A/N: I've never written for Saints Row before, so here goes.
I'm guessing this will end up more of a collection of one-shots than an actual coherent story, especially since 1) I'd like to finish this, 2) this will ideally cover the second through fourth games, and 3) this way I can hit the important stuff and also take requests. I'm also cheating by using both of my SR characters bc I can't choose between them - Carmen, my f!boss who likes fast cars and shooting stuff and has the biggest crush on Shaundi, and Elliot, my m!boss who's an accidental hipster and head over heels for Johnny.

So. Here's a quick introduction to Carmen and Elliot. If there's anything specific you'd like to see, let me know! Thanks for reading!

"I didn't expect to find you working here."

As Elliot sat across from Carmen, he cracked a smile. "Go on, be honest. You didn't expect to find me working here, or working at all?"

She shrugged. "Both." Carmen took a sip of the beer Elliot had brought her, cradling the cold glass in her hands as a dozen thoughts ran through her mind. "So this is really it? All the other Saints are gone?"

"All the Saints are gone," he corrected her. "After I got out of prison, Stilwater was already full of other gangs running around. No way I was getting caught up in that alone."

"Right." Carmen's eyes flicked over Elliot – his close cut beard, neatly styled hair, fitted grey vest – and she let out a snort of laughter. "How did prison work out for you?"

Rolling his eyes, Elliot leaned back and crossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. I was only there for a few weeks. Official word was that I was a suspect in the Hughes' yacht explosion, but according to Bradshaw, he just wanted me off the streets for a while. I'm hard to predict, or something."

"Yeah, I heard about Troy." Tapping her short nails against the bottle, Carmen gave her head a little shake and sighed. "You want back in?"

"In?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're working in this shit hole of a bar and I've got—" Digging in the pockets of her newly acquired sweats, Carmen pulled out a wad of cash. "—like twenty bucks, and if we break back into that prison, we'll have Johnny. Plus, there's that kid, Carlos, I was telling you about. Add all that together, and the Saints are off to a decent start."

"I can do you one better," Elliot offered, leaning forward on the table. "Johnny's in court tomorrow. We get there soon enough, and we won't even have to break into prison."

Carmen grinned, any doubts gone. "Sounds like a plan. You have a place I can crash for the night?"

"Not unless you want to sleep on the floor. See if you can borrow Aisha's couch."

"Alright." Downing the last of the beer, Carmen stood to leave. "You drive in the morning. And take a shower – you smell like hookers and cheap alcohol."

Elliot's car was the same piece of shit as it had been the last time Carmen had driven in it over two years ago. One long, deep scratch on the passenger door, a transmission that sounded moments from giving out completely, a pair of sun-bleached fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror, and the faint odor of mothballs that wafted from the backseat.

As a mechanic, it made her stomach churn.

"You have to let me fix this up," she mumbled thoughtlessly, running a light finger over a hole in the seat, something that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole.

"I've told you, I'm not letting you touch my car." Setting his pair of pistols on the console, Elliot reached into the backseat and pulled out a rifle. "It's not a shotgun," he shrugged as he handed it off to Carmen, "but it's better than nothing."

She glanced over the gun and nodded. "It'll do. Let's go."

They stepped out of the car, heading up towards the station in unison. Elliot ducked through a side entrance, pulling Carmen along after him before she could pick a fight. "The courtroom should be right up this stairwell. Let's try to grab Johnny before we take out half the police force, shall we?"

She grunted in agreement, adjusting her grip on the rifle before leading the way up the stairs. Though Carmen wouldn't ever admit it, she was itching for a fight. Part of it, she supposed, was the slow burning desire for revenge, a heat that ached in her chest anytime she thought about Julius, or Troy, or the Row.

But part of it was just restlessness. After spending two years lying motionless on a hospital bed, Carmen was eager to stretch her legs a bit. She rounded the final corner and emerged into the main hall, and found the chance she was looking for.

A few quick bursts of shots from her rifle downed the two cops in front of the door that – she assumed – led to the courtroom they were looking for. As she reloaded the rifle, Elliot stepped ahead of her and kicked open the door, firing a few precise shots before reaching down for a blood-spattered pistol and set of keys, tossing the latter across the room. Carmen followed, grinning at Johnny, who looked no worse for wear – save for a badly fitted suit and the handcuffs that he let drop to the floor.

"Nice timing," he complimented, easily catching the extra pistol that Elliot tossed to him. "Though, I wouldn't have minded a rescue before I spent two fucking years in prison."

"Tough," Carmen shot back. "Let's get out of here."

The police offered surprisingly little resistance as the trio fought their way through the narrow halls, reaching the main staircase with relative ease. The main lobby was more of a challenge; as heavily armored soldiers marched through the front doors, Carmen ducked behind a column and ended up shoulder to shoulder with Johnny, who had found the same cover as Carmen.

With a wide, adrenaline-fueled grin, Carmen motioned silently for Johnny to stay put, then revealed a single grenade. Tossing the explosive down into the cop-filled lobby, Carmen used the brief distraction to sprint to a downed policeman and grab his shotgun. She dove back into cover and offered the rifle to Johnny. "Give 'em hell." She began to turn away, then hesitated and added, "And don't hit me."

Turning, Carmen hopped over the low glass railing, landing clumsily on the first landing of the stairway. Two loud shots from her new gun took care of the cops in front of her, and a barrage of bullets from above her took care of the other cops near the door.

"They brought in a fucking SWAT team," she called up to Elliot and Johnny as they followed her down the stairs. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Where's the car?"

"My car's around back," Elliot admitted, "but if we're being shot at maybe we could—"

"On it." Instead of waiting for him to finish, Carmen was out the door and in a police car, throwing it into reverse. She hit at least two cops and nearly hit Elliot, but he and Johnny managed to get in without any trouble.

Still under fire, Carmen reached over and flipped on the lights, then slammed on the gas. "We'll drop this somewhere and find a different car, then head over to Aisha's. That's where my shit is, and I'm guessing no one here is going to argue?"

"It's where I was going to suggest, anyway. How's she doing? I thought—" Johnny's words faded out of earshot as he leaned out the window to shoot at a pursuing cop car. "—couple of days ago?"

"I went straight to her last night after I got out," Carmen explained casually, a new rush of adrenaline surging through her as she made a hard left, the car skidding up onto two wheels for a fraction of a second. "I haven't exactly been keeping up with the rent since being in a coma, y'know? She's doing good, all things considered, I think."

"Aisha?" Elliot leaned forward, gripping onto the bars that separated him from the front seat and holding tightly onto them as the car swerved again. "She probably wants to apologize for not coming to visit lately. Some students at the university ran a feature on her. They think she's not dead. Fucking conspiracy theorists," he added with a derisive snort.

"You still keeping up with her?"

"Yeah – I'm real acquainted with her couch. Especially on months I can't make rent."

Gritting her teeth as the back window was shot completely out, Carmen did her best to coax a bit more speed from the car. "Would you two focus less on the gossip and more on the guys shooting at us?"

From the corner of her eye, she just caught Johnny's shrug. "Out of ammo."

"Same," Elliot chimed in.

Shoulders dropping, Carmen groaned in frustration. She pulled out her second and final grenade and handed it back through the bars to Elliot. "Make it count. Don't fucking miss."

"I never do."