Prologue
*This fiction takes place after Saints Row, the Third. I do not own, or have any affiliation with this game, nor its producers.
The ONLY thing that's relatively mine is my character, Chakota Knightstraw.
If you haven't played it, I suggest you do. It's very well done, and one of my Xbox favorites.*
Rain, cold as it hammered down, covered the streets of Steelport, making it a miserable night for anyone out in it. Lightning spread across the sky, followed by loud claps of thunder. The city's neon glimmered and appeared much brighter than usual in the dark rain, and made the roads appear to be blinding yet dazzling with colors, broken only by the passing cars.
A pair of men in tuxedos hurried down the sidewalk, carrying a large silver suitcase and occasionally looking behind them and to their sides, as if the suitcase was supposed to remain hidden. They weaved their way through alley-ways and parking lots until they ended up at the old casino, which was recently abandoned. Inside was dry, but the air felt moldy. They made their way past broken machines and pool tables to what was once the office of the casino on the second floor.
Inside the office were the only signs of life. A half-lit red neon sign was propped on a grungy looking fridge with a map of the city taped on the door of the fridge. A large man sat at the desk, puffing on a fat cigar and scribbling something down under the low tungsten light of his lamp. He didn't look up, but continued writing as he spoke.
"Boys. Take a seat." he acknowledged in his Italian accent.
"We brought the goods, Boss Don. Killbane left it, right where you said."
Don stopped writing and looked up. He motioned for the suitcase and smiled devilishly.
"Of course it was. Now, on to business. You're aware of the Saints, right?" he inquired, standing to open the suitcase.
"Uh, well, we're relatively new here, boss." answered one of the men.
"The Third Street Saints are the biggest name in the city of Steelport, and you somehow managed to miss that?" roared Don, suddenly filled with rage.
"Well, boss, we knew of them, just not exactly what they were besides a clothing line and a drink…" stammered the other man. His companion was shaking with fear. Don took a puff of his cigar, and let the smoke find its way out.
"Like I was saying." spoke Don again, much calmer this time. "The Third Street Saints are the biggest name in Steelport. Everyone knows about them, knows who they are. Two years ago, they wiped out other gangs in the area, and took down the STAG units that flooded the city. They're famous. Respected. Hell, they're even making a movie about them, for god's sake! But anyways, while everyone else failed to bring them down, I have a plan. And that's to carry out what Killbane couldn't."
"And that is?" asked the men at the same time. Don placed the burning end of his cigar on the map where the Saints had their head quarters, burning the spot off the map and sending the ashes to the floor.
"I won't miss."