Things had changed greatly in Liberty City and Alderney over the course of a relatively short time. There had been whole sale death and destruction the likes of which they had never seen. Gang wars raged and the bodies stank. Everything had gone up in flames both in the underworld and the rest of the supposedly legitimate world. Possibly most damaging in the entire series of chaotic events was the constant shifts in power. Mikhail Faustin had been killed and then Ray Bulgarin and Dmitri Rascalov leaving at least one faction in the Russian Mafia nearly crippled and leaderless. Elizabeta Torres had been arrested and wasn't going to be seeing the light of day any time soon leaving her insanely lucrative cocaine empire up for grabs. The various Mafia factions had all been put through their paces and had come out much worse for wear particularly the Pegorinos who were nearly disintegrated. The Lost Motorcycle Club had lost its Alderney chapter.
In short there were many devastated or otherwise wounded gangs and gangsters and all sorts of people looking to fill the space, bridge the gap left behind, or otherwise muscle their way into someone else's position. That was something the Yuschenko bratva didn't plan on letting happen. They had stepped in during all the chaos that was being brought about by Faustin's death and Dmitri's reign of terror. They had since become a massive powerhouse in not only Broker but all over the city, or at least they started to expand out into the other areas quickly enough.
Rising along with the Yuschenko bratva were various other gangs including various Triad factions who had manged to avoid most of the carnage during the last major bout of violence. They had easily taken over several businesses particularly heroin traficking and sale which they had already dominated to begin with, now they almost completely controlled it. The two giants had come to an uneasy peace with hardly if any violence ever occurring between them. The Russians retained control of Broker which they still dominated, though there were some inter-faction struggles going on every so often, while the Triads experienced the same growing pains while keeping control over southern Algonquin. The arrangement made it hard if not impossible for others the two powerhouses didn't approve of to operate or at least be based in their own territory something which angered both the new gangs, those on the rise or those struggling to keep whatever power they already had or expand.
That was the situation the various factions of the underworld found themselves in. Oleg Leonov didn't exactly like it himself but he dealt with it. He followed orders. That was the way things were. The way they had to be. There was order and discipline. There were rules. Just like in the prisons in Russia. He had seen much suffering and misery at the hands of his government whether he deserved it or not, he didn't care, that was far behind him. Now Oleg was in America and was showing the weak westerners what it meant to be a true gangster. A true thief in law.
Oleg had made a name for himself first in Russia and had slowly made his way throughout the world. Trips here and there, business and pleasure, even settling down a few times outside of Russia only to go back after some relatively short amount of time or another. Now however as he walked down the ever busy streets of Liberty City he couldn't help but feel somewhat out of place. He was, though, Oleg reminded himself. Especially in the streets of Bohan. The largely African American or Hispanic section of the city was what passed for bad by American standards. Oleg felt right at home. Even the constant stares he drew didn't bother him and the one person foolish enough to open their mouths had been put in their place easily enough when they were left picking up their teeth off the pavement. Oleg wasn't a man to be trifled with on any day but especially that one. He was a man on a mission. The mission he had been given that day was to make sure a particularly troublesome dealer by the name of De'von Edwards never saw the light of day again.
Without hesitation Oleg strode confidently up to a young black man on his phone as he stepped out of one of many run down apartment complexes on Bohan's west side and raised his already drawn pistol. A single shot would have laid him out but Oleg let off several in rapid succession without pausing to see his target go down; as soon as the now bloodied and barely conscious or even alive man hit the ground Oleg stepped forward to make sure the job was done. Several more shots to the head made sure the man stayed down in the growing pool of his own blood. Ignoring the panicked screams of those around him Oleg turned and retraced his steps back to his car which wasn't far. He had much more work ahead of him before the day was done and over with.
Axel "Ironsides" Bailey had always been a rebel at heart. A man with only one mission in life - to do whatever he wished. That was what he did on a daily basis. On that particular day however he found himself with another goal in addition to his usual motive for getting out of bed, working through a rough meth come down and severe hang over from his heavy drinking. He was a member of The Vandals Motorcycle Club and as much as any Vandal loved partying, fighting, fucking and generally doing whatever they pleased - or society displeased, to get a few cheap laughs - they weren't always out for themselves. They were a brotherhood. The men in the club were brothers and as close as they came. They rode together, partied together, fought together and in the end died together.
It was because of that closeness, that brotherhood that Axel was busy roaring down the bridge white lining and ignoring the annoyed looks from those he passed. It wasn't advised nor safe at all to ride the line between lanes but that never stopped Axel especially when he was in a hurry. If he went end over end all he hoped for was death instead of life in unable to ride with his brothers. At that very moment he was busy with more important business than usual. He had someone to find, someone to catch, someone that was standing in their way.
The Vandals had chapters all over and Axel belonged to the Broker crew at least in a sense. He hailed from Carcer City and had joined there, became a pathced member there, but had gone nomad. Now he was essentially a hired gun within the club without the hired part. He was at everyone's beck and call, if a chapter president demanded his presence he was required to oblige. The Broker crew had called on him. He answered. They were having problems smoothing out a relationship with some of their friends and he had been assisting them.
"C'mere asshole." Axel murmured to himself as he gained on the car he was after.
Drawing close enough to the car to begin his assault Axel pulled up alongside it and didn't pass as he had with so many before it. Drawing a pistol with one hand while he was still in the driver's blind spot and started shooting. The pistol barked and kicked loudly and forcefully spitting out lead and fire as rapidly as Axel pulled the trigger; the initial few rounds slammed into the driver's side rear window and the driver's side window itself shattering them instantly and flew through the car implanting themselves all over, two going right through the back of the driver's seat hitting him.
The car swerved wildly but the driver remained in control, speeding up as he groaned in agony, attempting to get away from his assailant without looking back. Without realizing simply swerving to his left would have caused the biker to wreck thus allowing him to escape. Axel started shooting again and this time three rounds all went into the back of the driver's head. Letting off another couple shots all of them missed as the driver swerved in his death, went to the right and hit the railing hard, scraping against it before he hit a post that barely stuck out and stopped.
Axel rolled up slowing down as he went and emptied his pistol as he passed without pausing to reload. Virtually all of those bullets had found their target who was already dead, his brains splattered all over the dashboard.
"Mother fucker." Axel spat, carefully navigating the heavy traffic as drivers reacted in all sorts of unpredictable ways.
The hazards of pulling such a stung on a motorcycle not fazing him in the least. The fact that he was high as kite having a decent amount of meth in his system didn't make it any easier for anything to bother the already fearless outlaw biker as he headed into Broker.
Feng Zhou had always been an intensely loyal even fanatical follower. He had been brought up in the old ways of the Triad and respected it as the one and only true way. Blood, honor, brotherhood and above all else secrecy. They were not like the decadent westerners or even the Russians. They had maintained their ways including their intense secrecy. It was something to be proud of and Feng was indeed proud. His pride didn't get in the way, however, as he had also been taught better than that. Instead Feng sought out even those he disapproved of and used them, and then those he did approve of and forged real partnerships with them; people such as The Vandals Motorcycle Club and the Yuschenko bratva. The slight but powerful Asian man wasn't quite sure what to make of the former who had their own ways, rituals and secretive rules and traditions but he knew for a fact that the bratva was truly an entity to both fear and respect. Powerful, loyal, obedient, rule abiding. The Yuschenko bratva, he had come to find out, were one of many groups that adhered to the thieves' code, they were so called thieves in law, tracing their lineage far back.
It was these two groups that no matter what Feng thought of them he would be working with closely. They both wielded great power within Liberty City and Alderney and both had proven to be valuable, reliable business partners. That was why Feng found himself north of Triad territory. The other two groups in the triumvirate had been keeping their end of the bargain, their end of the deal, and so Feng had been dispatched to so on behalf of the Towering Mountain Oak.
Feng now found himself in northern Algonquin. North Holland Hustlers, Spanish Lords, MOB turf among others. Surprisingly they had all managed to do rather well despite all that had been going on in recent times. Even the arrest of Elizabeta Torres and the death of Playboy X couldn't bring any of them down, the former in particular being surprising. Feng knew of Elizabeta and the fact that she was a powerful cocaine baron. A paranoid, violent cocaine baron as many of them ended up; in this case she was one of the ones that ended up dependent upon her own product and it drove her over the edge. That wasn't of any concern to the Triad at that moment however. What was of concern to him was his target, a target he was driving toward at a steady pace. Pulling over deep in enemy territory Feng moved at a brisk pace but without worry. He was perfectly at ease as he took his pump action shotgun with pistol grip and shorted barrel out of the car and headed inside a small retail outlet.
It took all of three seconds to raise his weapon and for Feng to start shooting. The first shot struck his unaware target in the back of the head from such close distance literally splitting it open like an over ripe watermelon; not wasting time to watch the contents of the man's head spill out Feng worked the action of his weapon and pulled the trigger again. A blood soaked man in baggy clothing had barely ducked back and away from his dead friend and partner in crime allowing the cashier to take the buckshot in the chest.
The young man kept moving and ducked behind a rack of clothing as his other companion, this man a big, burly, filthy looking ragged white man in an Angels Of Death cut started to pull a pistol from his waistband. Advancing toward Feng with clear anger and intent to make his death as painful as possible the two gunmen opened up on each other. Feng's shot went low and to his left, barely missing the biker's ribs and shredding a bunch of over priced, flashy, gaudy shirts. The biker's own rapid shots all missed as well causing just as much damage, a couple even catching a fleeing bystander in her lower back.
Feng ducked and side stepped while preparing his shotgun once again before he was under fire from both targets. Stumbling over the wounded woman and falling over onto his back Feng raised his shotgun. The biker turned and took aim starting to fire the last few shots in his pistol before Feng put a load of buckshot into his chest. Rolling over onto his side without hesitation Feng chambered yet another shell and took aim. His third and last target peeked out from behind his useless cover - which served more as concealment than anything else - and took a load of hot buckshot to the face. Just to be sure of his kill Feng stood, headed over and split the man's head open like his partner's.
Everyone in the store dead save for the young black woman who had been hit on her way out, half out the doorway now leaving a trail of blood behind her, Feng walked passed and casually shot her in the back of her head. Just another day in the world of a gangster.