STELM: Alright guys this fic is product of the joint work of some of the best authors on this site. The team compromised of me (STELM), the honorable Native Gunz 13, and the skilled Afro Spirit. With major contributions from Zane Longsharks.

Sunbelt City is based on Houston and surrounding cities. Majority of characters, organizations, places, actions, and dialogue have been created by me, Native Gunz, or Afro Spirit. The rest of the rights go to Rockstar.

Rated M for Intense Violence, Strong Language, Sexual Content, and Drug and Alcohol Use.

Enjoy!

In the Beginning...

-Jrue-

"Jrue. Twas your last day. We're gonna miss you bro." Devin, Jrue's closest coworker, said as Jrue took a huge a hit out of Devin's glass bong. He had pulled hard, held the smoke in, and made a semi-legit O that dispersed as it hit the panting open mouth of Devin's dog. Who ran away when the smoke got in her mouth.

Devin had ordered something special in since it was Jrue's last day at work. Jrue had a mini party held in the break room at their lunch break and had finished up his end on all the projects he was involved in. The duo rode in Jrue's modest Dilettante Hybrid Funk after the work day was over to pick up the cannabis cup award-winning Durban Poison Sativa and headed to Devin's apartment.

And here they were, smoking out of Devin's bong on his green couch watching a nature channel, Jrue had just started feeling the feeling only medibles could give you, the duo having split a macadamia nut magic brownie earlier. At this moment neither of them wanted to go anywhere duo to combination of the weed smoke and the weed going through their digestive system. At the same damn time, Jrue thought.

The green couch (or the green weed) had them glued on their ass. While Devin deconstructed his TV remote Jrue was in an intense fight with his hands, they just would let go of his phone. His hands were so heavy. Who was I texting anyways?

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Oh shit man it's the cops! They know we're high!" Devin yelled as he sprung up from the couch. He tossed the stoned Asian the chips and Jrue hid them under the table. Nobody would ever find them again.

Jrue saw Devin light a candle and do an almost perfect roll over his own couch. He sat the candle on the table and started to straighten up while spraying himself. He tossed the can to Jrue and the Singaporean gave himself his own Italian shower. The police wouldn't know what hit them.

"Hide in the attic and I'll get the door." Devin said and Jrue, whose stoned mind realized that the apartment had no attic, rushed to the refrigerator. Upon opening it he realized that the fridge had been infested with food! He just hid beside the big white box, his pock marked face rubbing the cold sides of the refrigerator.

"Junis!" Devin said in glee as one of their other computer programming co-workers came in the door a baggie of dank raised in the air for all to see. Jrue looked at it and laughed. Junis discovered the Asian in the corner and went up to hug him.

"Bro we're gonna get so fucking baked!" He exclaimed as he looked into Jrue's eyes.

"We already turnt up!" Devin said in the background as he turned on his radio, which was connected to two gigantic speakers. Dabs by Trapzillas was playing and Devin couldn't help but dance. He got on the table and before he could even try to bust any type of move he fell down. His impact looked like it hurt for a few seconds. But the crazy white kid got back up and tried to do it again.

The trio smoked the rest of the high-grade nugs and ate the other brownies and by the time they were done they were sprawled out on the floor looking at Devin's apartment ceiling. "Devil Want my Soul" French Montana was playing now and the TV was turned to the static channel. That had always been Jrue's favorite show growing up, he thought so at least. Jrue really couldn't remember much before he started working at Sexy Pupp Ent. He didn't remember how he got here.

"Dude. I'm gonna fucking miss you man. Where ya goin?" Junis asked from the kitchen floor. Jrue was in the living room beside the TV, floored as well.

"West." Jrue replied bluntly.

"Of the border?" Devin picked up on the conversation.

"Nah that's north I'm thinking west, San Andreas." Jrue said setting the record straight on his destination. He had planned for his girlfriend to come with him. They had already started to pack their bags.

"Damn."

"Damn." The two white boys said, Devin then Junis, a good minute or two in between each other.

"Rushmore's not gonna be the same without you dude." Devin said as his dog playfully licked his cheek.

Just then Jrue's phone rang and he put it to his ear to answer.

"Hey babe. What's going on?" Jrue asked his girlfriend, Erica, who was probably at home now exercising or something. She was the one who convinced Jrue to move to Rushmore.

"I need you to come home quick. We have to talk about something. See yah when you get here." Erica said in her normal even tone before hanging up. No I love you or anything...

"Fuck that noise." Junis exclaimed already knowing what the call meant.

"Go ahead man we'll catch you in the SA one day. Feel." Devin said defending Jrue's ultimate decision.

Jrue got up from the ground and dapped his homeboys up as they promised to meet him over in SA one of these days. He took a few extra brownies to go and his computer programming posse waved him off as he drove out of the apartment complex Devin lived in.

He hated his high driving. Jrue always felt like a policeman was chasing him every green light he passed. Every time he turned he felt like he was going to run over somebody or something. Fuck I'm way too high to drive.

As Jrue blaze drove his hybrid through the streets of Rushmore City he knew he was going to miss the crime filled city filled with hustlers, killers, gangbangers, prostitutes, and druggies. It had served him well for the time being but the money was going to either Liberty, SA, South Harroline, Carcer City, or Sunbelt City. The stoner had to follow the money; he promised himself that he was never going to go broke after he graduated. He was gonna sail straight through in his computer programming career until he got enough experience to become a senior programmer or just a higher paid computer programmer. Maybe he'd get hired by a bigger company, maybe he'd become the father of modern computer programming. Who knew?

Sexy Pupp had paid him well it was just the hours that were cruel. He had very few days off and the job was just a lot of stress, so he ended up having to smoke alot of said stress to just stay afloat. Projects had to be done orderly and if they weren't somebody got cut. He had seen a lot of people gone down in the line of being fired. He had not been one of those people and he didn't want to be. He hadn't spend thousands at LCU to stand in an unemployment line.

As he drove by he saw a roving groups of Aces walking on the street, probably ready to start a riot or kill a bunch of enemy bangers. Luckily Jrue lived further down this street where the bangers were a lot scarcer. He had dealt with guys like them in his own high school. Slinging pills and some quality bud was the hardest thing Jrue had ever done. Never got robbed, never got fucked over, and had paper all throughout high school.

He parked beside the curb and got out of his car. Their house was a small one but it was nice for a new couple. The house was made out of bricks and had a rustic red top with old fashion windows. The perks of buying a 60s house was the 1962 prices.

Jrue walked through his unkempt lawn that was cut in the middle by a concrete walkway, wondering what it was the girl could want. He checked himself and realized he was good. He was dressed in some black jeans, a gray tank, and an orange beanie that he had changed into at Devin's. He had his work clothes in the backseat.

As the still high timing Asian boy opened the door he saw his pale ice queen of a girlfriend. She was hot, young, and she knew it. She was a Barbie who got whatever wanted. Jrue thought she was amazing in the sack but on the other hand he had only one other girl in his life, a chick named Dobe who was in the Marching Band his senior year. What happens in Band Camp stays in Band Camp right?

Jrue felt that they supported each other, although many times she had been the one in need of the help. She had been his light at the end of the tunnel for a while. She wanted to move to Rushmore and Jrue said "Ok! Let's Go!" She wanted to keep in touch with her ex boyfriend, Jrue told her, "It's OK I understand." She wanted him to pay for their house and not wanting to look like a total deadbeat he said, "Its fine I'll just work overtime." Jrue just wanted to make her happy.

"I'm totally freaking out right now." She said as she paced the living room. Her phone was on the table. She had just been given some bad news.

"Why?" Jrue asked wondering how bad the situation could really be.

"Okay listen my Dad just called me and he's making a surprise visit. I never told him about us. He thinks I'm his independent little angel. I told him I'm working at a law firm as a paralegal. If he finds out that I've been sharing the house then he'll lose all respect for me!" Erica explained as she sipped some coffee out of a Terrorist Cofee cup. Jrue recognized it as the infamous Osama Bin Latte. Erica's favorite.

"When is he coming?" Jrue asked, now concerned on how long he had to break it to her dad.

"Tonight!" Erica exclaimed her eye's as wide as they were when they saw me.

"Cool so I'll just dress up and be a nice guy when he comes." Jrue said, confident that Erica would be confident in my abilities to impress.

"No no, I'm sorry. You know I love you but I just need to break it to him, alone. I just need you to stay occupied somewhere else for a while." Erica explained her faced crinkled up, tears threatening to fall if he didn't say yes.

"Okay."

1 hour later…

Jrue had packed all of his belongings. Which mostly consisted of clothes, a jar of nugs, porn magazines, his laptop, his phone, his LX30, and some of his old books from college. He kissed Erica on the cheek and packed his car with all he had in this world. Jrue just hope Erica would tell her dad soon, definitely before the three days were over.

Jrue wanted to call Devin and Junis but both had cramped living arrangements and wouldn't be able to make room. Plus he wouldn't want them to laugh at the situation he was in, being kicked out of his own house. So the young educated Asian took his pride and roamed the streets of Rushmore in his shitty little Hybrid.

As time passed he found a vacant house that was for sale in a decent neighborhood. He parked behind the house unable to think of any place else to go. The only thing he wanted was for nobody to find him sleeping in his car. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't had to do it for three days.

3 days later…

Fucking bugs. I fucking hated mosquitoes with their little tiny insect fucking brains! Jrue thought to himself as he lay under his covers, his stench was killing him almost as much as the mosquito bites were. Jrue had about two hours of sleep these past three nights. Erica rarely answered his text and when she did she would say that her dad was taking her somewhere. Jrue really couldn't lay back because all of his stuff was packed into the backseat. So Jrue had to sleep sitting up in the driver's seat of his own car, covered in a blanket, in sweltering heat behind a vacant house. Like a tramp.

Jrue was half asleep when he heard...

"Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them. Don't try anything funny." Jrue freaked out, yet he could do nothing but stay still. He eventually got the nerve to get out the car in a daze with nothing but his briefs and pizza stained white beater on. His hands raised as the policed swarmed over to him.

The police explained to him that a neighbor had seen as strange car parked behind the vacant lot and called the police. Jrue probably would have done the same thing in his old neighborhood.

After they had calmed down they decided that Jrue wasn't a national threat and asked me what he was doing there. I told them the whole story on the fact that he had to leave his house because his ice queen girlfriend's dad didn't know that they were dating and it all sounded pretty ridiculous to both Jrue and the cops.

"Seriously?" One the hefty cops asked. Jrue was tired and didn't really have the energy to explain.

"Yeah."

"You need to go somewhere else," the hefty police officer said still trying to be professional, "Try the Mally World parking lot."

As he turned around not go back to his squad car I could hear him whisper into another cops ear, "Poor bastard."

After Jrue drove to the Mally World parking lot he decided to do some real thinking. Something he had to do because he couldn't go to sleep.

"I'm such a fucking loser!" Jrue told himself his face crinkling up in anguish. Jrue's dad would be pissed if he heard the girl who he had told him so much about just bitched him around.

Jrue had nothing to do so he went through his entire collection of notes and text books and started to read through them. Jrue read excerpts from Marx, Communist Journals, a good 45 pages of Trigonomic equations, some psychology books and pamphlets, some Sun Tzu lit, and much more. Jrue didn't know if it was the delirium from barely any sleep for three days or if his sanity snapped and he gained 60 IQ points but he couldn't stop flipping through the pages of knowledge.

As the sun came up Jrue knew what he had to do. He had to rage war on his opponents, because war never changes and only the strong survive. He had even made a list of reasons he should just break up with her and be done with it.

As he rolled up on his own house, a house the out of work man hadn't seen in half a week. Parked on the curb was a gray 2012 Cheetah. Not what you'd pin as a married father's car. Erica's Admiral wasn't on the curb so Jrue figured he'd call the house phone to try to talk to her dad.

After three rings Jrue herd somebody pick up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Libbit?" Jrue asked for her father but the person answering the phone was a dude close to Jrue's age. What the fuck.

"Nah man this is Darren." The young guy replied and although the tired and starving Asian wanted to scream at the man, hell he wanted to kill the guy, but he didn't he just replied saying.

"Tell her Jrue called. Goodbye." The crying computer programmer said as he put let his foot go all the way down on the gas. He ignored stop lights and stop signs like they were flashing Christmas decoration. He didn't know where to go he just accelerated until he got on the highway to anywhere.

- Ernesto-

New Austin was very different from the last time Ernesto Santana Ocelotl had been home. He had been in San Andreas for the last ten years and for eight of them he'd been in the pinta, San Roberto, one of the biggest prisons in San Andreas.

He was a career criminal from Sun Belt but he had gone to live in L.S. for a while at the end of the 90's and start of the new millennium. He had a son and an ex wife, at the time she had just been his wife not his ex, which had an ugly stigma and weight to the word itself.

They had been living in Eco Park, a barrio in L.S. when they had been living there. He was treated as a veterano out there because he was a Tejano who was representing La Onda, a prison based gang in San Andreas. His own papi had actually been the one to start the Onda chapter in Texas back in 1984.

The barrio Ernesto had grown up in was an area called Gulfton Heights, a varrio south west of downtown Sunbelt. Finally, Ernesto got to his old house which was where his ex had moved back to. He knocked on the door. "Marisol, I'm home!" There was no answer.

He tried the door. Locked. Damn it! It was one thing for the bitch to file for divorce when he was out-of-state and was not able to even go back home until he was off parole. It was another to lock the door and not even tell him how his kids were.

While it was his own fault that one of his sons, Luis had been killed in 2003 when he had gotten involved in a robbery, the same robbery he had gone away for, it had been her fault too. She had complained about them not having enough feria at the time.

He had five kids with his ex. Obviously one of them, his oldest, Luis, had been killed in the bank robbery back in 2003. Because of this his wife had resented him ever since. It was true it was mostly his own fault but at the same time, his kids had been more understanding as to why it had happened and why he did it than their mother had.

It was funny his ruca back then she had no problem taking the money when she needed it but she then often got moralist when she found out how he got the money.

He hated that about her. She was not a gold digger but she was a hypocrite indeed. He saw that just like she had in the 90's when he had lived there with her and the family had been together, she kept a spare key under the welcome mat.

He walked inside of his house. A lot of it actually looked the same as it had since the last time they were there. She had always been a neat freak like that.

He observed his own reflection in a mirror in the front room. He was about five foot nine in height and he had jet black long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail, Indian style. His body was a canvas of tattoos.

On his left arm he had a tattoo of the word Aztlan. He also had a tattoo on his lower bicep that was an Aztec sun. On his chest was a tattoo that read PVL. This was a tattoo he had from his days living in the varrio growing up out here. It stood for Puro Vatos Locos, a New Austinian variant of a gang that originated in East Los Santos. It was also his true cliqua that was in his corazon. Under the PVL he had the number 13 which was in Roman XIII.

On his back, he had a tattoo that read Remember the Alhambra: We kicked ass that day! Usually, white Americans said Remember the Alhambra because so many "brave" US New Austinian soldiers had fought to the last man against the hordes of Mexican soldiers during the Mexican American war. It was patriotic and xenophobic bullshit. It was a colonial concept that the white man even thought this land was rightfully his own. So though the Mexican side had lost the war, and Texas became a state even though it had been part of Mexico first, that was a glorious battle for La Raza.

The only ones to be spared in that battle were some women, children and a few black slaves. So when Ernesto had this inked up on his back it was both ironic and defiant. Whether it was Texas, Mexico, or America, he knew this had been is family's home and his family tree had been on what was now Texas long before the war itself happened. This was actually true for many people.

As he looked at himself in the mirror at the scars and the wrinkles he had got from the years he used to be a smoker, he saw your typical view of an Indian warrior. It was just like the ways of how it was in the old western movies he looked like one except one minor detail. Though he was 90 % Indigenous, according to a DNA test, between Nahuatl and Mayan ancestry, he also was 10% European and that was more than likely the blood of some bastard Spanish conquistador. It was also from that little bit of Spanish blood that he even had facial hair at all. Most Native Americans, as many did not know, did not have facial hair prior to European integration.

He had a goatee and a mustache. He often shaved it off but had not in a while. As he searched through what had once been his room he saw old pictures of his kids. He had four other ones aside from Luis. There was Carmen who he believed still lived here. she was a doctor last he heard from her letters. She was such a smart woman and he was proud of her she had gone straight. She was even starting her own free clinic when she had the chance for people of lower income.

There was his son, Lupe who had moved back to Mexico, attempting to make it better down there having even built his own house from money he made in the US. A lot could happen when doing an eight year bid. He had been lucky to get out on parole after a parole violation he'd already had. Then there was his daughter Angela who was going to college out in L.C. she was his youngest daughter but not his youngest kid.

God he had missed a lot being on lock down! He'd been paroled in 2011 but could not leave the state for two years. He had gotten it in part due to earlier release for good behavior trying to help brothers inside who were addicts get clean, as well as trying to get the younger homies in the pinta that did not have GED's or HS diplomas to pursue it. plus being granted parole. But eight years had been mandatory at the very minimum. He was lucky as it could have been worse but at the same time he was a two time felon. One more and that'd be it.

As he searched through what had been their old bedroom, he found something he did not expect to find. His papi's old .44 Magnum. His old man had used this back in his days. He checked the gun and saw that it was still loaded. While it had been in Marisol's place it was still rightfully his. Lastly, there was his youngest son Miguel.

From what he'd heard from Carmen, since she had actually kept in touch unlike his ex, he had been the black sheep among them. Or at least the one fuck up after three of them were doing well. The first fuck up since Ernesto himself and Luis.

He walked outside and shut the door behind him. A veterano for the Puro Vatos Locos spotted him. It was an old homeboy, Flaco from way back that he ran the streets with. "Que paso, amigo? What you doing in Marisol's casa?"

He greeted the homie slapping hands and exchanged a quick hug. Flaco was scrawny but athletic. He had slicked back hair and was clean shaven. He wore a pair of greenish khakis and brown checkered shirt over a blue shirt. "Hey it's my house too, homes! I may have been locked up but everything I did was for la familia and she knows it! You know it too! You know where she is? Or my son?"

The gang banger told him, "Mira k I don't know what's up with your ruca, man but that's your business. I'm sorry it didn't work out though. But listen, I've actually been worried about Miguel too. He's been slinging over in the wards and a couple of the corner boys don't like it."

Ernesto demanded, "Which ward? I'll go over there and scoop him up. It better not be 5th! We aren't cool with them." Flaco sighed , "If i tell you just...remember you didn't hear this from me, entiendes? He's in the 3rd ward. If I were you I'd be just as uncomfortable with him slinging there but a lot of our gente have been moving into that area. I guess he's taking customers from the competition."

Ernesto groaned. "Mierda! Does he have a cuete?" Flaco nodded. "Si mon! I know it aint my place to do that since he's your mijo and all but I didn't want any of our soldados around there without one. You got a car? I'd give you a ride but I don't have gas."

Ernesto shook his head. "No car, hermano. Took a cab over here. Gonna need to find another way to get over there."

Flaco called, "Sparky! Come here!" A young cholo on a BMX came over. "Que tal?" He nodded to Ernesto, "Let him borrow the bike homes. He's a veterano. He took care of one of those Locs for us back in 93," The youngster hesitated but gave it up.

Ernesto thanked him. "Gracias, carnalito. I'll bring it back." He rode out to the 3rd ward to find his son glad for the .44 as he was riding into a hostile area. As he crossed the street, a motorist honked at him as he zipped across the street. He flipped the person off as he rode down the street. As he rode through he saw a couple of tags in the Gulfton Heights varrio.

He saw one tag that said SWC. That stood for South West Cholo. they were an odd kind of gang. Though they had the X3 at the end of their names, they also wore a lot of the number five on their tattoos and would have a pitchfork. This was a symbol of the Soul Nation, a bitter rival of the Kin Nation both two gang factions, an alliance of white, black and brown gangs from Carcer City that had beef with each other. For them to have a Soul Nation symbol on them, was a big time no no when also having the number 13 which was alliance to the Mexican Mafia.

They were mostly a down crew but they needed to learn their place and if it took a little bloodshed so be it. As he rode on he saw other various sets on the wall. He even saw a Locs tag and cursed. "Fuckers are gonna regret that. This aint a Locs hood."

-Barry-

Barry St. Clair was on a cross country bus from Vice City to Texas. He had enough money to to help him last but he was a little bit sick and tired of having to constantly have to move all over the motherfucking country. He was tired of it all. This was the third time he'd had to start over again. As they moved through the hot dessert, passing through small towns and empty dry flat lands, he closed his eyes remembering how this bullshit had started. He'd grown up in Dukes all his life. He was 33 years old. He had been born to a Haitian father and a Jamaican father. Those streets had been mean to grow up on. They'd both worked hard trying to support him and his older sister. His sister had been the first to leave the flock.

After that, his parents had split up and divorced. They'd actually given him a choice. Which parent he wanted to stay with. If he lived with pops he'd get to still live in Dukes but if he went with moms he would have had to move with her to Jamaica. She had known her son was getting involved in the dope game too. All though there had been gangs like the M.O.B crew from the Firefly Projects and the Spanish Lords, their bitter rival, plus the Hillside Posse, he had not been down for any of them.

He was all about the hustle and he was careful when he did it. Both his pops and him had teamed up making scratch off the cluckers in the hood. Barry had loved his mama but he didn't want to leave the hood and go to Jamaica. It was too small of a place for him to be at. So he stayed with his father well into his early twenties. For a long time the hood was good to him and so was the game but they were both violating one major rule. If you sling on somebody's turf you had to give up some taxation. Sure, maybe it was taxation without representation but it didn't really matter.

If they didn't give a fuck about the laws of society they had to care about the laws of the streets but his pops was a machismo Haitian tough guy and he didn't respond to the MOB niggas threatening his life on a daily basis. He'd gotten into a few shootouts with them and Barry had backed up his pops like a good son was supposed to but even after they'd laid out a few of those bitches, he knew something ugly was coming down the road.

His pops got gunned down at a bus stop in 2003 by two M.O.B. goons. He had waited a while to avenge him too as he didn't want the pigs to catch wind of it. So after two years of being under their watchful eyes, he'd caught up to one of them. He had been meeting his father that day when he'd been murdered and he had seen one of them but he hadn't gone after them he had tried to revive his father. He'd died on the way to the hospital.

He'd shot the nigga that did it but he'd only been one of the two who had. Some punk motherfucker named Steve Carter. He put three in his chest and one in his computer. Unfortunately for Barry, the police still had him as the person of interest for anybody who would want to ice a hoodlum from Broker so they booked him. The jury had agreed it was enough evidence to give him twenty five with an L. This was in 2005.

The funniest part about all of this was that his homeboy Shifty, another solid nigga, and a fellow trapper like him, was talking about taking his baby Mama to Africa and getting out of there. At the time, Barry couldn't for the life of him understand why he'd want to. Africa was hot and it was poor and he damn sure didn't know what opportunities, if any were out there.

Shifty had told him, "Look dawg, I know it sounds crazy but I got a better chance of surviving out there than I do out here in these streets. My days is numbered, G and so is yours if you don't either come with me or find another way outta the game. I mean, I know there's chaos over there too but that's home you feel me? I know what Dukes has to offer but I aint never been outside of this country before. I need to see the world, man cause it's bigger than Liberty City."

Meanwhile he had been booked a few days after he had this conversation with his best friend and the pigs had tried to give him a deal. At first, when they had taken him to a basketball court to have a meeting with him, that they were either going to kill him or ask him to snitch in exchange for a reduced had not been the case. They had asked him to infiltrate a Black Muslim group. He was to become a member of this Black Power nationalist movement so that he could get close enough to the leader, and kill him before he could give his speech on New Years Day, in particular about police brutality and political corruption in US elections, both on a federal and local level.

It was probably the last thing he had planned to talk about that was the real reason the Liberty City Police Department wanted him dead. He was going to talk about the New World Order. Now, Barry had grown up Christian, a Baptist at one of the local African American churches and all though in his teens and childhood he had feared the Devil, by the time he had reached adulthood he considered it bullshit. The same had been the case for any talk of the Illuminati or the NWO. However, he had been required as part of his undercover task, to learn about the Islamic faith and about the group's nationalist politics.

When the time had come to pull the trigger he had caught the man, a gentle faced black man in a suit and bow tie, in his office study fifteen minutes before he was to give his speech. The man had talked to him, telling him that if he were o go through with what he was planning on doing, he would just be doing what the white man wanted him to. Above all, he would just be doing what the powers that be would want him to do.

That in history, as with the Koran, there was heroes and villains. If he were to pull the trigger, sure he might get some respect but only from oppressors like the L.C.P.D. Sure, they had offered him freedom and immunity if he killed him but the man's words had gotten under Barr's skin. He had lowered the gun just as the black power militant's guns burst through the door with their own weapons drawn. The man, John Ali, had hugged him, embracing him like a long lost son or brother.

He had held his hand up saying to his guards, "It's okay. It's okay. The brother is just a lost soul but we will help him find his way back to the light," So in the end, Barry didn't go through with the murder. They had tried to assure him that he would not be arrested if they could help it but he had be and for years, they had worked on trying to free him but all it resulted in was them having m,arches and protests to have them free Barry, something he had never thought would happen to him.

Though they had some violent confrontations with the police and had won a lot of sympathy with the people of Liberty City, of all races and backgrounds, when they were told of his story, still, the court locked him up and threw away the key. Only this time he found himself on life without the possibility of parole at the Alderney State Correctional Facility.

The worst part about it was he had a woman on the outside back in the hood. Her name was Tameka. They had a son together. He had been five years old when Barry had been arrested back into custody. He actually wondered if that wasn't a violation of a certain law. The double jeopardy law. He used to watch that movie in the hood you couldn't get accused for the same crime twice. He had seen it, a movie about a white lady who had got jammed up for a murder she didn't do, accused of killing her own husband so when she did finally get out she ended up killing the guy anyway.

He wondered if by some law loop hole he too could have gotten off? Then again, he was a hood nigga from Dukes. Same circumstances, it wouldn't have gone down like that with him. As far as the pigs were concerned, he was in violation of a deal they'd made. He was pretty sure that was illegal too that they were staging an execution of a man who spoke against police brutality and political corruption but then again whose word would anybody believe if he took it to the judge?

So he had adjusted to prison life. Since his life as a free man in the physical world was pretty much over he had dedicated the next three years of his life to the new found religion he had joined. After all he had failed to go through with the murder and a lot of it did make sense, what Minister John Ali was teaching. For three years he had stayed in that prison used to prison life or as used to it as one could be. He was getting love from both the hood niggas and the Muslims but he was with the Muslims.

He was prepared to never see the light of day, aside from time on the yard so he figured he should get right with God in there. However, on the day that a group of gun-toting bikers came int o the pen shedding lead he didn't know what to think. One of the Black Muslims who had been part of the same group he had, also managed to get a gun of his own snuck in.

He had been saving it for a rainy day so when a group of bikers known as The Lost MC came in dropping bodies looking for their leader Billy Grey, the brother, known as Charles A. Muhammad made a move too. While the bikers were killing motherfuckers left and right outside, he and his boys were still finishing up with lunch. He used his access to a gun to take six guards hostage.

For the vast majority of prisoners they did not dare to run but many were brave enough to try to run for it. When he had seen the prison wall had been blown up and that freedom was in his reach, he took the chance. Sure, some might say he went back to his old ways but in reality, the thing the man had asked him to do was wrong and this was his shot to be free. Many inmates had been shot by guards on the tower but he had managed to get away as had a few others. He had escaped because two Italian inmates and a Jewish guy managed to commandeer a laundry van and had advised him, "Get it! We've actually got a plan to get the fuck outta here unlike these other idiots!"

So now, here he was five years later. He had been living off the grid as best as he could. The first place he'd gone to was Los Santos when he had escaped. He'd worked for various bangers and hustlers out there and had his own hustle out there but eventually he ended up leaving. Niggas in L.S. were al trying to get to the top but there were too many people capping each other for most of them to make it to wealth.

After this he had gone to Vice City and it had been more of the same shit but Vice was at least more like a city strictly for hustlers rather than gang bangers and hustlers and anybody who was both. He wasn't sure how but the Vice City Police Department had gotten wind of him being a wanted fugitive in the area so he had got on the first bus out of town. He suspected he was set up by one of his associates but he didn't have any proof as to who though he always had his suspicions. Whenever anybody from any hood got pinched they thought of two things when they were in prison.

One was all the shit they wanted to do when they got out. If they ever did get out. The other was who standed to benefit the most from fucking them over? Now here he was. It had been a long ass bus ride but hopefully now he could be free.

Hopefully, Barry would have a chance at a fresh start. As they arrived at the destination he got his bags and got ready to start over once again, for what seemed like the third or fourth time in his life. As he got off the bus he knew that either way, whether he made it or would die trying to, this was his final shot at starting over. After prison he became disillusioned with the religion he'd practiced in there. He wasn't the type to hop from faith to faith he had just learned about them and they'd made sense at the time all though with being a Baptist he wasn't given an option he had been made to go.

He did have to admit though, Islam had done a better job of nearly getting him out of the life than being a Christian ever had. Almost anyway. Now he didn't know what the hell he was. He didn't even know if there was a God but he hoped that if there was one, he'd be looking out for him. It would take a miracle for him to be able to live the rest of his life as a free man. So he needed a miracle.

As he walked through the station nobody gave him a second glance. He liked it that way. Human contact was over rated anyway. Except his boy Shifty. Damn he missed that fool! As he gathered his surroundings he knew that whether he had good or bad fortune down the road, nothing would ever be the same. He could never return to Dukes.

-Ernesto-

He thought of his son as he rode up the street, his son Luis. It had been tragic what happened in that bank robbery all those years ago. They were almost inn the clear and he had been wounded and they'd both ended up shooting many of the guards. All their other robbery partners got busted or killed shooting it out with the cops. They'd met up at a rendezvous point in an alley and changed clothes. His son was stubborn as Ernesto had not wanted to leave him but he insisted they should split up. He also wanted his father to give him his guns. He said that he was going to find a good spot to get rid of them.

"You've got priors, papi. If they get you with the murder weapons they'll give you life. At least if you do get caught and you were just robbing it's a parole violation but you got a chance one day. I aint planning to get caught and neither should you but if we do, I'll beat this case!"

Ernesto shook his head. "Chale, mijo! You're my son! You wanted to come along I should have kept you out of this! We stick together no matter what! We're Santanas!"

They could hear radio chatter and sirens. They both knew they were fucked. It had been a couple of hours but somebody had snitched. Luis looked at his father with pain in his eyes and said, "I'm sorry, papi! But we Santanas also gotta look after our own! That's what you taught me!"

With that, the younger Santana punched him hitting the older man in the face. He had hit him hard and good he was stunned. He was also surprised as he hit the floor that he had been able to throw such a blow with a couple of bullets in him. Still, he had the blood of an Aztec warrior in him. He blacked out. His son took his cuete from him including the Uzi he had used in the robbery.

They both had gloves so there was no prints but if the gun was found on him, they'd only charge his papi with robbery. Hopefully the older man would be smarter and plea to lesser charges. Luis was his oldest son and Ernesto had him at the young age of 16. Luis himself was only seventeen but he had done a lot of dirt for the cliqua himself. "

"Perdóneme, papá," He whispered words of forgiveness to his father.

The police they had their guns drawn. "Drop your weapon and put your hands on the ground! We can do this the easy way or the hard way!" Luis knew he was screwed. He had no intention of going to prison. He knew his father would be busted too but he would not make it easy for them.

"Fuck you, maricones!" He let off the Uzi and hit two of the officers and the rounds actually did pierce the armor of some he also sprayed at their helmets.

Ernesto woke up to find guns on him. "Do not move!" His vision was blurred but in the alley he could hear automatic fire and muzzle flashes. As they finally hauled him to his feet in cuffs, he saw three cops dead in pools of blood along with his son with at least two dozen rounds in his still bloodied body, his eyes and mouth open on the floor.

"No!" Luis! MIJO! Usted pedazos de mierda! Te voy a matar!"

He shouted. "You could have taken him alive!" He screamed in tears.

As he shook the memory away, he arrived. He spotted his son on the corner slinging to some white boys in a red Admiral, likely college frat boys. He was wearing a St Anthony Steeds jersey over a dark blue T-shirt. The young man was good looking with high cheek bones, deep soulful eyes, brown skin but had his hair cut short like many modern cholos often did into a crew cut. He had a tattoo on his left arm that said PVL.

Some other dope dealers walked up to him. One of them was a black man with medium length hair, a black tank top and gray stone washed jeans. He looked mad. "What did I tell you about slinging on my corner, mang? I told you if I saw you round here again, we had problems, right? This is my corner you hear? You wanna kick taxes we can break bread but I ain't finna have nobody stealing my customers!"

Miguel turned to the dope boy and said, "Must not be your clients anymore. Not my fault they know who the better business man is! I'm heated bro so what do you wanna do about it?"

The dope boy looked at him and snarled, "You got at least three guns on you plus my own see what happens if you try to pull a fast one, dawg! This my hood! Aint nobody gonna trespass round here!"

Miguel didn't back down. "I know some of your butt buddies from LTL were in my varrio doing hit ups and making deals so don't even start!" Ernesto saw the situation was about to walked up to the conflict especially glad for the .44. Miguel made his move. He swung his fist at the guy instead but the guy's friends jumped in and began to rat pack.

Miguel threw one of the dealers of of him and continued to swing on the main one. "Fucker!" He shouted as his fist collided with the black man's teeth. He took three blows from the others as they circled him. He swung back at two of them hitting him with a blow each but they pig piled him kicking him while he was down while the main one punched him. "What's up now, boss? You gonna give me my money? Reimburse me nigga!"

Ernesto gritted his teeth. These fucking vatos. So obnoxious & disrespectful.

They were not fighting fair but they did not notice the veterano approaching with the magnum.

-Jrue-

Welcome to Sunbelt City, Jrue read the sign as he decided that he'd make another stop. He was bent a few days ago on reaching Cali but now he was like fuck it. He was running low on ganja and his fuel was low. He had only made one stop before he got here and that was in some slow down south town. He had fueled up and drove the rest of the way here. He hadn't taken a shower in almost a week now. The stench made his hybrid three times as uncomfortable.

The only thing keeping his mind off his circumstances was the bag full of CDs he had grabbed from the gas station. They had some Trapzilla, some Ricky Rozay, a few Drake albums, Kendrick Lamar, and some metal. Jrue had just switched a Metallica CD with Drake's, he had skipped right to his song, The Ride. It went through the story of him living with his grandmother and the trials they went through and how he grew because of their struggle. The song basically thanks his grandma on how she loved and helped him reach to the height he occupies now. Good music.

He pulled into a Motel +, a company of motels that was infamous for its unclean beds and terrible service. The motel had a few cars in it. The publicity against them had made it hard for them to attract any customers other than pimps, drug dealers, and prostitutes.

Jrue had gotten his multiple bags and rolled/carried them into the motel. He told the person at the front desk lobby that he needed to stay three weeks. That would give the outta luck tokester enough time to make something out of himself. Jrue had 2,000 in cash and a lot more in his Flisa, the only thing Jrue had kept from Erica's greedy little hands. The room cost 800 for that long and Jrue paid it with no worries in mind. He just needed the sleep. So he dragged his feet towards his new home, threw his shit on the floor and flung himself on the cheap bed that cringed at his weight. At least he could say he was free.

STELM: Okay guys what you've just witnessed were the introduction to the three dynamic characters in this magnificent masterpiece created by the sweltering flying fingers of me, Native, and Af. So however you feel about it don't keep it to yourself rave out on the internet by reviewing the shit out of this fic.

Now that's done I'd like to get into the parodies in this chapter. Jrue's shitty Dilettante Hybrid Funk is a spoof on the Kia Soul. Sexy Pupp Ent is a spoof on the gaming company Naughty Dog. Liberty City University is a spoof on New York University which I toured a little this summer. The Aces are a street gang from Metal Harbingers' Rushmore City. Motel + is a spoof on Motel 8. Soul nation is a GTA adaption of the Peoples Nation. Rushmore city is a GTA version of Washington D by Metal Habringer. Flisa is a spoof on Visa credit cards.

Jrues experience with his girlfriend stems from the Toa of Badass back story. Parts of Jrues toke session with his friends was taken from the "THAT High Guy" video on youttube.

You all have been great and I've been STELMEd, READ & REVIEW!