Liberty City was dark. It was pouring rain as just a few people walked down a street in Middle Park East. The man wore a brown coat and track pants, with worn brown shoes. His hair was very short and brown, and he had a thin mustache that slightly curved at the corners of his lips.
A man walked up the street and into an apartment complex, shaking water from his coat. He got into the elevator and went up.
The apartment was dusty and unkempt, but was fairly nice. A large plasma television hung on the wall to the right, and a minibar stood behind the kitchen counter on the left. A laptop sat closed on the counter, and it was possibly the only thing not dusty. A wall separated the bed and dresser from the rest of the apartment.
The man sat down on his couch, pulling out his cell phone. Whiz Wireless! flashed on the screen, before displaying a message that had just popped up.
"NB! Would you mind picking up Katie after school tomorrow? Me and Mallorie got a date!"
The man flicked through and marked his calender 'Pick up Katie, 3pm' then closed the phone, sighing to himself. What a dreadfully boring day. He had gone to a show with his good friend, Brucie Kibbutz that morning, and had dinner with another friend, Little Jacob, at Cluckin Bell just an hour ago. He wasn't tired, but he walked over to the bed anyways, laying down to try and sleep.
A motorcycle roared along the streets of Alderney. It was a Hexer, a large, powerful chopper. The man riding it was leather-clad, bearing an insignia on the back of his jacket. 'LOST MC.' The man himself had a mean look about him, his face was scarred from what looked like a bike crash, and his nose was flat, possibly having been broken several times. A tattoo ran up his neck and behind his ear, and he looked about ready to kill. As he passed a taxi at a red light, he flipped off the driver, who in return flipped him off.
The biker chuckled, revving the bike and speeding down the street. He stopped outside a rundown, shitty little house in southern Alderney. He parked his bike and walked to the back. Inside, he was greeted with collapsing walls, torn paint, and boarded up windows. Heavy metal music blared from somewhere upstairs, which was where he headed. Upstairs, a torn and stained mattress lay on the floor, lumpy and with several springs popping up. Next to the bed a heater filled the room with warmth.
Several firearms lay on a scratched and dirty table to the left. The biker reached in his jacket and drew a sawn-off shotgun, slamming it on the table. Seconds later, his phone rung.
"Hey man," he said in a gruff, gravelly voice.
"Hey Johnny. I got a job for ya if ya want it."
"Sure Angus, I don't much feel like sleeping in this shit-hole to much anyways," the biker said, glancing around the rundown house with disgust.
"This one comes off some ex-AOD fucks up in Bercham. Think you can get it?"
The biker picked up the shotgun on the table.
"No problem man, I'll bring it to the garage around ten or so. See you man."
Maisonnette 9 was full of well dressed people. A man in a striped black suit walked along, moving his head to the beat of the club music. People were dancing, falling over drunk, screaming and having a good time. The man in the suit was Dominican, with buzzed hair and a smile on his face. He looked tough though, and it was clear he was a security guard.
Suddenly, his earpiece buzzed. He turned and went up the stairs to the entrance hall of the club. As he turned the corner, he saw a big, beefy man smack a woman to the floor. The guard walked up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
"Yo get the fuck out of here! And learn how to treat a lady!" He yelled, picking the man up off the ground and literally throwing him face first into the street outside.
He closed the door and turned, helping the woman up. He led her to the bathroom and turned to leave, but she grabbed him by the collar. Leading him into the bathroom, the guard didn't resist at all, a tempted grin spreading on his face. He turned off the earpiece before closing and locking the door.
A while later, the Dominican man walked out of the bathroom, zipping his pants. The woman smiled, handing him a piece of paper with her number on it, before returning to the dance floor. He pocketed it, then resumed his club duties.
A bleep and a small vibration indicated a text message, so he pulled out his phone.
"Hey brotha! Thought I'd hit you up on this shit, crazy stuff nigga! Come over to Amir Towers after your shift bro! Your bro, Yusuf."
The guard chuckled and put his phone back in his pocket, wondering what sort of crazy shit Yusuf was up to now.