pistol from his waistband, handing Ernesto the shotgun, who kicked the door down.

 

"EVERYONE GET YOUR f*ckIN' HANDS UP-"

 

"¡TODO EL MUNDO A SUELO!"

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"Lovely couple out 'ere tonight, first date? "

 

Wiseguy was at the table now, he'd spent the last fifteen minutes talking to staff, making phone calls (three guesses to whom and why) and pacing around the restaurant. Until now. Now he was right there, and he is staring right at Laura and the urge to grab a fork and shove it inside his eye socket has been rising steadily for the past minute.

 

"We're brother and sister." says Sal, resisting the urge.

 

“Oh, forgive me, then, I apologize,” He says, while he seems to shift closer to Laura upon the revelation.

 

"Oh, don't worry! It's hard to see the resemblance, huh? Him looking like an angrier Mister Mystaspot." She turns towards the Italian. "You are?"

 

The Wiseguy reaches gently for Laura's hand, grabs it, is halfway to kissing it before she physically recoils back, pulling the hand with her.

 

Takes him by surprise. He suddenly clears his throat.

He makes note of the not-so-subtle rejection, but doesn’t falter, quickly readjusting, but not quite giving up. His tone becomes more gentle, “Ray, Ray Boccino, I own the place. Been in the family for years.” 

 

Ray Boccino
 

Salvador has by now been staring enough daggers at Ray to prepare an entire army. 

 

"Whatchu want?" he asks.

 

"Well, I been around, I been up, I been down… and I’m just noticin’ - understand this - that you’se the only two customers in the joint abouts right now. And you’se been waitin’ for ya’ pizzas--"

"Fifteen minutes or so-"

"Yeah… well, look it takes a while, sadly you can't rush good Italian cuisine. You need the good gravy, the good moozadell, everything. So I was wonderin', y'know, if I could do anything for you-" he says, turning his attention from the already furious Sal to Laura again. Giving her those kinds of stares.

Laura places a hand in Sal's. Gives him a reassuring squeeze.

"So, mister Boccino, beautiful restaurant. Great service.”

 

“Oh, well thank you, it’s my pleasure. I always loved the service industry, I always loved serving people.”

 

“Just been meaning to ask, though.”

 

“Anything, sweetheart, anything.”

 

“The whole macho act you've got going right now. Is that for show, or do you seriously try to act like a womanizer while you dress like a gay sea captain?" She laughs. "No offense, Ray. Seriously, you look kinda sweet and all, but don't think I can't see through those eyes." She looks straight at Ray.  "I'm sorry but I guess I have a thing for less... slimy guys, ya know."

 

Brother and sister start laughing. They high five.

 

The waiter arrives with the pizzas, placing them down on the table.

"Alright, well, good, see you later, okay." And with that, Ray steps away from the table, mumbling to himself.

Before he can disappear back into the kitchen, someone else comes into the restaurant.

Someone who looks Italian.

 

He isn’t.

 

Phil Bell

 

"Ray. What’re you doing?"

 

"Whaddayamean, 'what am I doing?' I can't run a restaurant now? None your business what I’m doing, Phil."

"I’m sorry, forgive my friend over here, little mamaluke he is." Phil tries to smoothen things. "He's a bit…" he taps his head with his finger, whistling. "...upstairs."

 

"We've noticed." Laura.

 

"Hardy harr harr." Ray.

Sal starts munching on his pizza. Swallows, "Pleasure to meet you as well, whoever you are. Now can you both f*ck off?  We're trying to eat here."

"He makes a good point, Ray. Let's speak in your office."

"This is my office."

"Oh, you know what I mean."

 

And with that, the pair go towards the kitchen.

 

"You think they heard what I was saying?"

"What - your open confession about what you did today? Nah, they have their own problems." She digs into her pizza, motioning Sal to go on.

"Are you getting a kick out of this?"

"Not really, but you've started, and I think it's for the best if you let it all out." Another bite from Laura.

 

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

 

It took the triads in the back all of ten seconds to appear. 

 

Just enough time for Sal and Ernesto to get out and duck back into the car, as bullets burst through the store's window, hitting the car door as it speeds off. Not too fast, but not slow enough to be a target.

 

"We've gotta stop risking our asses like this, that was too f*ckin' close!" Ernesto.

 

"That's just one carload of them, we gotta get more on the line!" Sal rolled down the window as the car went down the boulevard. Pulled out his gun. Right as they pass Kenny's restaurant. Right in front of everyone, Sal started blasting.

Cars. Passerbys as they all ran away, the restaurant's windows. Sal only ducked when the pistol's slide clicked back, out of ammo.

 

He blasts everything. The bullets scream.

If they didn't kick the hornet's nest before, now they just did.

 

As they left the neighbourhood into Meadow Hill, crossing in front of the hospital and police station now with three cars chasing behind them, Sal unbuckled his seatbelt.
"What are you-"

"SWITCH SEATS!"

"What?! WHY?!"

"JUST LISTEN TO ME-"

 

And so they did, in a complete and utter hurry, Sal and Ernesto shift inside the car, creaking as it takes a slow curve, three, four cars full of angry Triads behind them as Sal finally gets on the driver's seat.

 

"You and your stupid-ass ideas-" 

 

Follow the waypoints. Get to the ambush.

 

You have four cars filled with triads chasing you. SMG's and pistols, so getting them close is a good way to see your health bar drain in seconds.

 

Burn rubber, motherf*cker. You're set on a pre-path, follow the checkpoints. More Triad cars will join in the party, with the sole purpose of hunting your dog ass down.

 

"MOTHERf*ckER! How many we got behind us?!"   went Sal, barely dodging an incoming cab.

 

"YOU THINK I'M COUNTING? YO, YOU WERE RIGHT HOMIE, WE KEEP GETTIN' THE HARD STUFF IN THIS f*ckIN' WAR!" 

 

Bullets clashed against the chassis, the car rocked back and forth with every turn and bullet-hole,  Ernesto doing his best to keep the shooters away from the car, one shotgun blast at a time. 

 

 

 

Over the hill, getting out of the Heights, going downwards, you can see it.

The Junkyard seems completely empty at first glance, devoid of any life, or cars for that matter. However, it is crawling with Latin gangbangers everywhere, hiding behind the walls, piles of crushed cars etc. Nearby are crates loaded with bottles containing petrol. 

 

The Primo crashes through the front gate, four cars parking behind, as Sal and Ernesto run inside.

 

The triads had reached their boiling point. The guns are out, they’re screaming, shouting as they enter the premises of the junkyard. All you can hear, aside from the triad’s gunfire, is your Spanish Lord buddies yelling in English, Spanish and Spanglish and Molotov Cocktails hitting the first wave of the Chinese mobsters.

 

Alfonso peeked out from behind the wall and yelled. “Morales, get your ass over here!”. Sal ran for cover, while avoiding the flames, as Ernesto hid behind a rusting metal square, Lyle covering him as the pair started to blast the triads aswell. 

 

Alfonso tossed a bottle to Sal.

"Bottoms up!"

 

Kill the Triads.

 

 

Fire and brimstone.  Cursed screaming, skin sizzling, car tires melting, as bottle after bottle detonated on the cars piling up the entryway, the remaining surviving triads running for their lives as the Lords decimated their numbers into nothing. Above all that, the Puerto Ricans, Argentinians, and Colombians chanted victory, but one sound stood out in front of all the jeering and yelling. 

 

A psychotic, cold-blooded laugh.

 

Jefe stood triumphant.

This was neighbourhood. And he knew it.

 

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

"...afterwards, we just kind of ran away."

 

They were exiting Drusillas by now, well into the night. 

 

"Yeah, I can imagine the rest." Laura and Sal enter the car. "Look, I'm going to just skip to the facts. Your boss is completely insane, and he's gonna get you killed over some card game, or… whatever it is you told me it was."

Sal stays silent, as he puts in the ignition.

 

"I'm not saying quit the gang,” she says. “I know I don't have a say in that, it's your life, and I can't convince you anyway, but, that don't mean you have to, you know, throw it away to the whimsical needs of a nutcase, you don't have to be like that."

 

"Let's just get you home."

 

Both of you finally arrive back at Colony Island.  Sal waves his goodbyes to Laura, barely paying attention. Just drives back to Bohan, back to Fortside, back to the apartment, back to bed.

 

Sal looks at the clock after collapsing.

3.20 AM.

 

 

 

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

 

Mission Passed

Reward: 1500$

GANG STATS

 

SPECIAL THANKS TO @slimeball supreme for the gang stats screen and @BrynnaDaRosafor creating Laura.

 

 

 

Edited April 12 by Datalvarezguy

[Datalvarezguy]

POST-ADDENDUM:

In case anyone's wondering how the Laura side of the mission would work, Laura's mission would be a TIMED optional mission only available post-A Fuego. But lets be honest unless you're like, done with the story nobody skips the optional missions. Like who wouldn't go fishing with Javier, amirite fellas-

[The Notorious MOB]

When I suggested you combine two missions, this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Just kidding man. This was thoroughly enjoyable and I always like when stories juxtapose all out violence and destruction with scenes of emotional family time. It was a risky move to keep switching back and forward but it was an interesting twist that kept this mission exciting despite it being a somewhat familiar set up to an ambush mission that could risk being stale.

[Datalvarezguy]

1 hour ago, The Notorious MOB said:

When I suggested you combine two missions, this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Just kidding man. This was thoroughly enjoyable and I always like when stories juxtapose all out violence and destruction with scenes of emotional family time. It was a risky move to keep switching back and forward but it was an interesting twist that kept this mission exciting despite it being a somewhat familiar set up to an ambush mission that could risk being stale.

Thanks, seriously. Going stale is what worries me the most, when it comes to mission design, I tried my best at making say, 30 missions that wouldn't look out of place with IV's design, I was slightly less ambitious than I could be, and I was slightly afraid it would hurt design. A Fuego was me having a good idea and trying to keep things interesting somewhat. I was very hesitant at first, thinking I was just confusing things, but I'm glad it was the opposite.

 

[Datalvarezguy]

 

"Yo, they killed Lyle." was Ernesto, on the other line. Sounded distressed, actual sadness in his voice.
 

Day was off to a great start.  Hadn't even caught him out of bed. Still wearing the boricua shirt, now soaked with sweat to hell and back.

"Take a step back, what happened?"

"They f*ckin'...-" he sniffs, distorting the call. "They went to his place, las hadas, or someone. People sayin' they saw a pig car pullin' up, then shot him when he was trying to get away. Some IAA assassin kinda’ sh*t, man."

Sal groans, gets off bed, throws off the shirt into the laundry chute as he drags himself to the bathroom. Finds the energy to answer. "sh*t hermano, he was a good soldado and all. You good?"

 

"Nah man, I ain't, man. He was a Lord, man, he was my homie. I'm putting some guys on his stuff. Ain’t no thing. Gonna call Tom and see what I can do with Victor."

"Yeah, tell me how that goes. Imma'bout to shower chico, we see each other soon. Drink to his memory, and sh*t."

 

"Yeah, drink sounds like a good idea, not gonna lie. Just not now. I need time, man. Later on."

Click.

 

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

 

BZZTT

 

From: Mickey

Com see me & Al at Paint One Factory (That's on Dukes, before you call me askin), we gotta fill u up on som sh*t

-One Love, M

 

Paint One Building. Used to be Johnson and Wright's Shower Curtain Co, back when it was built in the 1890's. The place was big enough and abandoned enough that by the 1980's a group of graffiti artists with money bought it from its original owner and rented it out to the artists of L.C. Upper floors were art studios, outside walls were rented by artists for their non-gang tags.

You could write an entire book on the bidding and rivalries of these punk kids with spray cans, legendary L.C taggers all covering each other in the grandiose mural that made the walls of Paint One. Miguel had always had a soft spot for street art, ever since he first saw the Robina Cafe Mural in Vice as a kid. 

 

Which makes it very unsurprising when you arrive and find him wearing a thick hoodie and spraying one of the walls, headphones on, dancing as he's finishing his latest "masterpiece". Alfonso sitting on his Voodoo's hood, rolling up.

 

 

Salvador sits next to Alfonso. "¿Qué pasa, macho?" says Alfonso.

 

"Still alive?" He shoots a glance at the tag.
 

Miguel is still dancing. Not even aware of Sal's presence. 

"Mean, we are, aren't we? It's like, here we are, we still kickin' it. Y'know? all that." He finishes rolling up the joint, places it between his lips, lights up.

 

"You didn't know what to write, did you." 

 

"Hmhmm." Smoke coming out of his mouth. "I thought M would know what to say, considering he paid a coupla benjamins for this sh*t."

"So, what you need me for?"

"Ask Micky." He vaguely throws a finger at the dancing cuban art show in front of them before taking a second, longer drag. "You want?"

"What is it?"

"Chocolate. Miguel had some hash on him."

 

Of course Sal takes a couple of tokes before approaching Miguel. Gets close enough to even hear the headphones.

 

 

"Uh, uh, Detector de pasión

PerRro esta noche, esta noche no (¡No!)

Amigos, án-geles y diver-sión (¡Voy!)

Siem-pre no-cion, pu-ro sabor!"

 

 

 Sal taps Mickey's shoulder. Turns around, takes off the headphones.

"Yo, when the f*ck you show up?" Miguel goes for the fist-bump. 

 

"Just did. What you need me for, 'mano?"

 

"Right, right-right-right, bidness." He puts the can down, takes off the worker gloves he'd been wearing the whole time, wraps Sal around his arm, and covers his mouth. "I talked with my guy in Schottler today. Got a good deal, bit of what I usually deal with, plus some H from a Russian.”

 

“Russian? What you mean Russian? f*ck that, they just done jacked us. You reselling our sh*t."

 

“Shhh… don’t overthink this too much. So the thing is, I can't move this much sh*t alone. Bound to get stopped, or jacked, or somesh*t. Was thinking we split the work, cut you in."

 

"And the profits?"

"Half to me, half to you and Alfonso. Only fair, I did the deals, I'm selling half, and you're getting part of the loot for the final stretch."

 

Sal scoffs, sneers. "Had to f*ckin' knew you were gonna keep the lion's share on this one.  Alright, better than nothing, I suppose."

"That's the spirit, compadre."

 

Sal turns to Alfonso. "¡Alfonsito!, los huevos en este cabroncete cubano, eh?" 

"Alfonsito!, The Balls on this Cuban bastard, eh?"

 

"Ya, casi parece Judío con toda su obsesión con la lana."

"Yeah, he seems like a Jew, with all of this money obsession."

 

Miguel lets out a chuckle. "Anda e iros un poquito a la mierda."

"Go and f*ck yourselves a bit."

 

He'd been given a trash bag from the car, after Miguel made a couple of phone calls, set up the meets.

"Now, cops may be trying to look for excuses to stop you. Don't let them pull you up, or we're f*cked. Be as inconspicuous as humanly possible here."

 

"Are you implying something about my driving?"

"I'm not opening that can of worms."

"Good."

 

Get to the meets. Drive normally. Avoid the Cop Patrols.

 

Drive slowly. Drive safe. And for the love of God if you see a cop car don't act suspicious. Lead the cops to the buyers and this shindig is over and Miguel is probably going to be mad at you, which is inconvenient, to say the least.

 

 

"You the dude?" Guy was as white as he could be. Irish, from the looks of it. Biting his lower lip constantly, looking around. Impatient. 

 

"Depends on who's asking."

"Feck's sake, you the Cuban's guy or not?"

Sal motions him to follow to the trunk, opens it.

"Now here's what you're going to do. You're gonna tell me your name, I'm gonna get your bag, you're gonna see everything's good, and then you're paying. Is that understood?"

 

"Man, don't even trip," he said. Last one of the day. He'd lost count on how many times he'd given the speech by now. "Now c'mon, don't wanna miss the next train, where's the sh*t?"

 

"Follow me."

Same motions, opens the trunk, opens the bag. Only two packages left. Grabs one, Name's written on… you've gotta be kidding.

"Hold on, let me guess. You're PG Jackson."

"You gotta be real stupid if you usin' your real name for this kinda sh*t, son." He throws aside what's left of the Debonaire on his lips. 

 

Sal chucks the duct-taped bag to him. He catches it up mid air.

"Money."

"Hold the f*ckin' phone, you thinkin' I'm a fool, if I ain't testing-"

 

Distant sounds of an ever closer train.

 

"Motherf*cker." He chucks the bag in a backpack, peels off a money clip from his shorts, hands it over. "This sh*t better be good, B."

 

"I think the Pain Giver better get in his f*ckin' chariot." 

 

Sal climbs inside the car, and speeds off, calling up Mickey. "Hey, it's done."

"Good to know, any… y'know, 'problems'?"

"They're gonna start tracking us if we take this long, you paranoid f*ck. Where you want your stuff?"

"Keep it all. I'll find you tonight and sort it out. Oh, and 'fore I forget, I've left you a little sumthin'-sumthin' at the bottom of the bag, has your name on it. Check it. My gift to you. Later on."

 

Click.

 

So you do. You open the dingy blue bag, and sure thing, you find a black duct-taped  plastic package.

"PARA CHAVA"

Inside, some syringes and 3 small but thick plastic bottles, all the medical names Sal's familiar with.

Old reliable.

 

Mission Passed

Reward: 550$, 3 Steroids.

 

You've Unlocked Steroids. Steroids Boost your Health, and increase your damage input with all weapons.   They're also highly damaging to the body. The second they wear off, Sal will be weaker, he'll hit slower, and he'll be an easier target to demolish.   They're also extremely expensive. Be tactical with your shots. You can buy more from Miguel, or drug dealers across town. They will be marked with a blue circle.

 

You're somewhere in… god damn it, where were you? It 's been hours.

You remember checking out your emails.

>Reply

 

 

Afterwards… kinda drifted off…
 

Not much afterwards, no idea how you ended up in Firefly Island, but there you were. The sun was setting down by now. Seagulls chime, as the city well enters into the night.

 

Bzzt.

 

Check the phone, another message. Jefe.

 

From: Jefe

Meet me at my place.

Y'know what.

 

Nicolás lived far from the hood; out in Leftwood, Alderney. Was one of the reasons Rafa spent more time with him than anyone else, ferrying him all over town. Some of the old timers found it demeaning, Ernesto especially, saying it didn't align with the morals, both his own and the gang’s. Every man in the Spanish Lords was supposed to be a Lord - not one Lord over every man.

Jefe'd told them to earn more and shut the f*ck up and to suck his cock.

One of the perks of technically running your own gang.

Sal knocks at the door. Rafa's figure appears behind the door's curtain, peeling it back, meeting him face-to-face.

He's been using. No denying it.

Unlocks the door.

 

"In."

 

And that's all that’s said. Sal doesn’t even bother reaching his hand for a handshake, he knows it wouldn’t be reciprocated.
 

The interior looks rather tidy and cozy, almost humid. The pale-yellow walls are adorned in a plethora of Spanish Lords related photographs and shelves filled with sports memorabilia. 

 

Jefe and Miguel are watching TV, sitting on the couch. Sharing a drink. Talking, laughing. LC Cocks game on TV, announcer is some fat Chilean dude screaming like his house was on fire.

 

"...You did good, my boy!” Jefe beams. “Real good. You know, we could do with a man like you. Full-time, I mean.”

 

"It's very much appreciated, Mister García-"

 

"Call me Nicolás." he takes a sip of brandy.

"Right, Nicolas, but… I got ties, ya know? Ties you might not consider favorable to any kinda’ offer. I’ve never been full-time with anyone.”

 

“So you’re saying if- he takes a wad of cash and waves it in his face - someone else were to do this, you’d just… - Jefe does a slitting throat motion with his other, empty hand - go for the higher bidder?” - As he says this, his eyes turn eerily open, as if it was an implied threat.

 

Miguel pretends to think about it, scratches his chin.

"I gotta say, tempting as it is, getting my cock cut off isn't really on my cards. Sides, I only care about my sides - he points at his back smiling - and I only work with gangs that are at peace. Getting chummy with the wrong guy can getcha killed, ya know."

 

“Try that on me, Cubano!” - Sal barges in and lunges at him with a fist, Miguel weakly backs off, while Sal turns the fist into a hand, expecting a handshake.

 

"You piece of sh*t, you actually scared me." Miguel shakes.

"Keep your eyes peeled, homeboy! Cutthroat business, the one you're in, especially without a crew." - as he says, he makes a slight bow and shakes Jefe’s hand too, who shows some slight disdain over the fact that Salvador reached towards Miguel first, and not the boss. “Far as I’m concerned, we aren’t exactly at peace though, aren’t we?”

 

"Well, that’s a recent change. But let's keep that 'tween us. I trust you folk to do the same." Miguel takes a sip.

"Contradicting yourself, genius." Sal turns towards Jefe. "So, what am I needed for, patrón?"

"We got us a tip. Miguel caught wind of a race. Kenny's boys."

"Didn't know you liked racing, Eme."

"I don't. Just kept my ear on the ground. They run bets, races are rigged to hell and back, from what I hear, whole spectacle's a disgrace." He motions to the both of them. "Ain't no f*ckin' honor, not even in races. Capitalism, f*cking capitalism...” - he waves his hand away as he finishes his semi-patriotic-philosophical pondering.

Rafa enters the living room, Ernesto behind.

"Jefe. Ernesto ha llegado."

"Jefe, Ernesto's here."

 

Ernesto walks in, wearing a checkered shirt, looking as nerdy as he can get. “Saludos. Jefe,” he says, and goes on his knee in front of Jefe.

 

“What I say about that? Get up, stop making a fool of yourself,”  Nicolas says in a disappointed tone of voice, like a father looking at his child covered in filth. He instead gives him a dap, helps him get up. Sal and Miguel chuckle, Rafa remains deadpan serious as always, crossing his arms.

The whole situation is nearly comic. 

 

"Salva,” Jefe says. “Giving you executive control to deal with this. I want a humiliation."

 

Sal thinks about it for a second. "Anything I want? Because I'm solving this issue from the root up."

"Hold up, what issue?" Ernesto speaks up.

"Racers."

"Racers?!" He echoes. "You gonna kill a bunch of tuners over this? Have you all collectively f*cking lost it?"

“Your boy Lyle was a racer and he got f*cked up not long ago. Maybe it were the chinks, eh?”

 

“What the f*ck he ever do to no chinks? A million more likely f*cks coulda’ popped him. IAA motherf*ckers, man. Even that bald f*ck he was hanging out with could’ve had more to do with that than the Triads.”

 

"Esto es una completa gilipollez, Nicolás, dejame lidiar con esto, tengo una id-" Rafa starts.   
"This is complete bullsh*t, Nicolas, let me deal with this, I've got an id-"

"No."

"Pero-"

"But-"

"¿Pero qué pasa hoy con todo el mundo dudando de lo que digo?" He stands up, screaming. " ¿¡TENGO QUE RECORDAR QUIÉN COJONES ES EL JEFE AQUÍ?!"
"What is up with EVERYBODY doubting my every word?! Do I have to remind you all who the f*ck is the boss around here?!"
 

Silence.

Finger to Sal.

"Take Miguel. Deal with it. I don't care how. Just do what I say."

Sal looks at Mickey. He stands up from the couch, follows him out.

 

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

 

Get in the car.

 

There is a Lokus XT parked in the driveway, next to Jefe's Cavalcade.

"Since when you ride in Japanese cars?"

"Was a loan from a friend. Went to Tokyo to save some chick from her debts, man, left it as a favor for some sh*t I did for him back in LS."

 

"You motherf*cker. I saw that movie."

Miguel laughs. "I had to try. Stole it off a dealership."

You both get in.

"Race is in Port Tudor."
 

Get to the race.

 

 

"Didn't know the boss lived on the 'Derney side of the river ‘fore today."

 

"Never visited him before?"

"Nah."

 

"It happened kinda recent. He used to run the sects with some other guy, this guy from here, named Paco. You probably saw him a coupla times when we were kids: fat, big mustache?"

 

"Vaguely remember that description. But that’s half the neighborhood, mano."

"Yeah, well, he got shot by someone last year, parking his f*cking car. Nobody knows who did it at first, so Nico goes on the warpath, finds the motherf*cker responsible, feeds him to a buzzsaw."

 

"I remember that a bit more. You told me about this."

"Yeah, and it was all hush-hush back then, was some Russian hood. Turns out Paco'd f*cked his daughter, and it's exactly what you're thinking, so we're skipping that."

 

"Well, damn. That sh*t certainly ain’t improved our relationship with Mother Russia."

"Our relationship?" Sal repeats. “Lord relationship.”

"You can't fault my moral compass now. I grew up with you motherf*ckers, I gotta trust someone, no?"

 

"Idiota. You said you'se a lone wolf, moron."

"One that don’t sh*t where he eats."

"Talking about sh*t, better hope that little smidgeon of info doesn't leak by the way."

"Why?"

"Cuz I'll know it was you, and I'll have to feed you to the buzzsaw next."
 

"Get the f*ck outta here." He pauses. Unsure if he actually meant it. "Whatever, what we gonna do, Sal?"

"Roll up as racers, start last, wait till we know where we going. I drive you up to the racers, you blast those motherf*ckers. Rinse and repeat, we bounce, nobody's wise. They gon’ be drivin’ too fast to keep they eyes on whoever blasting."

 

Miguel racks the side of an SMG. "You better not f*ck this up, or it's you who’s gonna tell my mom's you got me killed."

 

You arrive at the race.

 

Drive up to the racers,  destroy their cars.

 

Shoot up, it's time to shine. You've got a full minute before the drugs wear off.

 

Start up last, chase them down. Let Miguel break the car window at 90 miles per hour, hold onto the roof for dear life and blast all of these fake gangsters back to the stone age.

 

The first car, a Turismo, starts leaking oil, its wheels catch fire, as it crashes into oncoming traffic.

 

 

The rest of the cars scarper at the sound of the explosion.

 

All bets are off.

 

Lock down on a Sultan RS, trying to speed into the alleyways of Port Tudor, Salvador and Miguel chasing behind.

 

"We're doing a better job at getting these races shut down than the mayor, dude!" Miguel yells, as he ducks back inside the car to reload.

 

"Do not get me started on that motherf*cker! Bans steroids, bans guns, bans fun, guy is a thorn in every f*ckin' side!"

 

The Sultan speeds off, tries to cut through an intersection. Miguel shoots the tires, it drives off to the left, trying to take a shortcut.

 

The tires burst. Car skids, straight into the gas station.

 

 

"GO RIGHT, GO RI-" Miguel tries to warn.
 

 

The windows explode, barely missing Sal's face and eyes, some of them cutting Miguel's hoodie. Radio dies into a static mess, as the player dislodges out of its socket, falling somewhere between the passenger's seat and the driveshaft. The trunk door flies off its hinges and crashes against a nearby wall as the Lokus XT emerges flying out of the ball of fire that was the gas pump, wheels still spinning, as Sal wrestles control from the car, his ears ringing, one of them bleeding..

 

Jesus f*cking Christ.

It's a few seconds on autopilot as Sal jerks the car out of there, just drives, drives as it spots the next racer, ignoring Miguel as he climbs back in, trying to recompose himself.

 

No time to hear him. One more. Just one more. Sal crashes against the side of a Bravado Banshee, PIT maneuvering the back end, forcing the convertible to flip on its side several times.

Sal slams the brakes. He still can't hear anything. Ears ringing, the world on alert. Approaches the destroyed car, jerks what's left of the racer out, throws him on the ground.

 

Starts stomping.

 

It's not until he feels Miguel's entire body grabbing him from behind that he can hear again.

"...CHILL OUT! CHILL THE f*ck OUT, STOP, STOP, HE'S DEAD-"
 

He is. Skull caved in, arm twisted the wrong way. Sneaker is caked in blood and brains. You stop.

Take a step back.

Vomit. 

 

Your ears are still ringing. 

 

"Oh f*ck me, they're gonna DNA analyze you n-"

"Vomit doesn't have DNA." Sal blurts out. He heaves again, nothing coming out. "V-vomit doesn't have DNA. Shut up. It doesn't." He turns around, faces Miguel.

"It does not."
 

He's speechless. Just stares at Sal, terrified, bloody.

 

A few seconds pass. Silence. Miguel says nothing, neither does Sal, except for his rugged, sick breathing.

 

Sirens in the distance. Both of them turn to them.

 

"We've gotta get out of here." Unsure who said it.

 

Drive Miguel home.

 

Climb back on what's left of the Lokus. Drive. Not a word is said on the entire trip. Not until you arrive at Mickey's place in Alderney.  Before he can slip out, Sal stops him.

 

"Hey." Pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket. "Almost forgot. Your money."

Miguel nods. So does Sal.

 

"You did good,” Sal smiles. “Don't stress."

 

Miguel does not smile back.

 

Miguel grabs the cash. 

 

Runs into the house.

 

Mission Passed

Reward: 450$,

 

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

 

You call Jefe.

 

"We broke up the race."

"Good. You took care of the issue. You didn't ask any questions. I appreciate what you do, Salvador. I won't forget this."

"No skin off my back, señor. I'll be around, if you need me."

Click.

Edited April 18 by Datalvarezguy

[Datalvarezguy]

 

 

Ernesto downed the shot, slammed the tumbler down with the half-empty Tequila on the coffee table. 

 

Nico had told them to take a few days off. Celebrate. So, they did. Ernesto had given him a ring, and Sal's schedule was open. Open enough, anyway. So there they were, at Ernesto's place. Tucked in one of the high floor apartments of the projects.

 

"I still can't believe he gone, man. I knew his brothers. His whole f*ckin' family."

 

"Look, on the street, it's bound to happen. We all know the risks of this life."

"That's exactly the point. This ain’t how it should be. We were kids once, man. We dreamed. We wanted to do good." 

 

He reaches for the bottle, pours himself and Sal another shot.

They both down it.

"Life's like that, Lord. Nobody gives a sh*t. People die. That’s how it goes."

 

Alfonso'd tagged along, but he'd been mostly hugging the bong: alternating between staring out the window and watching the TV. He stops smoking, speaks up, "You can't be a fatalist either, dude. Some motherf*ckers have lasted in this business."

 

Ernesto turns. "Last how? Mountain of corpses style, you versus the world? Ain't no way to live man."

 

“Fatalist,” Sal scoffs. “You philosophers n’ sh*t, now? Shut up, what that even mean, bro?”

 

Before he can reply, Ernesto's pocket vibrates. He pulls his phone out, checks the ID, answers, "Sí?"

 

Pause.

 

"No me jodas."

 

Pause.

 

"Y tiene que ser hoy? Estoy con Chava y Alfonso, pero estamos hasta las cejas, monstruo."

 

Sal and Alfonso stare at each other as Ernesto picks up a pen and notes down an address. "-Mierda. Venga loco, gracias. Hablamos luego."

 

He hangs up.

 

"Rafa?" Sal asks.

 

"Yeah. He's found something." He stands up from his seat, turns off the TV.

"We leavin'?"

"C'mon melenas, we f*ckin' goin." 

 

Go to the shop.

 

 

"We going back to Dukes,” Ernesto says. We gotta get to a shop out in Willis."

"What are we doing?" Sal asks.
 

"Triads are gonna be moving some heavy sh*t tonight. Rafa's found out where they keeping it, but we need to get it, pronto."

"You knew about this?"

"You'd think I'd be this sh*t-faced if I did? I told Rafa to keep his ear to the ground, wasn't expecting an answer today."

 

"Yo, this is f*ckin' suicide." Alfonso follows behind, as the trio enter Ernesto's Primo.

 

"It's called making a difference,” Ernesto declares. They're got hard drugs. Not party sh*t, broki, I mean bad sh*t."

"You mean the kind we also deal in, you f*cking genius?"

 

They drive onto the bridge.

 

"I am aware. Which is why I ain't telling Nico about this and we're wreckin’ everything ourselves."

"I'm sorry, did I say suicidal?” Alfonso laughs. “Try this on for f*cking size, we going behind Jefe's back?"

 

"It's time he lives up to his f*ckin' word. He cares about the neighborhood? Then he should be happy I'm not letting these motherf*ckers poison our streets even further. sh*t’s already f*cked up enough."

 

"If it ain’t us it's someone else," Sal says.

 

"Then why does it have to be us?"

 

“Cuz we make the money. And that’s what we’re after. Money, fame, women. Say what you want, but all this commie sugarcoat sh*t you’re putting on, you’d give it up the moment they’d show your face on TV, fool. Ernesto Ruiz, community leader, chairman, celebrity saint. Ay dios mio.”

 

Alfonso butts in. “You’re laughing, Sal, but who knows. Maybe it is high time for the Lords to go legal, eh? I wouldn’t mind that. You think I’m happy working on stolen cars day and night?”

“It's always the same pussy sh*t when you're stoned, Al. What the f*ck is the gang going to do if we go straight, sell f*ckin’ pizzas? You two forget it's not just us sev-” Stops. “Six of us. There's like, hundreds of Lords in the streets. I don't give a f*ck if it's legal or not, we need results. This is results."

“Like you care about anything. It’s only about what you care about, huh?” hissed Ernesto.

 

“Yeah, I f*ckin' do, and if you got a problem with that you can hit them triads on foot. I drive the car, I set the rules.”

“But it’s my car! Legally paid for it too!” Ernesto is almost whining. - “You can’t just…”

“Ohhh… SHUT. UP. My head hurts! Rafa was right for once,” Alfonso imitates his raspy, deadpan voice: “‘panda de maricones, eh.’”

 

Sal and Ernesto crack up. Sal laughs so hard he almost loses control of the car a second, halfway short of breath.

"Serás hijoputa, nos vas a matar," Sal says, in between laughs. “Jokes aside, Ernesto, you should teach that gorilla some English. He’d sound even more hilarious than he usually does.”

 

“Ehh… Rafa’s been with us since ages, y’know. Perhaps he got a stick up his ass, but he gets things done. And I appreciate that.”

“So do I, so does Alfonso, and I don’t feel you appreciate us and the work we put into the Lords.”

 

“Except the ass and stick thing of course.” Alfonso turning into jelly on the backseat.

 

“Nah man, I care. I f*ckin' care ‘bout both of you assholes.” Ernesto sighs. “Look, we don't agree on this, but you gotta understand, I'm trying to put my money where my mouth is. And I'm gonna prove it.” Ernesto says calmly.

 

Almost ominously.

 

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

 

You get there.

 

"Remind me, how exactly are we doing this?" goes Alfonso.

 

"I have a gas can in the trunk." Ernesto is still fiddling with the seatbelt. 

 

Sal turns to look at both of them. "Y'know what? You two stay here, be there for the getaway. I'm doing this solo."

"Woah, homeboy! We ain't lettin' you walk into the Lion's den alone." That's Ernesto. He finally got it off.

 

"I appreciate the act, brother," Sal opens the door, gets out. "But you two are getting killed if you go inside like this. Trust me, be sure once this sh*thole goes up in flames you can pull me out the neighborhood, a’ight?"

Ernesto shifts into the driver's seat as Sal moves onto the trunk, pops the latch, and grabs the jerry can.

"Don't get yo’self killed."

"Yeah, no promises about that."

 

"Buena suerte, soldadito." Alfonso.
 

Enter the shop. Find the drugs.

 

Be smart about this. Doing this loud is possible, but it's still suicide, especially knowing that:

 

If the gas can is shot, it will explode. Be careful.

Time for some stealth. 

 

 

 

Main door is locked, time to go around back. Two Triads are there, smoking, chatting, mostly small talk. Third Triad shows up, from the back garage door.

"You two buffoons ready?"

"You're on edge today." Left buffoon.

"Want a Debonaire?" Right buffoon.

 

Third Triad sighs. "I haven't told you two this, but we already lost half of the china white inside. Kenny's on edge."

China white. Heroin.

 

Both the buffoons look at each other. One of them curses in Chinese, "We can't look worse than Chan's crew. They managed to get it from the docks without a hitch. This has to get to Algonquin. Tonight. Finish ya’ smoke break, or whatever, and help me load it into the cars."
 

Third guy turns around. Leaves.

 

Move inside. No need to let them know of your presence yet. 

 

Shop is empty. More or less. Third guy is still there, doing something, TV in the background blaring Weazel News or some other sensationalist sh*t.

 

Set of stairs, going up. Jerrycan is heavy on your back. Pay no mind to it, soldier. You have heroin to burn.
 

The dope is tucked deep on the second floor, but there it is. Set on a table; two perfect piles of stacked brown bricks.

It's time.

 

Press E to pour the gas.

 

 

When the button is pressed, a cutscene shows Sal taking the jerry can off his back and pouring it all over the drugs. He then swiftly takes out a match from his pocket, lights it on the sole of his shoe, and throws it at the now-soaked heroin. 

 

Up it goes.

 

The fire erupts quickly. Sal hesitates a moment before walking away. 

 

“Hey, who the f*ck… do you smell it? FIRE!”

 

Two triads at the base of the stairs.

 

They see him.

 

Guns out.

Morales jumps for cover while the gangsters take out their guns. 

Escape the building.

The fire is spreading. By now the nearby Chinese are aware there’s an intruder in their lair, and they're pissed. 

 

Sal will be automatically in cover, so just take potshots at the incoming goons and quickly descend through the building as it falls apart. If you hang around for too long, you will start losing health from the smoke.
 

Third guy's waiting downstairs, shotgun in tow.

Pipe next to him bursts, pure fire spitting straight into his face.

 

 The firefighters got here quick, sirens blaring outside. They always do when you want them the least. But that’s not of concern: as long as the drugs are gone, you’re good.

You're out. Sal's coughing and wheezing stops as he breathes fresh oxygen. Both the buffoons from before nowhere in sight. 

 

Rush out. Through the alleyway, Primo primed on the other end, engine on, wheels turning, Alfonso screaming at you to hop in as the door is thrown open and you jump in and the car is f*cking gone.

 

Sal turns around, the second floor of the shop turning into a fireball. Sirens in the distance. Nobody in sight.

"This is the last time I do you any favors, brother!"

 

"Jefe's gonna want our f*cking head on a platter if he connects us to this. Ernesto, you can't tell him this was us." Goes Alfonso.
 

"Us? Watch the commando here, this was all Sal's work. You just saved lives, Salva."

"Yeah that's a nice way to shift the blame if this goes f*ckin' sideways. For the record, if this blows up in anyone's face, we ain't f*cking squealing to nobody, is that understood?"

"Absolutely."

"Yeah."

Car goes out of Willis, stops somewhere in Cerveza Heights. Sal hops out.

"We're getting a cover story for this. I suggest you do so too." Says Ernesto, putting it into first again, pulling a few bucks out of his wallet and handing it to Sal, before driving off into the night.

 

                                         Mission Passed

                               Reward: 1250$,

Edited September 22 by Datalvarezguy

[The Coconut Kid]

You have been busy!

 

I'm gonna throw some general comments around on your missions. There are too many for me to try and catch up on. I have read through them all and think they're great. You've got a very likeable protagonist and interesting supporting characters.

 

The way you're combining optional missions from around A Fuego/Mission Four has confused me. I'm going to recommend posting them separately.

 

The date with Laura is the best example I can give you. One minute we're in Drusillas, and the next, we're in a Gang War. You have made a very good effort to set them up to work together, but it was difficult for me to follow exactly where we're supposed to be at.

 

You've mentioned these would be available post-mission. It's a better idea to post them after your missions and make it clear that they're separate.

 

Mission Six hit the perfect balance for me. It's just the right length. More of this please!

 

There are other things I'm picking up on...

 

It hasn't gone unnoticed that you're using present tense to write your missions now. They read well and I appreciate the effort you continue to put into this! This isn't just an enjoyable read because it's easy on the eye - your writing is a genuine pleasure to read.

 

I love your use of in-game graphics -- the stat bar for gang wars and the emails. I do have one question. What does the content of the email say? Can you translate it for us?

 

And your callbacks to GTAIV are funny. Ray yelling at Packie. The Lords speculating that the IAA were involved in killing Lyle when we know it was just Brucie. They even bring him up as a possibility.

 

Always looking forward to reading more.

[Datalvarezguy]

6 hours ago, The Coconut Kid said:

I love your use of in-game graphics -- the stat bar for gang wars and the emails. I do have one question. What does the content of the email say? Can you translate it for us?

Sure, In all honesty, I should had done this earlier:

(Just to preface, "Voro", "Chava" and the like are Sal's many nicknames.)

Aunt Lola's Mail (ENGLISH):

 

"Vorito:

I hope this email finds you alive, and not in the arms of my whore sister in heaven, (Or who knows where)

I'm okay, sorta. I've got a new job at a supermarket. It's decent, and you meet people, but the hours are sh*t. But I know you don't really care about this.

 

I don't want to be a c*nt, but you and Laura always were on the defensive with us, and, honestly, I get it, we abandoned you. But the other choice was taking you with me and then who the f*ck knows what was gonna happen. Things are calm now, but I had to do a lot of nasty stuff, and I doubt you'd be happy here with me regardless.

 

What I'm trying to say is, I know we never gave you the best example, but I've heard Laura lives her life legally. I beg of you to do the same. Try to do something with your life, before you end up regretting it.

Much love, your auntie.

PS: Delete this email just in case."

 

Sal's answer (ENGLISH):

 

"Dear Auntie:

I appreciate you breaking the silence, but we placed it for your safety. We're okay. Wait until the decade ends and we may meet each other, wherever you are.

As for my life, the advice's appreciated, but I'll see how I dig myself out of my messes. Don't worry.

 

I love you.

 

Voro."

Edited April 29 by Datalvarezguy

[The Coconut Kid]

Much appreciated!

 

I wouldn't have even thought to bring emails into a concept. Major props for your creativity.

[Datalvarezguy]

 

Beep

From: Jefe

Go see the Cubano. He's doing something at the Steinway Projects.

Getting us some new friends. Wear some warm clothes if you catch my drift.

 

Get up. Get strapped. Get something to eat at Burger Shot. Your time to bat.

 

Miguel is somewhere in Steinway, in the projects. Nas came from there. Mobb Deep did too. sh*t hasn't changed though, only difference now was that Iranians had also moved in, as did some Latinos, Russians and some Albanians.

It'd been a couple of days since the shop, word was out on the street that the triad wanted blood, Kenny and his boys looking for Lords out in the street. Some boys got clipped. Muscle Mary's got hit, Juan Trujillo and his crew getting wiped in the chaos. A couple of dealers got shanked.

 

So, now Nico was looking for allies. Hence Miguel being used as a middleman for this shaky deal. Guns for money and hits.

 

Sal meets Mickey on the first floor, looking around nervously. Upon seeing his friend he reaches out for a dap. “Hey.” spits Sal.

 

 

They're on the sixth now.

 

"Look, about the other day, I-"

"Don't worry about it. It happens, okay? Nothing we're going to say is gonna make it better."

"Right. Tell me about the guy, Nico didn't tell me much."

"Guy's name is Sokrat. Or however Albanians pronounce it, I don't f*ckin' know."
 

"And these guys need guns?"
 

"They major paranoid. Word on the street they weak. Debtors killing their loan sharks bad."

"So you're giving them guns."
 

"A dumpster filled with them."

And the Albanians were on the way out. Fantastic.

"And these motherf*ckers are going to hit the triad for us?"

 

"That's why you're here, to be sure everything cool." He stops by the door, 211. 

 

Miguel opens his leather jacket. Pulls out an assault pistol.

 

"Gift for you."

He tucks it in his waistband.  Looks at Miguel. Impatiently, "Well go on. Knock."

Knocks.
 

Dead air.

The door opens inward.

To say Sokrat's apartment is a run down sh*thole would be an insult to run down sh*tholes. Doesn't just stink of tobacco, it’s pure putrid rot, like a body decomposing in the walls; walls half peeled and brown. Smoke in the air, none of the windows open, TV was blasting. Blasting what? Blasting something, the speakers so busted you couldn't even tell what was being said.

And there he was, sitting on the couch, cross legged, expecting.

Sokrat Ademi

 

“Përshëndetje! Alo!” he yells without getting up. Doesn’t even bother reaching his hand out, but it’s not like Sal or Mickey would even want to touch it. 

 

“Alo to you too or whatever.” says Miguel. Sal crosses his arms, pinches his nose to make the smell more bearable. 

 

“You got stuff?” says the Albanian.

 

“Chyeah. Armamento puro. Good guns, mang. You got the cash?”

Sokrat motions to another Albanian. Only other person in the room. Flight jacket, unkempt beard. Had the facial features of an unwashed ape. Ape heads to the kitchen, he comes back with a grocery bag.

Filled to the brim with 20's and 50's.

Miguel reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a piece of paper.

"Red dumpster. I've hidden a crate at the very bottom of the trash."

He gives it to the fat man. Reaches for his phone, starts to text.

 

"Please." Goes Sokrat. "Sit down, let's talk."

 

Sal and Miguel look at each other, nod. They sit down on the opposite couch.

“So, how long are you guys in game, eh? We Albanians, we used to be big. Power. And now? Stupid Serb immigrants killing our shot callers. Not f*cking funny.”

 

"We can imagine." Sal says.

"Yes. You imagine. We know. We heard of what is up with Lords. You want Asian Kenny gone. We can arrange, no problem. You were first to reach hand to us. We request something of you. Say yes, and Kenny dead.”

"Define request."

 

"We want favors. Get debtors to pay. Make example of those who do not. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."

"We can do that, I suppose."

"Yes. We also want stake in card game."

 

Silence.

 

“I dunno if we’re qualified to decide over this…” Miguel tries to smooth things over.

"You shut your mouth, your deal is already made." Doesn't even look at Miguel. "I'm talking to Lord now. Card game or no deal."

 

Sal leans back.

 

“...Okay. You do Kenny and we talk blackjack. Sometimes it’s better to put the boss in front of a fait accompli."

 

“Ai ka topa. Balls. Assure me your boss agrees with you, and we have a deal.” - Sokrat smirks. "Call him."

Sal and Miguel glance at each other.

"Now." Sokrat says firmer.

"Look, I need time to get a good argument-"

"Now."  Sal turns to the ape. Hand already gripping a pistol. He isn't f*cking around.

 

Sal reaches for his phone. Slowly. 

 

Hand halfway through the pocket when the door is kicked down. Miguel half-turns before just grabbing Sal and throwing both of them to the ground.

Volley of bullets where their heads were, right in front of where Sokrat is.  He collapses back on the couch, a cloud of blood over his chest as he flies back. Ape is already shooting back, heavy pistol firing back into the doorframe, dust kicking up with every shot coming in and out of the apartment.
Sal looks up to the chaos, just in time to see a blast of buckshot hit the Albanian right on the chest, him taking a few steps back, he empties his magazine into the doorway, before it stops.

Everyone else is already dead.

He looks at the pair. Face covered in blood. His own. Nose running and teary eyed.

"H-Help me-" He collapses.

 

Sal and Mickey turn to the doorway. Three Triads. Or what's left of them. More on the way, no doubt judging by the other gunshots and screaming in the background, the rest of the Albanian tenants no doubt trying to arm up.

 

Sokrat is sprayed all over the couch. His stomach is now an open wound, guts and acid and sh*t and blood caking the couch and floor. His eyes are wide open. His phone is ringing. Could be his goons that found the guns. Could be his other goons trying to tell him to escape.

 

Miguel is still gripping the bag full of money.

 

Escape the Apartments.

 

You're on the sixth floor. Six floors filled to the brim with Triads, and several apartments worth of pissed off Albanians.

Good f*cking luck. At the very least Miguel was smart enough to arm you up beforehand.

 

Sal sneaks alongside the wall, gun out.

Its pandemonium: gunshots, shotguns, uzis and pistols. Screams of "FIND THEM" and "GET THOSE MOTHERf*ckERS" in various accents, you can hear some apartments being barricaded, youths, families and drug dealers trying to keep whatever is happening outside, outside.
 

Behind one of the doors, a Russian man can be heard saying in a broken accent: “f*ck me, I’m not leaving right now for SURE. Gena will have to wait.”

 

You know for a fact sirens are gonna join the ruckus soon. Do not be there when they arrive.

Albanians on the prowl, coming out of the other side of the floor. Lay them out.

 

 

"Did they follow you or me?" That's Miguel, over the shooting.

 

"What?!"

"I SAID, WHO DID THEY TRAIL HERE? THE TRIADS." 

 

"You think I know?! f*ck, I didn't see nobody on the way, we may have a chivato, I dunno!"

 

Make a move towards the stairs, Albanian with a Combat Pistol already drawn on you.

 

 

He takes a step back, holding his gut, raises his pistol to the Triad, fires. Both of them go down.

 

Five Floors to go.

 

Turn around the corner, gun out. Finger around the trigger when you see who she is.  Stop yourself, you maniac, it's an old lady.

 

She screams, throwing her purse at you, practically throwing herself inside before you even have a chance to fire. Shuts the door, locks it.

 

Someone's playing rap in the background, screaming about cops.

 

Keep moving.

 

Four. 

 

There's three dead Albos on the ground, pools of blood. Two guys kneeling next to the bodies, one can't be older than 20, other maybe mid 30's, maybe 40's, trying to keep the blood in, trying to keep them alive.

They see you, hands are up.

"Jesus no-" goes the first.

"We're unarmed, man, we surrender!" That's the second.

 

Their fates in your hands. Do what you want.

 

Three.

 

Chaos. Half the side is Albanians, the other is Triads. You can swear you can hear some ebonics mixed in. Maybe even Irish.

 

The plaster walls fall off piece by piece, doors shatter into pieces, the bodycount keeps rising.

Two.

 

You can hear sirens over the gunshots.

 

sh*t.

 

One.

 

They're getting closer.

 

Ground Floor.

 

There are hardly any survivors. Except for you and Miguel, of course. Leave the apartment complex to witness a number of parked tuned Ferocis. An Albanian is seen speeding off on a PCJ-600, face covered by a helmet.  The first responders are on the other side of the street.

 

Take Miguel to the Hood. It'll be safe.

 

It’s easy, just leave Steinway before the cops see you. If you hang around too long, they will arrive at the project buildings, granting you a three-star wanted level.  Maybe take one of the heavily modified tuner cars, just a suggestion.

 

You drive away.

 

"Motherf*cker, that was too close, that was too close!" Miguel looks back at the projects as they become a bad memory in the rearview mirror. " Why is it that every time I roll with you there's a goddamn body count?!"

 

“Too close? You sound like my gran, we did fine! Kept our heads straight, got out alive! You've gotta get a grip man, I thought you was a hardcore dealer!” - Sal's far from sad or disappointed. After all, they were getting paid. Unfortunately, that was it. So much for the hit."

 

Miguel digs into the bag of money. "Didn't even have time to count it."

 

"Good thing you didn't. That restraint saved our heads. Thanks for uh, y'know, that. It's appreciated, and all."

 

"Yeah, good thing." It's dawning on him now. "f*ck me, the hit."

 

"Not our fault."

 

"I'm pretty sure one of us got followed."

 

"And it wasn't you, right?"

 

“I mean any Chink that saw me doing a hit on them is dead. Back in Alderney. It’s gotta be you.”

 

"I didn't see nobody, man."

 

"That's the point, fool, you're not supposed to see them following you. I mean, sh*t, I hope it's that, cuz the other choice it's worse for all of us."

 

"You ain't starting with this paranoia sh*t. Conversation over."

 

The conversation will drag on as you enter the car, and it will continue upon leaving Steinway. Once you do, you will be greeted by a blip, pinpointed to the projects in South Bohan. 

 

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

 

You arrive.

 

"I'm still shaking. Gonna hit the hash stash, you in?" Miguel gets ready to get out of the car.

"Tempting, but I gotta do sh*t, sorry."

 

"Right, see you 'round then. Good luck with Nico and look behind your shoulder."

 

Miguel leaves the car and walks off towards the projects. 

 

   Mission Passed

Reward: 3500$,

 

You dial Jefe's number.

 

"Jefe, it didn't work. We got the cash but the Albanians got hit."

 

"The f*ck you mean they got hit?"

 

"Triad found us, don't know how. We barely escaped with our lives, Jefe."

 

You can hear the sound of something being broken in the background.

“GOD f*ckING- Cash is one thing but what am I gonna do with no alliance? I'm gonna have to hash things out with the Albos now, I can't afford another front with this goddamn war! Something else is thrown, more anger. "You and the Cubano, you better not disappoint me again.”

"We barely got out with our lives."

 

"I appreciate that fact, but I trusted you with this, and you haven't given me results. You've given me a disaster. I'll be seeing you around, Salvador."

 

Click.

Edited September 27 by Datalvarezguy

[Datalvarezguy]

 

 

Wake up. Get out. Phone call from Mickey.

"Hey man." He seems eager; probably high on something. "Guess who's got his hands full and needs a business partner."

 

"Oh, that’s sweet. You wanna say it louder for the feds?"

"I know, Salva, I know. Listen, I'll cut to the chase, you wanna help me with this, call me. Eggs in a basket and all that jazz."

 

"I'll think about it, mano."

 

And that’s that.

 

You can now call Miguel for extra work. 

 

Check your emails.

 

(ENG)

EYEFIND MAIL   Re: Ha pasado un tiempo.   Don't let Nicolás bully you. He's a heartless bastard. Think very well on what you're going to do with your life in a few years, please. This cannot last forever. -Your Auntie.

 

It's a bit after lunch when you get the second phone call.

 

"¿Sí?"

 

"Soy yo." Rafa's voice comes as clear as day.

"It's me."

 

"¿Qué pasa, qué quieres?"

"What's up, what you want?"

"Ven a tu casa. Tenemos que hablar."

"Come to your place, we've gotta talk."

 

Rafa lives near the hood. He lives so near in fact, that he technically doesn’t have a house.

He alternates between safehouses and crash pads: mainly Ernesto's and Jefe's, depending on who he ended the day with. Wasn’t rare for him to sleep behind a dumpster either, back in the day. Most low-ranking Lords soldiers would complain about the smell, but they didn’t push the issue because of the fear he instilled.

And now he's waiting at your apartment, which means that you better get there, and get there now. Rafa isn't just going to wait for you to get your act together.

 

Meet Rafa.

 

 

On arrival he's leaning by the front door: over the steps, smoking. Thankfully it's Redwoods this time. 

 

He's either out of harder drugs, or he's actually taking things seriously for once.
 

“¿Qué pasa, Lord?” - Sal approaches him .

"Sup, Lord?"

 

"¿Qué me dices si acabamos hoy con la puta guerra de Nicolás?"
"Whatchu tell me if we end with Nicolas' f*cking war today?"

"No me jodas."
"No sh*t?"

 

"Nico me hizo pinchar el telefono al restaurante de mierda del chino. Kenny va a salir a ver a un amiguito suyo, en Schottler."

"Nico made me wiretap this piece of sh*t Chinaman restaurant's landline. He's going out to meet a friend in Schottler."

 

"¿Y?"

"And?"

"¡Pues que vas a subirte a un tejado y volarle los sesos! ¡Ya está, cabrón muerto, se acaba la guerra! Más fácil imposible."

"You’re gonna go up there up on the rooftop and pick him off! There! f*cker is dead, war is over. Easy as can be."

 

"Oh, no, no, que te lo crees tu, pendejo. Claro, manda a Chava, manda al ahuevao, al mamao, que sí luego está en territorio enemigo, con un rifle de francotirador y veinte chinos con rifles de asalto, luego le rezamos unas romerias, ¿no?"
"Oh no, no, that's what you think, dummy. Sure, send Sal, send the moron, the idiot, so when he's stuck in enemy territory, with a sniper rifle and twenty gooks with assault rifles, we'll *pray* for him, right?"

Rafa coughs and spits, flicking some dust off the cigarette.

 

"Hago un plan y esto es lo que me dais. Desagradecido hijoputa. No se, llama a tu maricón Alfonso o algo que te ayude, tienes un corrilo, llamales, haz algo. O mueres una muerte digna o te cargas al chino. De ambas maneras, Jefe estará orgulloso. Porque eso es lo que todos queremos, que el Jefe esté contento, ¿verdad?"

"I come up with a goddamn plan and this is all I get. Ungrateful piece of sh*t. I don’t know, call your maricon Alfonso or something and get him to help you. You have a crew. Call them.  Either you die a dignified death there or you whack the culprit. Either way it’d go, Jefe would be proud. And that’s what you want the most, the boss to be happy. Understood?"

 

"¿Y porque no vas tú entonces?"

"And why won't you go?"

 

Rafa throws the Redwood downwards, bouncing off the stairs. Big sh*t-eating grin as he lets the smoke out.

 

"Porque yo ya he hecho mi parte, Lord." He pushes a note in Sal's chest. Descends the stairs. Doesn't look back as he leaves.

 

"Cuz I've done my part, Lord."

 

"Puto listillo." Sal mutters as he watches him go.

“f*cking wiseguy.”

 

Get to the lookout point.

 

The note has all the info needed.

 

Kenny's meeting in Beechwood City, a backyard near the Homebrew Café, next to the The Bay Bar.

 

Park the Chino up the alleyway. To get to the lookout up you must get to a nearby roof - a dilapidated apartment building - which you will use to jump to the bar's water tower, before reaching the actual target itself.

 

Up on the awning.

 

You wait there. The Chavos arrives first: light blue, two occupants. Sal peeks out, sees them.

 

 

Then the second one. Dundreary Admiral. Sal watches over, and there he is. The one and only:
 

Wu "Kenny" Lee

 

Lee and company get out of the car. You can continue to watch over, or lean back in and try to call your crew. Regardless, the conversation will continue up to a certain point.

 

"Kenny. To what do I owe this joyful meeting?" goes blue shirt.

 

"The tides of fate conspire to bring us together once again, Park Xiānshēng."

"Please, Kenny, for the love of everything you hold holy.” He takes a deep breath, "Stop."

 

There’s a pause.

 

"Right."

 

"We should skip the pleasantries, before I lose what's left of my goddamn mind. You called me. What do you need?"

 

"I take it that, despite your old age, your senses of hearing and seeing have not yet diminished.You've seen what the present situation is."

 

He scoffs. "You got in trouble because you robbed the card game."

 

"Oh, not you too! I WISH I had robbed the game. At least I would have something to gain from this. One of the men in that game was part of my family. He started to complain about how inhospitable Liberty City is, how he wishes he was back in Kowloon, that he’s had gonorrhea easier than this. I had to take him to an expensive masseuse to calm him down, and then he went and got gonorrhea again anyway. What else? Oh yeah, I have a massive f*cking gang war in my hands too."

 

"You want help."

 

"Of course I want help!" 

 

"This is going to cost. The situation has been difficult on our front too. We've gotten in trouble with the Mafia."

 

"The Italians? I'm not fighting two wars."

 

"I figured. You don't even want to fight one. But you still, I know this, you have warriors. I do too. I’m willing to spare the Wonsu Nodong. I just want recompense."
 

Another pause.

"I'll send some men. For the Wonsu. But they don't do anything public, nor loud, understand? Too much heat."

 

"Zhou's been a thorn on my side for too much time now. If this situation spirals even more out of control, things might collapse. And you might fall with it."

 

"I understand."

 

Wu and Park will scoot closer now, and the conversation will become inaudible. Only option now is to creep back down.

 

PRESS E TO GET DOWN.

 

 Not a second after you climb down, the phone rings.

Alfonso

 

No choice but to answer it.

 

"Poncho, I’m in the middle of something, hermano. I gotta-"

 

Noise on the other end. Ragged breathing.

 

Sal frowns. “Alfonso?”

 

"I’m- f*ck- Sal, Joliet Avenue-" strained voice, followed by a painful grunt. "South Bohan. South Bohan, Salvador. Hurry the f*ck up-"

 

One second to process what is happening.

 

"I'm on my way. What happened?"

 

"We got hit, I'm f*cking dying, come now!"

 

Line goes dead.

 

Find Alfonso before he dies.

 

Turn around, the Asians are leaving, all going to their cars. It's over. It doesn't matter anymore.

 

Rafa can go f*ck himself. Alfonso needs you right now. 

 

Jump down the rooftop if needed and hop on whatever car you bought with you, possibly the Chino, speed off and pray you arrive before the 3 minute and 30 seconds timer runs down to zero.

 

By the time you arrive, the signs are obvious. 

 

Carnage.

 

Alfonso wasn't the only one hit: several cars, Primos and Cavalcades crashed on the way to Alfonso, most of their occupants dead, or crawling out of the wreckage. Use them to guide you, because once you make it to the general area, you have to find the man yourself.

 

The trail leads you to a corner in Leavenworth Avenue, a crowd of people surrounding something, no, someone. Next to it: a streak of blood and Alfonso's Lycan, crashed in the middle of the street.

 

Congratulations. You've found him.

 

“Urrrghhh…” - Alfonso is groaning in pain while resting his head against the wall and holding a his shaking hand over a ragged wound. Blood is trickling from his forehead, his nose, his jacket is torn, his leg seems smashed. 

 

Sal approaches the crowd gathering around the aftermath of whatever nightmare unfolded here.

 

Whips out his pistol.

 

Aims it at them. Aims it at the sky. Screams:

“¡Todo el mundo a sus putas casas, AHORA! f*ck outta here! GO!”
"Everyone to their f*cking homes, NOW. f*ck outta here! GO!"

 

Crowd disperses: people manic, they duck, scramble. Amongst them, a big guy steps forward - too tough for his own good - facing you down.

 

“What’s your problem, broki? Who you supposed-”
 

Bang!

 

Sal whips him in the f*cking face.

He falls to the ground.

 

Turn back.

 

“Let’s get you outta here, hermano.” Sal says. Pulling Alfonso up, the man is wincing in agony: groaning, barely able to keep himself conscious. 

 

“There’s a car there, see it? See it, Sal?”

 

“I see it.”

 

“Take that- urgh… and drive… la hada should be here any second.”

 

Cavalcade, windshield shot into pieces, dead Lord next to the driver's seat. 

 

“Same old, same old, eh?”

“Heh…” Alfonso can barely smile.

 

It breaks. He coughs, heaves, spits blood onto his shirt.

 

Cutscene ends: you’re behind the steering wheel of a Spanish Lords Cavalcade, Alfonso as passenger. You’re immediately greeted with a three star wanted level.

 

“Where you- hijo de puta, this hurts! ¡Ay bendito! My god… where are we going?”

“Not the hospital, that's for damn sure. Heard of a dependable guy in Dukes. Should get you patched up, and I ain’t risking your ass being pinched there together with our whole gang.”

“f*ck you… and thank you… drive carefully!” He wheezes, “f*cks sake…”

 

“All units in the Bohan area please respond, we have a gang related shoot-out and car chase in South Bohan. Suspects seen escaping in a red Albany Cavalcade. Investigate with caution, they’re armed and dangerous.”

 

 

 

Lose the cops.

 

Don't crash too much, or he's a goner. Watch out for patrols.

 

They’re hunting tonight.

 

"I know you're hurting, mano, but you gotta tell me, what the f*ck happened, man? It was a f*cking massacre back there."

 

"We had a deal. We had a deal going." He wheezes in pain. “Liz Torres, remember that dyke?”

“‘Course I do, f*cking lesbian whore. She crazy, you don’t want nothing near her. You’ve heard the stories.”

 

“It was easy cash.”

 

“People die sayin’ that, man, and look what halfway happened.”

“Listen. Sick bitch, she… set up a deal, hooked us up with some guys, esto en un mamey. These scumbags, these Irish guys wanted to move weight from Dukes. And it all went to sh*t. I don’t f*cking know. I head down Joliet and all I see is dead Lords, mano, dead Lords.”

 

“How many guys ran up on the deal? You see?”

 

“I don’t know. I ran after them… the car, the buyers, whatever. Took a hit to the forehead, fell off the bike- and- and- and I don’t know. I swear to God, I thought I wasn't gonna walk again."

 

"You chased after some psychos on a goddamn bike, how the f*ck are you alive, estúpido hijo de puta?!" Genuine worry in Sal's voice. "Do you know the trouble you got us into? I had f*cking Kenny in my sights, in my crosshair, I was gonna put him down. I had to drop that, to come save you."

 

"Jesus, mano… I'm f*cking sorry-"

 

"Do not apologize to me, you f*cking idiot! Of course I'd drop anything to come save your stupid ass, you know that. It's the fact you had to pick RIGHT NOW to do that, you f*cking- Imagine I have to tell my sister you got your dumb ass killed!"

 

“Laura? Pfff… lo que sea, and why would she care?”

 

"Like I don't know you two are still friends, get the f*ck outta here. I've hung out with her again. She cares."

 

“I care too, man. I do, I do.” Alfonso’s choking up. “I miss her.”

 

“Do you? Okay. If she found out about this sh*t, this psycho loco crazy motherf*cker sh*t, hermano, she’d probably crack your skull open with a bat for being such a f*cking moron… see? That’s why she didn’t wanna continue this sh*t, because you never know, you might turn up dead tomorrow.”

“Ooohhh… you’re so above it all, Mister Morales. As if you ain’t in the same boat. She’s YOUR sister, man!"

“I’m my own man. I don’t give a f*ck what others would think if I die.”

 

"Man… okay, man, just shut the f*ck up. I need- f*ck… I need quiet."

 

“Quiet. Quiet. Sure.”

 

You manage to lose the cops, bar not empty somehow. Get to the doc. Fast.

Take Alfonso to the surgeon.

 

 

Park the car in the middle of the alley.

 

"This is the spot, okay? Just hold on, Alfonso, I'm gonna talk to him, okay? Just breathe."

 

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

 

One of the alleyway's doors opens.

 

A middle-aged black man in a bloodied white doctor's coat pulls a cigarette from behind his ear, lights the thing up. Next to him is Sal, guiding the good doctor towards the nearby car.

"Christ, you weren't kidding." He says, taking a look at Alfonso. "Hey, if this doesn't work out, I can at the very least help you cover the funeral costs. Unless, y’know, his liver is ruptured."

 

"Real f*cking funny!" That's Alfonso, trying not to let the pain get to him.

 

"Are you gonna be able to take care of him?" Sal asks the doc. 

 

He takes a drag of his cig, pensive. "Yeah… yeah, I think I can manage. It'll cost you a pretty penny. But we'll talk about the details some other time. Leave me your number, I can take over from here." 

 

He shoos you away. Opens the car door, shoos you again.

 

f*ck off.

 

Sal heads down through the blinking lights of the darkened alley.

 

MISSION COMPLETE

 

“Doc” contact added to your phone.

 

You call Rafa.

 

"¿Qué cojones ha pasado, Chava? El maldito chino está llamando a su esposa ahora mismo. Está vivo. Te dí una oportunidad de oro y-"

"What the f*ck happened, Sal? The goddamned Chink is calling his wife right now. He's alive. I gave you a golden chance and-"

 

"Our crew got hit. We lost a lot of boys, I had to save Alfonso myself. Háblame así otra vez, pedazo de malparido hijodeputa, y te arranco los huevos con mis propias manos."

 

"...Talk to me like that again, you soulless motherf*cker, and I'll rip off your balls with my bare hands."

 

Click.

Edited August 2 by Datalvarezguy

[Akaviri]

I really dig the way you format your missions. It goes a long way toward making them flow out. Especially the actionable instructions, they look just like in the game.

 

The discreet subtitles for the Spanish? Also brilliant. I'll certainly be taking a few cues from this for future mission writing!

 

Well done on Kenny Lee and successfully integrating CTW into GTA IV. I love seeing the Organ Doctor integrated as well, such an interesting character that we tend to forget about.

[Datalvarezguy]

12 hours ago, Akaviri said:

I really dig the way you format your missions. It goes a long way toward making them flow out. Especially the actionable instructions, they look just like in the game.

 

The discreet subtitles for the Spanish? Also brilliant. I'll certainly be taking a few cues from this for future mission writing!

 

Well done on Kenny Lee and successfully integrating CTW into GTA IV. I love seeing the Organ Doctor integrated as well, such an interesting character that we tend to forget about.

Answers and feedback like this give me life. Thanks for reading and loving this man. Next chapter is gonna be... Oh boy, but hopefully y'all like it. Season 1 is *almost* over, btw, so see y'all soon