Grand Theft Auto III : Street Reputation
Chapter One
A black Banshee, with white trims, howled up the bridge alongside the police truck. It gained ahead of the truck, and turned, screeching dangerously towards the truck and a hand came out of the Banshee's window. The hand had tossed something out. It was a package. Something came instantly into Stefan's mind. A bomb. The truck, unaware, continued its slow drive over the bridge. Before Stefan had time to brace himself, the road ahead of him erupted with a deafening bang.
Stefan awoke with a start. His vision was swimmy and blurry. He rubbed his eyes, and things began to come back into focus. He was still in the truck. But the seats around him were empty. The backdoor of the truck had been swung open. There was a big fire outside, several cars were on fire and blazing. He let out a soft moan, and realized that he was on his side the whole time. He used his elbows to push himself up, and jumped out of the truck's open backdoor. There were a few convicts that were whooping, dashing away from the scene, unable to believe their own luck. Stefan couldn't believe it either. Here he was. Arrested, and sent to prison. But with some bizarre stroke of luck, freed again, even before he reached the prison. Stefan felt someone punch him softly on the shoulder behind him.
"Yo."
Stefan turned around groggily. It was Eight-Ball.
"What?" Stefan replied.
"We'd better get the hell outta here. The cops would be here soon." Eight-Ball said, beginning to dash off. "C'mon!"
Stefan glanced behind him at the bridge. It was a blazing frenzy. That bomb must've packed quite a punch. The bridge would have to take weeks to be repaired.
Stefan found a sharp piece of shrapnel, and broke his cuffs with them. Damn, It felt good. He turned and dashed after Eight-Ball.
He found Eight-Ball, standing in front of an old Buick, parked near the bridge.
"Let's "borrow" this." Eight-Ball said with a grin. Stefan was a master of Grand Theft Auto, and Eight-Ball knew it.
"Allow me," Stefan said as he punched through the old glass window of the car, reached in the window and unlocked it. It was a simple task, jacking these cheap old cars.
Eight-Ball ran around to the other side of the vehicle and got into the second front seat. Stefan helped himself into the car. He pulled out a "mold", a little accessory that all car-jackers should have. It was a squarish key-shaped thing, and it fit perfectly into most car-ignition key-holes. Of course it won't work if you just slide it in. The trick is to drive it in at a certain angle, and then jamming it to ignite the car. It gets more difficult depending on the model of the car. It had to be done with certain skill.
The old car's engine sputtered to life, and Stefan pressed his foot onto the gas pedal. The car sped away from the bridge, looking like any other innocent vehicle, as police cars immediatly swarmed past them onto the scene. Stefan smoothly turned the vehicle left, onto a busy highway.
"Turn the radio on," Eight-Ball said,waving his bandaged hands up. "My hands are all messed up, brother."
Stefan nodded and turned the radio on.
"This just in - Liberty City's news flash. The bridge connecting Portland to Stauton Island has been cut off, by an annoymous drive-by bombing. A police truck containing 7 convicts had been overturned, and the convicts missing. Be on the look out for escaped prisoners. The explosion, luckily, had minimal casualties. The bridge will be off-limits until it is repaired, which is estimated, in about two week's time. Thank you. We now return to your regular programming." The radio station returned to its jazzy, gino dance music.
"Oh shit - did you jus' hear that!?" Eight-Ball said, smacking his head.
"The whole city's alerted.. They're gonna come and try to find us." Stefan said.
"Yeah, and the word "CONVICT" will be written on our foreheads with clothes like these on." Eight-Ball said, gesturing to his own orange prison-uniform. "We need a place where we can lay low for a while."
Stefan nodded in agreement.
"I know a place where I used as a safehouse before- down that way. Turn right here."
Stefan Dominic pulled the car into a small,narrow, almost hidden alleyway. It lead to a small space with a garage, and a metal door leading to a small room with some bare accomadations. Dominic stopped the car, turning it off. Eight-Ball got out of the car.
"We could get a change of clothes here." Eight-Ball said as he walked towards the door and opened it.
"And then what...?" Stefan asked, getting out of the car as well.
"I've got connections. I can get us some work." Eight-Ball said.
"Get you a reputation too, around here in Liberty City." He added, before he disappeared behind the door.
A reputation. That sounded good, Stefan thought to himself.
Author's Note : Please have the patience to read and review.. I really need an opinion on this. This is the first fanfiction I've ever written. So far, the story is going according to the story. The "alternation" part of it begins in Chapter Two.
Chapter One
Author : BlackExodus
Stefan Dominic sat in the back of the police truck, wrists bound together by cuffs. He could hear the tap of the heavy rain outside,over the omnious humming of the truck's engine. His head was hung low, face hidden by the twilight shadows that were casted in the night. There were other men around him, all of them were dangerous convicts and killers. But they sure didn't seem like what they truly were right now. Their expressions were all dull, eyes casted low. It was as if someone had put out the flame in their eyes, and they had lost their own will. Their own freedom. Out of all these men, Stefan only knew one of them. His name was "Eight-Ball", a black fellow that he knew for a while now. Eight-Ball was well-known for his weapon and demolition expertise, and Stefan remembered befriending him by becoming one of Eight-Ball's regular customers. Eight-Ball had been caught jacking cars. He had crashed the car, and had his hands injured. They were all bandaged up now. His hand looked like a mummy's. Eight-Ball was an outgoing guy, fun to hang around and get drunk with. But right now, he was nothing but another hopeless convict locked in cuffs. Stefan signed, and glanced out the window beside him. The window had metal-bars on it. Rain was getting in, since there was no glass. They were headed for Stauton Prison, which was located in Stauton Island. They would need to cross a bridge in order to get there. Right now, they were in Portland, a poor slum in Liberty City. The truck started to move again as the traffic light switched green, and it began to go up the bridge. Something particularly caught Stefan's eye.A black Banshee, with white trims, howled up the bridge alongside the police truck. It gained ahead of the truck, and turned, screeching dangerously towards the truck and a hand came out of the Banshee's window. The hand had tossed something out. It was a package. Something came instantly into Stefan's mind. A bomb. The truck, unaware, continued its slow drive over the bridge. Before Stefan had time to brace himself, the road ahead of him erupted with a deafening bang.
Stefan awoke with a start. His vision was swimmy and blurry. He rubbed his eyes, and things began to come back into focus. He was still in the truck. But the seats around him were empty. The backdoor of the truck had been swung open. There was a big fire outside, several cars were on fire and blazing. He let out a soft moan, and realized that he was on his side the whole time. He used his elbows to push himself up, and jumped out of the truck's open backdoor. There were a few convicts that were whooping, dashing away from the scene, unable to believe their own luck. Stefan couldn't believe it either. Here he was. Arrested, and sent to prison. But with some bizarre stroke of luck, freed again, even before he reached the prison. Stefan felt someone punch him softly on the shoulder behind him.
"Yo."
Stefan turned around groggily. It was Eight-Ball.
"What?" Stefan replied.
"We'd better get the hell outta here. The cops would be here soon." Eight-Ball said, beginning to dash off. "C'mon!"
Stefan glanced behind him at the bridge. It was a blazing frenzy. That bomb must've packed quite a punch. The bridge would have to take weeks to be repaired.
Stefan found a sharp piece of shrapnel, and broke his cuffs with them. Damn, It felt good. He turned and dashed after Eight-Ball.
He found Eight-Ball, standing in front of an old Buick, parked near the bridge.
"Let's "borrow" this." Eight-Ball said with a grin. Stefan was a master of Grand Theft Auto, and Eight-Ball knew it.
"Allow me," Stefan said as he punched through the old glass window of the car, reached in the window and unlocked it. It was a simple task, jacking these cheap old cars.
Eight-Ball ran around to the other side of the vehicle and got into the second front seat. Stefan helped himself into the car. He pulled out a "mold", a little accessory that all car-jackers should have. It was a squarish key-shaped thing, and it fit perfectly into most car-ignition key-holes. Of course it won't work if you just slide it in. The trick is to drive it in at a certain angle, and then jamming it to ignite the car. It gets more difficult depending on the model of the car. It had to be done with certain skill.
The old car's engine sputtered to life, and Stefan pressed his foot onto the gas pedal. The car sped away from the bridge, looking like any other innocent vehicle, as police cars immediatly swarmed past them onto the scene. Stefan smoothly turned the vehicle left, onto a busy highway.
"Turn the radio on," Eight-Ball said,waving his bandaged hands up. "My hands are all messed up, brother."
Stefan nodded and turned the radio on.
"This just in - Liberty City's news flash. The bridge connecting Portland to Stauton Island has been cut off, by an annoymous drive-by bombing. A police truck containing 7 convicts had been overturned, and the convicts missing. Be on the look out for escaped prisoners. The explosion, luckily, had minimal casualties. The bridge will be off-limits until it is repaired, which is estimated, in about two week's time. Thank you. We now return to your regular programming." The radio station returned to its jazzy, gino dance music.
"Oh shit - did you jus' hear that!?" Eight-Ball said, smacking his head.
"The whole city's alerted.. They're gonna come and try to find us." Stefan said.
"Yeah, and the word "CONVICT" will be written on our foreheads with clothes like these on." Eight-Ball said, gesturing to his own orange prison-uniform. "We need a place where we can lay low for a while."
Stefan nodded in agreement.
"I know a place where I used as a safehouse before- down that way. Turn right here."
Stefan Dominic pulled the car into a small,narrow, almost hidden alleyway. It lead to a small space with a garage, and a metal door leading to a small room with some bare accomadations. Dominic stopped the car, turning it off. Eight-Ball got out of the car.
"We could get a change of clothes here." Eight-Ball said as he walked towards the door and opened it.
"And then what...?" Stefan asked, getting out of the car as well.
"I've got connections. I can get us some work." Eight-Ball said.
"Get you a reputation too, around here in Liberty City." He added, before he disappeared behind the door.
A reputation. That sounded good, Stefan thought to himself.
Author's Note : Please have the patience to read and review.. I really need an opinion on this. This is the first fanfiction I've ever written. So far, the story is going according to the story. The "alternation" part of it begins in Chapter Two.