Disclaimer: I don't own the Grand Theft Auto franchise, blah blah...


Here I am. Skip's cabin. I walk up to the door, wondering what to say. The door opens.

''Owen!'' yells Skip, scaring the shit out of me. He hugs me and invites me inside.

He looks much different than the last time I saw him. He has long dirty blonde hair and a goatee. I could barely recognize him. He's muscular now, but still only 5''9.

''I'm so happy to see you man! I can't believe it's already been 5 years. So how was it.'' he asks. ''What?'' I reply. ''It'' could be anything in the world, yet he expects me to know what he means. Typical Skip attitude.

''Darkwoods fuckin' Penitentiary man! What else?'' he tells me. ''I'd prefer not talk about the 5 worst years in my life.'' I say, making him straight-faced and silent. ''Ok, man. I understand,'' he says, nodding, ''It must be even worse when you're not even insane...''

That's true. I'm not insane, and it is worse. You see, I was never a crazy man, perhaps slightly eccentric but nothing more. The problem started almost 6 years ago. A conflict had erupted in the streets...

My former boss, Johnathan Muldoon, had low-level enforcers collecting money from a bar. Once they had exited the bar, they were ambushed by members of a small street gang. They killed all but one of the enforcers, then left him for dead with two fingers missing and a bullet in the knee.

Once Muldoon had heard about this, he went apeshit. He sent Skip and I to burn down the gang hideout, a warehouse near the docks. We arrived at the warehouse around 3 o'clock in the morning. Only a few gang members were there, and all of them, except the lone guard that we snuck by, were sleeping in a small section of the warehouse. So Skip and I soaked the place up in gasoline. We lit up a single match and flames arose all around us.

I opened the door to exit, but a car was in the way. Just my luck. The few minutes that we were in there was when the car had to come... Fuckin' great.

Skip had spotted a door on the other side of the warehouse. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and made a path through the inferno. It took us about 3 minutes to get there. We then opened the door, and there were two patrol cars waiting for us.

Skip still had the extinguisher, so he fogged up the place and we ran. I remember it so clearly. Running in the smoke and fog, Skip telling me to hurry up. Then I felt an intense pain in my foot. I fell down, screaming in pain. Those motherfucking pigs had shot me in the foot. All I saw was Skip cursing aloud, looking back, then fleeing the scene.

I was able to plead insanity. Pyromania. Muldoon had payed off the authorities. I was sent to Darkwoods Penitentiary, they finally let me out 5 years later.

Tonight is the night. It should be a walk in the park. Tommy stops the van about a block away from the tent where the stuff is stashed. Tommy Lazerus is a local getaway driver. Skip works with him often, tonight included.

The tent is filled with marijuana. That's all they have, but it sure beats nothing. We were informed by a man who calls himself ''The Truth''. He's a total nutjob, but a reliable source. He runs a small hippy farm down in Whetstone that grows weed. He doesn't grow a lot, only enough to support him and his friends. He finds it idiotic to give away weed to ''outsiders''.

I get out and walk towards the tent. Skip follows me. My shotgun is concealed in the trenchcoat I'm wearing, but it won't be for long.

I slowly take in the sights and sounds of the festival. It's truly overwhelming. The smell of narcotics intoxicates me so I can't stay for too long; I don't want to end up like them.

It's difficult to walk through the crowd. Every few feet there's people sitting down with guitars or bongs or even sleeping bags. I could hardly hear them speak over the loud rock music being played.

I hear the deafening sound of a shotgun firing a few feet behind me. I hear Skip yell ''Everyone stay calm and don't fuckin' move! Well be out of here in a couple o' minutes and you could all just forget about this, ok?'' I forgot that Skip was so straight-foward. It feels weird being stared at by so many people. People that hate me, people that fear me, people that are confused.

Tommy drives the van up to the tent and Skip and I start loading it up. After a few minutes, the truck is full. We get into the van and speed away.

None of the hippies called the cops, so we had absolutely no trouble whatsoever. I can't believe that was so easy. We unload all the weed into the cabin, then relax.

''Holy shit that was easy.'' says Skip. ''I was able to drive casually almost the whole time, I feel insulted!'' exclaims Tommy.

''Okay, that was easy, but next time we might not have that kind of luck.'' I say. ''What do you mean next time?'' asks Skip. The room fell silent.

''I'm here in San Fierro, and I'm here to stay, this isn't just a one-time gig. Now these hippie-freaks are getting supplied by someone right? All we have to do is make them tell us, and we'll make that benefit us in a way.'' I explain. ''What do ya mean?'' asks Tommy. I light a cigarette and take a long drag.

''What I mean is, depending on how big the operation is, we could either have them supply us, or take them over. Now, we can't do this just like that. It takes time. We'll need to work our way up the ladder, gaining money, power and respect. I'm going for the big leagues here, so I need to know if you guys are in or out.''

''Hell, I ain't got nothing to lose, I'm in.'' says Skip excitedly. We turn our heads towards Tommy. ''We do need cars, right? And those cars need drivers, right? I can get you both, I'm in!'' says Tommy. We crack open a few beers and celebrate.

The following night, Tommy, Skip and I all head to Hashbury. We didn't groom ourselves and wore dirty clothes so we could fit in. We walk towards the tent. There is a lone hippy in the tent and one standing outside giving away the goods.

''Hey man, where do guys get this stuff from?'' I ask, in a hippy-type voice. I sound wasted, but that's how you fit in with these people.

''Like we don't know that kinda stuff dude. Stretch is the one who handles that.'' says the hippy. ''Do you know where he is?'' I ask politely. ''He doesn't wanna be like, disturbed right now.'' Wrong answer. I push the freak down and kick him in the stomach. The other hippy looks at me.

''Woah man, negative vibes, negative vibes!'' he yells. ''Shut the fuck up if you don't want a foot in your ass,'' I yell back, ''now tell me asshole where Stretch is, or else!'' Out of the reactions the hippy could've had, he chose the worst. The faggot starts crying. ''He's in the blue apartment building around the corner man, apartment 13. Please dude, just chill out!'' I spit on him and we make our way towards the building.

''Who are you man?'' asks Stretch, after opening the door. I quickly punch Stretch in the face and he falls to the ground. There are two women in the room and they look scarred. One starts screaming.

''Hey, hey! Look ladies, we don't want trouble. Just calm down and everything will be fine. We just wanna ask your friend Stretch a few questions, okay?''. They both nod their heads and calm down. Skip always had a way with women.

''Hey Owen!'' says Tommy. He points to the table in the middle of the room. There is a bag full of white powder and the three thin white lines next to it.

''Son of a bitch,'' I exclaim, ''Well me an' my friends here just came to ask where you got your marijuana from, but it looks like you have much more than that,'' I learned all about cocaine in Darkwoods. ''I understand dude just relax! We get it from a guy named Lance, but he's only the street dealer. He gets it from Los Santos.'' explains Stretch.

Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open and a man with a shotgun starts yelling at us. I pull out my Colt 45. and Skip takes out his own shotgun.

''Okay everyone put your gun down slowly.'' I say. Once the man starts to put his gun down, Skip pulls the trigger and blows out his knee cap. The man lies down, screaming in pain. I walk up to him, point the gun at his face, and fire.