Warnings: We own nothing but the original characters. Rockstar Games owns the GTA Title and any Characters from their storylines.

Chapter 1: A West Side Story

November 2000

Terrell

Sunset was the wrong time of day to take a walk in Hemp Hill Park in Dockington City. No matter where you stood or walked, you were automatically on the wrong side of the war.

On the west side of the park, Ballas were posted on several front stoops, beside their cars, and on the sidewalks in groups of three or four. They all wore purple: purple coats, purple shoes, purple shirts, or purple sneakers. Some had scars on their faces from knives or bullets. Some had gold teeth to replace those that been knocked out. None of them smiled, even when they laughed.

Ballas were the longest established gang in Dockington City. Founders had come in the mid-1980s, drawn south from Liberty City and Alderney by the abundance of Dockington City's shipping business. It was a port for moving drug supplies, and West Dockington had a growing number of disadvantaged, discontent youth. With the passing years, the gang had grown stronger instead of weaker, due in part to the presence on the other side of Hemp Hill Park.

To the east side of the park, the streets were thick with the Families squad. Four or five Families in green shirts, green hoodies, or green ball caps gathered on the stoops along Hemp Hill Park East. They smoked cigarettes, played craps, or cracked jokes, but every single one of them scoped out the Ballas on the west side of the park through the trees that split Hemp Hill Park Avenue.

Families had emerged in Dockington at the beginning of the 1990s. In Los Santos—its city of origin—they were losing power, and in Liberty City, Families were barely making it. Families OGs weren't about to let Ballas corner the waterfront of Dockington City. There was the drugs trade, weapons smuggling, and extortion as well. Hemp Hill Park on the far west side of the city was one of the central areas in the city where drugs sales went down.

At the corner of Hemp Hill Park West and Golden Street—a secondary street cutting through the neighborhood—a teenage kid stepped out of Pops' Corner Store with a 20 ounce bottle of grape Sprunk in his left hand. With his cinnamon-colored skin, dark brown eyes, jet-black hair in a stocking cap, high cheekbones, and linear nose, no one seeing the kid could tell if he was Black or part of the burgeoning population of Spanish-speaking people moving to Dockington from Central America and Mexico.

Both sets noticed his presence. Pops' Corner Store was in Ballas' turf. The kid wore a green Rockstar jacket over an oversized Binco tee, blue jeans, and silver gray Zip boots.

And all he had in his hand was a bottle of grape Sprunk.

"Look at that motherfucker, being disrespectful and shit." On the stoop across the street from him, three Ballas watched the kid waiting for traffic on Golden to let him cross. None of them bothered to conceal the 9 mm handguns strapped to their hips.

The one who had spoken sat on the concrete steps of the house. He was distinguishable from his brothers by his fresh, tight braids, gray eyes, and a long scar running parallel to his nose. As the kid stepped off the corner and crossed Golden Street, the Balla reached into his purple Suburban hoody.

The kid glanced in the direction of the scar-faced Balla. He spotted the 9 mm handgun as it emerged from the Balla's jacket, and took off running.

"Hey, bitch ass motherfucker!" The scar-faced Balla—known on the streets of Dockington and to the Dockington County Police Department as Scarface—and the other two Ballas took off running after the kid. "If you so motherfuckin' hard, come back here and stand your ground bitch!"

As the kid ran into the park, Families on the other side of the park kept their eyes on the scene unfolding. Families had a corner store in their territory, and no one knew who the kid was. Wearing a green hoody didn't make someone part of the Family. Challenging and killing Ballas didn't make someone part of the Family. Surviving the gauntlet did.

The kid reached inside his jacket with his right hand as he ran. His heart was racing as the fallen leaves underfoot crunched from the approaching footsteps of the Ballas' clique. He hid behind a tree, and pulled back the hammer on the gun.

That click drew Scarface's ire. "Come out, bitch ass motherfucker!"

More crunching leaves warned the kid that he had been found. He turned to left and clutched the grape Sprunk to his chest with his left hand and fired two rounds at the approaching Ballas. Both missed.

"He over there!" one of the Ballas shouted.

The kid took off running again through the park. Dodging and weaving among the naked trees, he used the dying sunlight to evade the gang chasing him. If he crossed the park's central creek, he would be on Families' turf. No one in green could help him without provoking an all-out gang war. The Families were still up and coming and couldn't deal with a war of any magnitude.

Someone approached on his left again. The kid stopped, aimed his gun, and fired off another shot. One of the Ballas screamed. The kid kept running.

Gunshots chased him past the park's carousel and up the path crossing the park's decorative creek. His ears filled with footsteps pursuing him, gun fire, and the pounding of his own heartbeat. Once he crossed the creek, the kid disappeared into the trees, like he was avoiding defenses and running the rock into the endzone.

More shots chased him as he sprinted up a low embankment to the other side of the park. "You bitch ass motherfucker! I see your ass, and you're dead!" Scarface yelled.

The kid crossed Hemp Hill Park East, where it diverged from Hemp Hill West, and dashed down Coolidge Street. He didn't slow down until he made his way into an alley between houses on Coolidge to Block Street.

Hemp Hill Park streets were named from the time when the neighborhood belonged to wealthier, mostly White families. It used to be fashionable to live further from Dockington Harbor, the long-standing commercial sector of the city and where dockworkers lived. World War II, the Vietnam War, and the war with Australia changed the city. Tenements near the docks were torn down, and fashionable townhomes built to replace them. The Harbor provided beautiful scenery and lucrative property for high rise buildings. While White families moved closer to the Harbor, Black families took up row houses one after the other following the wars, until the entire area between Hemp Hill Park East and the future site of the Dockington Beltway was chocolate city.

The kid's heartbeat and breathing returned to normal as he strolled down the comparative safety of Block Street to Taft. Gray slush swirled around his gray Zip boots. In the growing chill and closing day, children climbed the steps of the row houses to mother who had watched them since they disembarked from the school bus. Young men the kid's age and a little older took in the last smoke of the day. His Mexican-born neighbor—known to the neighborhood as Señora Suarez—swept the front steps free of the slush not cleared by the city.

The kid waved at the silver-haired, short, stooped woman. She smiled and it reminded him of his mother. "Yo, Missus Suarez!"

Without hesitation, the old woman stormed down her stairs and pointed her broom handle at him. "Terrell, how many times have I told you, that is not how you greet someone older than you? You are not a dumb boy. Why are you an insolent one?" she said in flawless English with a slight Spanish accent.

"I'm sorry, Missus Suarez. It won't happen again."

"If it does, my broom and your head will become good friends. Now, do you boys have something to eat at home?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you been doing your homework and going to school?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I haven't seen you getting on the school bus in the mornings, Terrell."

"I take the city bus, Missus Suarez."

Señora Suarez straightened Terrell's jacket. "Alright. You go on home, and be safe. Stop running in the streets."

"Buenas noches a ti, Señora Suarez."

The old woman laughed. "Your Spanish is improving, Terrell. Be safe when you're out here, mijo."

Terrell Williams didn't know what "mijo" meant in Spanish, but since Senora Suarez didn't curse, he knew she wasn't cursing at him. He waited until she returned to the front stoop of her house before he continued down the street to his own home.

A couple of cigarette butts littered the front stoop, and a windblown copy of the Dockington Sun clung to one of the concrete rails. Terrell picked up the litter, balled it together in his left hand, and unlocked the three locks of the front door. He gave the front stoop a final sweep with his eyes and went inside the house.

The kitchen was lone source of light in the row house; Terrell had left it on because burglars were less interested in any house that seemed occupied. Even with deadbolt locks, crack fiends and black market thugs didn't know boundaries, and they didn't care about sets or affiliations. A flight of creaky, bare wooden stairs led from the front entrance to the second floor. As an extra precaution, Terrell kicked off his boots, gently closed the front door, and placed his jacket on the coat tree beside the door. He wanted to sneak up on any intruder before he snuck up on Terrell.

Terrell climbed the stairs in his clean gray wool socks and checked every room in the row house's second floor: the cramped but sterile bathroom at the top of the stairs; his orderly bedroom with a pennant from his visit to the Dockington campus of University of Marian; the disorganized and rarely used bedroom of his brother; and finally, his mother's musty but clean bedroom. Terrell only allowed a brief glimpse into the room. It had been left exactly as his mother had left it, painted and decorated yellow. The he heard the keys in the lock downstairs and the door opened.

"Yo, Terrell, I know you're here! I just walked by Señora Suarez, and she told me she saw you a minute ago! Where you at?"

Still clad in thick gray wool socks and his street clothes, Terrell descended the narrow wooden stairs to the main floor of the house. His older brother, who everybody called Tank, literally filled the door with his body.

The brothers were as different in physical proportions as they were in personality. Tank, born Tyson, was 6'6" and 275 lbs of corded muscle and solid build. Tank didn't wear an extra-large T-shirt, extra-large green Binco hoody, or size 36 Binco jeans as a fashion style; he wore clothes that fit his frame. With a shaved bald head and two disconnected sideburns running down to his neatly trimmed beard, Tank looked like a man ten years older than his twenty years.

Terrell, on the other hand, was a 5'8" sixteen year old. His face was dotted with pimples and a barely existing mustache over his upper lip. Chiseled lines of muscle stood out beneath his T-shirt and so did soft, fatty flesh around his waist. His soft, wavy hair and lighter skin further defined the brothers as two different people.

"What's up bro?" Terrell greeted Tank.

Tank scoffed at his little brother's greeting. "T-Real, you stupid fuck, you strolled through Ballas' country today. Is that what's up?"

"Hey bro, I just went to the corner store, that's all."

"Did you forget that there's a corner store right down the street?"

"I was just thirsty, that's all."

Tank snatched up Terrell by his shirt and slammed the teenager against the wall. "You were thirsty? You were thirsty? You stupid bitch, they were gonna make your ass drink bullets. Bet your ass wouldn't be thirsty then!"

"Yo, chill out, Tank!"

Tank slammed his younger brother against the wall until Terrell's teeth clacked together inside his head. "Do you got any idea of what could've happened to you out there today?" He rammed Terrell's head against the wall again. Terrell winced from the blow. "Ballas could've capped your dumbass right there in Hemp Hill, and not as single motherfucking Family would've or could've done shit about it. You know you're not supposed to walk in Ballas territory."

Tank banged Terrell's head against the wall again. The teenage boy struggled against the grip his brother's hands had on his shirt. "Yo, Tank, man, I'm sorry! Now chill out, please?"

Tank tossed Terrell to the floor. "Ballas could've ended your life today because your dumbass had to go and prove some stupid shit. You ain't a part of Families yet. Ain't nobody on this side of the block protecting you yet, except for me, T-Real. You could be dead right now."

"Man, how many times do I gotta tell you I'm sorry, huh?" Terrell jumped to his feet and tried to stare down his big brother. Tank returned the glare, but Terrell blinked first.

"You are a dumb, selfish kid, Terrell. You have no fucking idea how much shit you just brought on my head, do you?"

"I said, 'I'm sorry.'"

"Save your bullshit. You're all I've got left, Terrell. I'm gonna protect you no matter what." Tank unlocked the front door and headed out. "Lock the door, and cook something for dinner, alright? I'll be back before morning. You know what to do if I'm not."

Mordecai

He looked out at the metropolitan sprawl from the back of the cab as it rolled down the 669 Beltway. He wasn't sure about this place. Many parts of it were hell holes. He was just coming from Marshall Justice International Airport. Downtown was nice enough. As he had gotten into the cab the cabbie warned him to stay away from West Dockington but also said that East Dockington had its rough areas as well. He was headed to an area known as Pike Town, Dockington City, Maryland.

His name was Mordecai Lobel. He was twenty eight years old. His life had by no means been easy. He was an ex-con due to some bad fortune and before that he had served in the Gulf War as a Green Beret. He had been in the Battle of Khafji where he had won a medal of honor. He had also been wounded in that battle taking rounds from an Assault Rifle in the chest. He had been one of fifty two soldiers on their side that had been wounded. The enemy had suffered much heavier casualties.

He stared at his reflection in the cab window. He was a decent enough looking young man. He had a deep Mediterranean tan and all though he was classified by the system as a Caucasian, he was anything but even if his family had been in Europe before they were in the United States. For a lot of his life he thought he was, until he ended up in the Liberty State Correctional Facility. He was Jewish American but was often mistaken for Sicilian due to his semi Middle Eastern features. He had jet black hair that he usually kept slicked back with gel, 50's greaser style all though not quite a Pompadour.

In prison, everything was racially divided. He was not quite a white guy and not quite a minority by most people's standards either. Since he had a Star of David branded on his left arm back in his army days, Mordecai knew that he would not be able to hide it. The only thing with being classified as a white guy in the system was that the white inmates were under the protection of the Aryan Vanguard, a white supremacist prison gang. As a Hebrew, that left him in deep shit. His first day, he had gotten into a fight with one of them.

Luckily, he had not been put in solitary since he did not instigate it. But he was warned if it happened again he would spend a week in the hole. Mordecai had kicked the man's right knee cap in, and the Aryan would probably spend the rest of his life disabled. Luckily for Mordecai, even though Jews only accounted for 2% of the US prison population, they had a place in LSCF where they could be safe.

Due to the Five Families in Liberty City having been aligned with Jewish criminals from back then, the Pavano Family had the most affiliation with them. The logic being, Sicilians—much like Jews—were not technically Anglos and they weren't black or illegal aliens who were the three main populations in US prisons.

Even with the mafia's declining numbers, they held a lot of respect. Mordecai had never planned on going to prison much less affiliating with Mafioso thugs, but it wasn't like it was a well thought out plan. He had gotten in a fist fight with some drunken frat boy jackass and had fucked the kid up pretty badly. As it turned out, he was twenty years old and a trust fund baby. That landed Mordecai five years in prison but he got out in two and a half.

Even with the alliance of the Commission, it had been no easy time being inside. Gangs both local and national that were incarcerated were trying to earn a name in prison just like on the streets. Local gangs like the Spanish Lords and the North Holland Hustlers had tried f*** with him and so had national gangs like the Families, Ballas, and even some cholos representing some Southern San Andreas gang he had never heard of before.

He had fought them off, but he had also suffered his fair share of wounds as well. The street gangs and the Neo Nazis had it out for him. He had been shanked in the kitchen by an AV goon looking to rise up in the ranks. By "Sticking a World Banker" that was just the way he could do that. He had spent some time in the hospital infirmary. The AV goon had gone to the hole, and Mordecai was not sure if that earned him any kind of promotion. It did earn the AV extra time on the 35 year sentence he had already been serving for killing his girlfriend.

He had grown up in Liberty City, but it had become a real sewer compared to the great city it once had been. It was the greatest city in the world but Mordecai had rubbed too many people wrong. He knew how to survive on the streets. He had certainly done enough hits for the mob both outside and inside prison. When the streets got too hot and the scene got old, Mordecai went to Vice City for a while. He did some jobs for the former Mafioso who now ran that town.

Even as he had carried out several assassinations for Mr. Vercetti, he still never quite could believe he was involved in s*** like this. It wasn't where he was supposed to be. Later, when the cops figured out he had been in town from Liberty, he had to jet and go to Los Santos. He did some more of the same kinds of jobs for a Mr. Carl Johnson, some loser from the streets who almost overnight in the early 90's had become a millionaire.

Mordecai had also gotten to do more clean jobs for the guy like taking cars and bringing them to him so he could use them for his Wang Automobiles shop up in San Fierro. One thing he had to say he admired about Carl Johnson was that, unlike Vercetti and some of the Mafia families back home, this kid was actually trying to go legit and eventually put his own criminal life on the streets behind him.

Now, here he was, in the suburb of a wannabe city. Pike Town had the largest Jewish American community on the eastern seaboard (outside of Liberty, of course), but that was no guarantee he would be safe there. Mordecai just needed a place to lay low.

He paid the cabbie and got out at a bar called The Lush. Every suburb had a seedy side, and the Lush was part of Pikesville's. The street was dirtier; the air grittier; and the people who walked the streets were less worried about appearances.

Mordecai walked in and sat down at a stool. "I'll have a Logger."

The man handed it to him without a word and he sipped it slowly, reflecting on his life these last few years. The bartender finally did speak up saying, "New in town?" Mordecai nodded. "You might say that. I've been all over the country."

The bartender listened respectfully saying, "No better country to be in. The great thing about it is how big it is. There's still a lot to see and I've been to thirteen states myself," Just then, a surly looking Caucasian male with sand colored hair and a bright red beard came out of the men's room. He picked up a bottle off of the pool table.

Mordecai got a look at his ink. He had a tattoo on his right bicep of a skull on fire that was grinning. He also had a tattoo of a Confederate flag on his left forearm and the words Vice were above it and City below it. On the back he had a patch that said Angels of Death on top, and below the skull patch it said Maryland.

The guy approached Mordecai and said, "You're in my seat, pal."

Mordecai looked at the man and then at the bartender, "Is that true? Was he there before I got in?" The bartender told him, "Far as I saw, he was playing pool over there. Bought his beer here but didn't do much sitting."

Mordecai noticed at least two other Angels over there all of them giving the ex-Ranger the evil eye. The Angel growled and spat, "Doesn't make a difference. Every time I come in here I sit there and knock down some Brewskis so that spot at the bar is mine. Get your a** up. Now."

Mordecai looked at the counter and then said, "It is? I don't see your name written on it. I'm just trying to unwind here, man. Give me a break."

The biker grabbed Mordecai by the collar of his black denim coat. "I'll give you two. A broken leg and jaw if you don't get your a** the f*** away from my bar!" The bar tender corrected him, "You mean my bar."

The biker shouted, "You worry about your own a**. We spend our hard earned dollars in this dive so the least you could do is show us some respect and let us tend to our own business."

Mordecai warned, "Get your hands off me. I'll find another bar that doesn't have a bunch of bikers."

The bartender scolded the gang member. "Goddamn it, Parker I don't need you in here threatening and harassing my customers. His money is as green as yours is only I bet this guy's 'Hard earned money' didn't come from a m*** lab."

The guy let him go. Mordecai put a bill down on the table and told the bartender, "Thanks anyways."

As he started to walk out, the man, Parker had a pitcher of beer that his friends were polishing off. "Hey, hot shot. Before you go have one on me," He poured it on Mordecai's head, soaking him. That was the final straw. He punched Parker in the face and the drunken man staggered back, setting the pitcher down, spilling what remained on the pool table.

The Angel threw a punch back and said, "I didn't even feel that you little piece of s***!" Mordecai realized that was in part because the guy was already inebriated, and drunks didn't feel as much pain when attacked. Mordecai was taken aback a bit by the blow, but came back at him swinging using a right and left combo hitting the biker with five blows to the head. The man was bleeding from his nose and lip which Mordecai had split open.

Parker screamed in rage and tackled him, throwing blows at Mordecai's abdomen and pelvis. Since he had not yet gotten a buzz going, he felt it all. He grunted but as Parker threw a blow to his face he caught it and used his body weight against him flinging him to the pool table and the man hit his head on one of the legs busting his head open.

His two friends jumped in, one of them whacking Mordecai with a pool stick, the other trying to bombard him with pool balls. He grunted as he took two balls to the chin. Mordecai hit the floor in a daze plus he took the stick in the side. The two men walloped him in the right side in his rib cage. He felt that in his lung. He had the wind knocked out of him and when he could he breathed in a gasp of air.

One of the man's friends—the Angel with the stick—a white male with blue/gray eyes, his black hair shaven short, plus a neck tattoo that read AOD MC, swung again. Mordecai kicked his feet out from under him and followed up with a boot to the jaw. He remembered his martial arts training from military training. He got up as the man was trying to and kicked him in the gut but not before stealing the pool cue from him. The man with the balls tried to throw one at him but he ducked under it.

Mordecai was ready for the next one but he swung it like a bat and the stick broke as it hit the ball but it sent it right back at the man hitting him in the chest. The man fell over wheezing and Mordecai picked up another pool cue and wailed on his legs and then hit him in the face once. He caused the man's cheek to bleed. He also nearly gouged his left eye out.

Mordecai shouted, "Why...why...WHY?! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO FUCK WITH ME?! ASSHOLE!" He hit the guy on the ground who had the first cue across the mouth with it knocking out six of his teeth. The man spat them and blood on the floor. Just then, Parker had a .357 Desert Eagle out and he was pointing it at Mordecai. "You fucked with the wrong people, asshole. Now drop the stick."

He had Mordecai's back against the pool table. "You injured my brothers pretty badly. That's gonna cost you. We can do this either way you want. You can pay in blood or cash. Somebody has to pay for their medical bills. Let's start with what you have in your wallet. It may not be enough to cover their bills but it might be enough to ease my pain of seeing my buddies hurt by some out of town cocksucker like you. Where you from? Liberty City? Libertonians disgust me."

Mordecai dropped the pool cue and said, "Let's talk about this. This was all just a misunderstanding. We got off on the wrong foot."

The man snarled in anger, "One foot is all you will have left if you don't cough up the dough, dickhead. Now get to it and get out of my bar. I ever see you again after this I will kill you in a slow and excruciating manner," The bartender was behind the bar counter putting shells in a shotgun and trying to be as quiet about it as he could. "It's my bar, guys," He said softly.

Parker yelled back to him, "Moe! Are you loading up your shotgun? I'd think twice about it if I were you. Even with my brothers bleeding, they're still ready to fight and just remember you got three guns on you if you try anything. Four if you count the prospect we got outside making sure our Zombies look nice and shiny."

Parker glared at Mordecai. "Better be your pocket book you're reaching for, boy."

He grabbed the pitcher by the handle and Mordecai assured him, "It is...I got five hundred it's all yours."

Parker narrowed his eyes. "It ain't what I hoped for but it'll do. Cough it up!" He smashed the pitcher across Parker's face and the glass cut his ugly mug up badly. The man went down holding his bloody and cut up face. Mordecai took the Desert Eagle he dropped. He checked the ammo in it. Nine shots. He also fished the keys to Parker's chopper.

He turned to the bartender, Moe and said, "I'm sorry about this. Really I am,"

He went outside and the prospect went inside to see what the commotion was about. He grabbed him from behind when he saw the mess but Mordecai hit him with the gun knocking him to the ground. "Stay away from me. I'm not kidding."

The guy held his head but as he started the ignition and he sped off he got to his feet and the guy was going to shoot at him but he saw a police car just down the street in front of an ATM. Instead the prospect yelled, "You're dead! Nobody fucks with the Angels of Death! Parker's going to shove that bike up your ass!"

As he sped off he had the radio on. He wasn't sure what the name of the station was but the song "Man in the Box" by Alice n Chains played. It was good to hear real music, not that redneck country crap or gangster rap bullshit. As he rode off down the intersection going toward where his new apartment and new home was supposed to be, he pondered what had just happened.

So much for keeping a low profile and starting anew in a different city...He thought, cursing his rotten luck.

Sonya

Sonya Flores was not in a particularly good mood. The sixteen year old was a long way from home. She had grown up in Rancho, Los Santos, a South Central ghetto. Now she was here in West Dockington City. Her parents had tried to send her to a Catholic all girls school in Northern San Andreas but she wasn't having that shit. Sonya had actually been born in rural El Salvador but had moved her with her parents when she was very little at age six, fleeing the civil war. In her teenage years, going to school in Rancho, she had gotten jumped into the Rancho 13 cliqua out there.

Her parents didn't want her getting mixed up in that kind of shit especially her father. They had both been guerrilla fighters back home against the government and had met during the war. When they had her, they knew there was a risk of Sonya getting killed. Though many parents that were fighting back home had kids, it was a constant risk and her parents didn't want that risk. All though her mother and father had been from different backgrounds, she being a country girl and he being from the slums of San Salvador, they had been as one in love and La Causa.

However the difference was, her mami knew nothing of gangs before coming to the states. Her papi however, had fought in the war with many youth who would later move to Los Santos and start the Mara Bunta Grande gang. They had started out as unorganized pot smokers from a West Los Santos varrio just trying to defend themselves. One edge they had on local gangs was that they were former combatants in a war.

Still, in 1992, when the Mexican Mafia prison gang, La Onda wanted to tax Mara Bunta Grande for making a higher profit in the drug trade than any other gangs, they had initially told Onda to fuck off. "It's our money," They said. "We earned it, not you."

This earned Mara Bunta Grande a green light. Despite their edge on the L.S. based gangs, they were outnumbered by the Vagos and Varrio Los Aztecas. Eventually they paid their dues and the green light was lifted by 93' however Onda had green lit the black populations mostly the gangsters and dealers but also civilians if they were in the way. It was a means of hasty revenge because back in the riots, Mexicans and Salvadorans had rioted with African American protesters but the black man's wrath was radioactive so even those helping them got attacked. This angered La Onda and the rest was history.

Even before she left L.S., that is, she ran away, she got into constant fights with Rancho 13's biggest rivals, the East Side Ballers. Though the African American gang members that had attacked Mexican civilians were from Kilo Trey as well as the non affiliated looters and rioters they had with them, the racial animosity between Rancho 13 and the East Side Ballers had started out as a drug rivalry but of course this fueled the fire of the war between the two minority groups.

The ESB had robbed Rancho 13 for about eighty racks. This made them one of the main targets for not only Rancho trece but other South Central Vagos hoods. Now here she was, way across the country. She had been living here for about four months. She had made some friends and to her surprise there were Vagos and Mara Bunta and even Aztecas out here too.

They all took orders from La Onda all the way from San Andreas. If a state had no La Onda chapter in it, but had many South Side gangs, they would take orders from the original Onda prisons. She was just a Sophomore and all though she hated school, she liked learning sometimes. She was now on a bus ride on the Metro back from school.

She was staying with some friends she had made over here when she had revealed she was a Vago. She had been blessed into the local cliqua in the hood because she was from Rancho and also because her shot caller back home, a man named Neto, was homies with the man who started his clique here. He was from a different calle in Los Santos and was from West L.S. not South Central but he was cool with Neto so he had blessed Sonya into the gang.

He and Sonya as far as she knew, were the only ones from back west. All else were locals who were first generation born to parents that didn't speak English.

The shot caller here was named El Toro. He was from a hood in West L.S. known as Leonard 13 a hood very adjacent to the Los Santos International airport. Often, from what Sonya had heard of the place, gangsters from there would use the fact that it was so close to the airport to their advantage, using the coming and going of aircraft as a cover up to shoot so the gunshots would be drowned out.

It was something the Leonard Sheriff's department had a lot of issues with. That and their rivalry to gangs from Strawberry which was just North of Leonard. As she sat on the bus, reflecting on her life, Sonya caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror of one of the bus mirrors.

She was pretty and petite but back home a lot of vatos had told her she had a nice ass for a skinny girl. They said she looked like J Lo in some ways. She didn't agree with that. She had caramel colored skin and she wore her long jet black hair in two braids. She wore a yellow checkered shirt over an aqua blue blouse and she wore black jeans. Finally, they arrived in the hood. She got off the bus, telling the Chinese American driver, "Thanks."

Just then, her homegirl, TJ, short for Tanya Jimenez came up to her, her eyes red and bloodshot. "Que pasa,, amiga? What's wrong?"

TJ, was a pretty Mexican American girl about her age. She had light brown skin and was slightly overweight but in a cute way. By no means was she fat. She was voluptuous. Beautiful even. Many boys hsd fallen in love with her in high school. "They shot Danny..."

Sonya's hard dropped as she heard this. "No..."

Danny was TJ's little brother. He was twelve years old. He had been such a happy and goofy kid. Unlike most kids in the barrio, he had clung to his childhood not wanting to go too soon. TJ was a member of the same cliqua that Sonya was. The Lautner Park Esquinas. A Vagos gang active in the Dockington City area. TJ sobbed, "A carucha rolled up and the window went down and somebody shot at me. He said, 'This is for you' but he hit Danny! Shot him in the head!"

Sonya hugged her homegirl. Because she had not been jumped in, Sonya was treated like a chavala around here by some of the gang members because she wasn't from the varrio. Even though El Toro was also not from here, he had started the clique. He didn't have to be. Most of the female members, TJ, included had been jumped in while some got in through sex. Those girls got little respect as they set the female gender back 100 years implying all women were good for was fucking and not fighting.

Still, as somebody who had been blessed in, Sonya was the only one who had been and so she was seen as much of a coward as the girls who got rolled in instead of jumped in. TJ was the exception she had always been decent to her. The others, she didn't care about right now or maybe she would have to earn their respect. Right now, it was about her homegirl, TJ and she was hurting.

Sonya said, "I'm so sorry..I don't know what to say. Do you know who did it?" TJ sniffed. "I think it was the Aztecas. Soleado Villa Locos. I swear to God I'm gonna hit those bitches back. Soon."

A couple of homeboys and homegirls saw this conversation taking place. Sonya decided to show initiative. "Homegirl, you know I'm willing to go with you, right? You've been good to me and I'm going to help you."

TJ nodded as they broke the hug. "Tonight. We're going after those fuckers tonight. I'll need a driver but these cabrones are all mine, entiendes?" Sonya agreed. "Si mon que si. I wouldn't have it any other way. Did you get a good look at them?"

She nodded. Just before they fired. I recognized the guy closest to me most. We used to go to our school but he dropped out. The others, I don't know I'd have to see them again. I didn't get a good look at the driver but maybe if I saw him again I'd recognize him. It all happened so fast. They want me dead because I've fucked up a couple of their homies you know? I used to set vatos from their hood up have them think they were gonna get laid and then somebody from our side got them."

Sonya knew this much already. It used to be that the senior had set up boys using her charms on them and vatos from PPE would shoot them. Now though, she had been setting them up but doing the shootings herself. Still, to shoot her brother was cold blooded.

As Sonya thought about it, when she pondered the words they had said to TJ, she couldn't help but wonder if they meant to hit her or not. All though shooting an innocent deliberately was more of Mara Bunta's M.O. than VLA's, maybe their enemigas had shot Danny on purpose knowing that TJ would suffer more seeing a loved one die while she lived instead of her dying.

Three Hours Later

Sonya was approached by El Toro. "Oye, mija what's this I hear about you going along with TJ after the Aztecas?" She nodded. "Danny was a good kid. He didn't deserve to go out like that. I'm going to help her. You and her are the only true homies I got out here. Everybody else treats me like I'm just some bitch off the street. Less than nothing."

El Toro was a lean and lanky El Salvadoran man with medium brown skin, dark eyes and extremely curly hair. He wore a pair of tan dickies and a white wife beater. "So you think by killing a chavala you'll earn their respect? Look, I'm gonna level with you. This life aint for everybody. You're from L.S. and that's something most from out here don't have that me and you do but you never killed anybody. It's not easy."

She shrugged. "What could be so hard? You just point pull and repeat. Same way those fools iced Danny. They're going in the ground before his funeral, Toro. Serious pedo."

He sighed. "I won't try and stop you. You're one of us. A Vaga but I don't condone it. TJ, she used to be a lot like you. She was a nice girl. Had dreams and ambitions but she got caught up with this hood life and now she's lucky she barely will make it through high school."

She smiled politely and said, "Toro you've been good to me. Mucha gracias, hermano but I have to do this. If I wasn't going to why would I have been jumped in back in Los Santos? People here don't have a lack of respect over me being an out of towner. Even Raza that grew up out here know that L.S. is the hometown of Vagos and Vagas. What they don't respect is me being blessed in. I appreciate you doing it cause I don't see much point in being jumped in twice to two different cliquas but it has consequences. "

He looked disappointed. "Okay. Just don't say I didn't warn you. I'm in my 30's. That's a lot longer than I was supposed to have lived but I don't know just how much longer I can keep this up. You a Vaga? Firme but you can also get us some peace down the line with other Chicano gangs. You're a new generation. We gotta stop fighting our own."

She ignored the veterano and got into the Tornado TJ had jacked from downtown. "You drive, Sonya. I'm going to be doing the shooting but just in case, take this," She gave her a 9mm. It had thirteen shots in it. She instructed Sonya on where to drive. "Go down toward Felch Point."

TJ put the radio on to 90.7 Raza Radio. The song Pachuco's Night by Lil Rob played. As they drove, Sonya asked, "Do you even know what this guy looks like?"

TJ nodded as she looked in the mirror. She was using her makeup from her purse to pencil in a small fake mustache. What TJ was doing was something many Chicana gang members would do if they wanted to avoid suspicion from the cops. She was dressing up like a man. She had on a blue checkered shirt buttoned all the way up as opposed to how many just buttoned the top. For her she had to button it all up to try and hide her breasts. She was actually very good at disguises. She also had a pair of black dickies as well as a Bay Area Bandits hat. She looked like half the bangers from Los Santos and since the Mexican and Central American community in town was increasing in population, she fit the description of many bangers here as well.

Though gang girls had always had a prominent role, the police were sexist and many of them didn't even have a gang book on girl gangsters. While it was true that most gang members were men and most of the violent crimes in the US were done by men, there was increases in female gang activity and now tonight they were about to take that up one step higher. They arrived in Felch Point, Aztecas turf.

TJ put on a pair of shades and got the 12 gauge she had in the car. There was a gangster party going on at the house they had stopped in. Idiotas. May as well have a neon sign that says shoot here!

TJ told her, "Keep the engine running, Esa," Just about everybody was inside the house. Only two people were outside, on the porch steps. A male and female member of the local VLA set. As Sonya watched she presumed the two to be boyfriend and girlfriend. They saw TJ coming and since neither of the teens had guns on them, they took off running down the street.

The sound of Mariachi music blasted on the radio. Most of the gangsters in the house as well as the non affiliates, were dancing with each other to the upbeat music. However, the man that TJ was after or at least one of them a nineteen year old Mexican male with slicked back hair and a goatee, wearing a black T shirt and blue jeans, sat in a chair with a bag of weed in his lap rolling up a leno.

He looked up and saw TJ coming and burst up from the chair, weed spilling all over the place. She racked the gun and though her natural voice was very feminine sounding, TJ made her voice as deep and booming as she could and yelled, "Esto es para Los Vagos!"

(This is for The Vagos!)

She fired and the deafening boom went louder than the music. The blast had no barrel choke so the blast scattered hitting just about all of his torso. His black shirt had freshly ripped holes in it with red oozing out at an alarming rate. He fell over as did the lazy boy chair dumping him over behind it.

TJ's ears were ringing and she got in the Tornado running just as some Aztecas were trying to get out of the door of the house to return fire but were unable to until the non affiliates who were not bangers but had friends who were but they were now scrambling to run from the house screaming in fear.

Sonya used that window of time to peel up the street in the ranfla not wasting any time getting out of there. As they drove a couple of blocks north, she spotted the two Aztecas who had stopped to catch their breath. Sonya readied the 9mm. "It's time for me to lose my virginity..."

TJ, only heard her from the ear that wasn't ringing. "What...? What are you talking about, homegirl you already did. That one night stand three months ago with that guy from Acapulco remember?" Sonya shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

She rolled down the window and the female Azteca, a short Mexican girl with neck length hair said, "I just heard a shot we should go back," She then noticed the car that had pulled up alongside them. The boyfriend's eyes went wide with realization. They started to run off again so Sonya fired out of the window rapidly at them putting her foot down on the gas as she did.

She missed with the first five shots. She aimed higher at both of them and emptied the rest of the magazine. She saw them both fall having taken shots in the back. She didn't even wait to see if they died or not. She floored it going about fifty five up the street. "Jesus! Slow down, Sonya before you kill us both! If the puercos see us even if they don't know who we are we'll get pulled over for speeding."

She slowed it down. Her heart was pounding. TJ climbed into the back seat and began to get changed out of the cholo clothes into her regular clothes letting her hair out of the football cap. TJ looked up at the sky and crossed herself. "Eso era para que Danny. Te amo hermanito."

(That was for you Danny. I love you baby brother.)

They rolled back to the hood. "You can stay at my place tonight if you want. Anything for a sister," Sonya forced a smile though she wasn't in a smiling mood. "Gracias hermana,"

As it drew near 10:00 PM Sonya hopped in the shower and after she had washed and rinsed she curled up on the floor of the tub letting the water shower her. TJ had said she was going to be early as she was beat and they had a long week ahead of them preparing for the emotional baggage of her younger brother's funeral. TJ had told her she could sleep on the couch where they had a pullout bed. Her parents were at the local church and were said to be praying with the padre and would be there the whole night as the father was trying to comfort them.

Unbeknownst to Sonya, TJ was in her own bed looking at an old picture of herself and her brother from three years ago at a carnival and was crying herself to sleep.

Sir Jason Kidd Gray: I'm proud to be a part of the production of this story. Dockington City is a parody of the city where I came from, Baltimore! And I'm even more proud because I'm working on it with Native Gunz 13 and AF Spirit, both phenomenal writers.

Hemp Hill Park is a spoof of Druid Hill Park, as hemp is the plant from which marijuana is made. I-669 is the 695 Beltway around Baltimore, only it's in agreement with Rockstar's love of innuendos.

Native Gunz 13: On my end that's all. So this is my contribution to Sir Jason's new story Dockington City. So you all know the Bay Area Pirates is a spoof of the Oakland Raiders and also an innuendo as in Butt Pirate a derogatory term for homosexuals who are very large in numbers in that area.

Felch Point is based on a barrio in Baltimore Maryland called Fells Point. The Lautner Park area is based on Pat/Patterson Park me and Sir Jason were originally going to name it Patterson as he called it Pat Park but as it turns out the official name is Patterson Park so I figured why not just parody as in rock star's way.

So just like Robert Patterson is an actor who plays a Twilight character Edward, the vampire, Taylor Lautner is a native American actor who played Jacob. Team Edward Vs Team Jacob. Vampire vs Werewolf. Actually the girl who plays Jacob's relative Leah is a Mohawk actress named Alex Rice.

If you haven't seen Twilight trust me you don't need to lol. If you don't know what felch means it means to suck the sperm out of somebody's anus or vagina.

So Sonya is based on my female GTA V online character, Cheyenne, TJ is based visually on America Ferrera and El Toryo is visually based on Esai Morales who played the brother of Richie Valens, a Mexican American pioneer of Rock & Roll in La Bamba.

As a Surena is a female Sureno i made Vagas the female version of Vagos. Oh and Esquina is a slang for a helper. Surenos are considered Esquinas for La Eme. In the instance of me mentioning Kilo Trey they're based on the 8 trey crips as Rockstar implied, and 8 trey is the gang that basically started the racial war in L.A. where as the East Sibe Ballers are based on the East Coast Crips who though are also involved in the ethnic tension, their pedo started out more financial as I explained in my story Ballad Of A Cholo. Enough of me. Hope you enjoyed.

AF Spirit: This is me, ya'll. Once again I am collaborating with Native Guns on a story and for the 1st time, Sir Jason Kidd Gray. I'm grateful for the opportunity, Sir.

So just so ya'll know even though in GTA IV they made it seem like the Gambetti Family who are based on the Gambinos were the most powerful family, in reality the Genovese Family of the NY Five Families was the strongest and they are who the Pavanos are based on. So in reality it should be Pavanos on top. Bad form Rock Star North!

As for my OC, if he was visually based on anyone or if this was a game I'd have him voiced by Eli Roth the man who played Sgt Donny in the movie Inglorious Basterds AKA as the "Jew Bear" due to his size who had a hobby of clubbing nazis to death with his Brooklyn baseball bat.

He also directed the Hostel movies which are favorites of mine. So's you know the Aryan Vanguard is based on the Aryan Brotherhood. Native Guns 13 uses it a lot in his stories but originally i believe they were in this movie he showed me blood in blood out.

Far as the branding on the arm with the Star that's from this you tube video i saw it looked like it hurt though. As far as who Mordecai had to be allies with in the slammer that is a reference to the Luciano-Lanksy alliance back before Lucky Luciano, the father of the mafia in America, formed the Five Families/Commission. Did ya'll know the Italian mob also had a hand in taking the KKK down in the 60's? Shiiit and to think I didn't like them at one time lol.

Hope ya'll like the first chapter. Had to do some looking up on areas there in Baltimore Maryland but Pike Town is based on Pikesville.