GRAND THEFT AUTO: CHAOS

Note: This story has nothing to do with Grand Theft Auto 1, 2, or 3. This is a new story, but with the same type of plot. Killing people, and blowing things up.

Note: I do not own Grand Theft Auto or RockStar. I am just a fan.

Enjoy my story. Please review, because I will only add more if you do.



Michael, a twenty-seven year old criminal, was in jail for a long time now. He went to jail when he was just twenty-one. If only he never did that terrible chain of crimes, he would of never been in jail, for this long. Well, there was only twelve years left until he gets to be a free man again.

The sink next to his bed was dripping again, and that made Michael go nuts. He hated that noise. Drip. Drip. Drip. It didn't stop!

"Shut the fuck up sink!" Michael yelled, as he kicked it. He knew a sink was an inanimate object, but by now he was going crazy. He talked to himself, he was paranoid, he hallucinated, and he talked to inanimate objects.

"Ouch!" he screamed. He hurt is foot hard on the metal. It started to get black-and-blue, and he decided to rest.

Michael lay down on his uncomfortable bed, pulled over his blanket made out of what seemed like wood, and closed his eyes. He kept on moving around, but he couldn't sleep. He figured it was because of the dripping, and just waited until it stopped.

Waiting. Waiting, waiting, and waiting more. That's all Michael ever did. There was absolutely nothing inside the jail cell, except for a leaking sink, a bed, a toilet, and some rough toilet paper. It was the closest thing to hell, and Michael wanted out of it, quick. He couldn't wait twelve more years. He had to get out now, or he would go even more nuts.

Most of the time, in the cell, Michael dreamed of his revenge. He dreamt of leaving the jail cell, a free man, and killing all of the guards painfully, one by one by one. Then, he would leave the jail, murdering everyone he saw, with his favorite weapon, the flame-thrower. He would car- jack a shiny, expensive car, such as a Banshee, Stinger, or Cheetah. Then he would drive around, showing no mercy to anyone on the streets, and get back to his place. The Mafia. That is where he belonged.

Ah, the Mafia. They helped Michael become what he is. A psychotic maniac deprived of freedom and happiness. But he wasn't at all mad at the Mafia. He was angry at the other gang he joined while he was a criminal. The Mafia never betrayed Michael. They only helped him. The other gang, the Yakuzas, did this to him. They used him, like a tool. A worthless tool. If Michael's fantasy revenge came true, he would gang up with the Mafia, and kill everyone in the Yakuza gang.

But, that was never going to happen. He was never going to leave his jail cell until his time was up, in twelve years. He was never going to get out into the freedom and fresh air, and re-join the excellent Mafia that he once was in. If he did, in twelve years, it was obvious him and the other Mafia members wouldn't be able to destroy the Yakuza gang. They were one of the strongest gangs in Liberty City, where Michael lives.

Michael lived in Portland for half of his life, and then moved to Staunton Island for a while. He loved living in Liberty City, where the only dirty word is hope. He loved watching crime appear in every direction, every single second of his life. It was entertaining to watch people bleed, and die.

After he was eighteen, and wasn't accepted into the Liberty City College, which is pretty hard not to be accepted, he decided to go one step further. He decided to be an entertainer; a murderer. A thief, a destroyer, a killer. Everything related to crime. He needed to be bad, very much.

Michael just had to let out everything he had; all of the things that ever angered him. His parents were divorced and his big sister died at the age thirteen. He still remembers the gunshot, and the loud scream of his sister, who was still just a kid. Ever since those incidents, which happened in the same year, Michael became a twisted part of nature. He was tempted to commit suicide many times, but prevented himself. He then decided to let others feel his torture, and became a killer. He joined the Mafia to be more of an organized murderer, with many partners and companions on his side.

After a terrible misunderstanding, Michael believed that the Mafia was using him. But he later found out that he was incorrect. But it was too late, because he already joined the Yakuza gang in Staunton Island after leaving the Mafia. He resented his mistake very much, since the Yakuza was much less friendly, and much less fun. Later, it turns out the Yakuza used him, and set him up. He was arrested for eighteen years. Six years passed by since then. Now, he was stuck in the Liberty City jail, a place that smelled like shit, and didn't feel like home at all.

Michael stopped dreaming of his revenge, and decided to rest again. He walked back to his stone bed, and lied down. The noisy dripping of the sink was stopping, and he was able to get some piece and quite, until he heard a loud gun shot.

There was a giant bang outside the jail, and Michael jumped out of his bed and ran to the barred window to see what was going on. He saw a small black man, and a large white man in a suit. It was obvious who they were. The Triads and the Mafia.

He recognized the man and called out to him. "Pete! Pete, over here!" yelled Michael. Usually he wasn't allowed to talk to the people outside, but all of the jail guards ran outside to see the crime. "Pete, do you remember me?" The man Michael called Pete shot the Triad in the stomach, leaving him on the floor, bleeding and twitching. Pete then looked over at the window, and saw Michael.

"Michael? Is that you?" said Pete. He seemed to recognize him.

"Yes, it is. Pete, you have to help me. I am stuck in here, and I need to get out before I go any more crazy," replied Michael.

"Sorry kid. I have to get out of here. The police will be here any second, and I have to escape," said Pete.

"Fuck!" Michael thought to himself.

He walked back to his bed, with no more sign of happiness whatsoever. He was terribly bored. What he wanted was pain, and pain to other people.

Then, he decided to think over what he was doing, when he first became a criminal. He wanted to remember what happened. When he became a member of the Mafia, and then the Yakuza. He decided to sit down on his bed, close his brown eyes, and just think about everything that happened.

It all started when Michael was a young boy. When he was eighteen…