Yo, all! I'm taking a break from entertaining all of the San Andreas girlfriends to make this third installment. Glad you all like it so far.

Cheers to all those who reviewed. Support is greatly appreciated.

On with the show...

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Tommy's Torment.

He stood at the top of the mansion's grand staircase, staring down at the doorway, Colt Python in hand, ready to cap any of Sonny's men who dared set foot inside his house. They were after his money and his head. They were going to get neither.

Sonny Forelli, Mafia badboy, was here for the cash that Tommy was supposed to get from a drug deal. Unfortunately, the deal was ambushed, resulting in the death of Tommy's two workmates and the drug dealer himself. The money had been recovered, and was currently stored in the safe in the room behind him, formerly owned by Ricardo Diaz, the Coke Baron.

The first Mafia agent ran into the mansion, a Colt .45 in hand, ready to take Tommy down and leave with a fistful of dollars for his efforts. Unfortunately, that dream was cut short when a bullet from Tommy's Python pierced his chest and sent him tumbling to the floor. Another Mafia guy dashed in, and tripped over his collegue's body, all the time Tommy needed to send a second bullet through the guy's back.

And so they kept coming. Sonny kept his distance, even though he sported a flashy Ruger rifle which could have brought Tommy down at any second, leaving his abundance of goons to take care of the dirty work. Tommy had an easy time picking them off, occasionally switching to a SPAS 12 shotgun when multiple guys came towards him at once. Despite the numerical disadvantage, not one guy made it past Tommy into the room behind him. He was Vice City's kingpin and he would stop at nothing to keep that title.

That was when he saw him, dashing out a side corridor, his white and purple suit concealing dense body armour. Lance chuckled, brandishing a Ruger identical to Sonny's. He cackled.

"No-one to cover your ass now, eh Tommy?"

Tommy grabbed the shotgun and fired straight at the double-crossing prick, only to have the shots absorbed by the body armour. "You're going down, Lance!"

Lance chuckled, "Oh, you think so?" he raised his Ruger, fired a couple of stray shots, and dashed back into the corridor.

Tommy, fuming at what his ex-partner had done to his plans for Vice, took off after him, shotgun still in hand. He tore down the corridor, Lance's white outfit slinking around the next corner. As he rounded it he crouched, several of his henchmen, dressed in a variety of shirts similar to his own, a blue Hawaiian T-shirt, in the middle of a firefight with more of Sonny's guys.

He came to the staircase that led up to the helipad on the roof, and dodged back for cover as a bullet from Lance's rifle struck the bannister. Tommy jumped out and fired up at Lance, "Come here, you double-crossing piece of shit!"

Lance fired back, missing, and took off again, yelling, "You're history Tommy! History!"

Tommy growled and took off in pursuit, not wnating to become part of a history book anytime soon. One of Sonny's thugs jumped in front of him, in time to have the butt of Tommy's rifle shoved into his gut. Tommy heaved the guy over the edge of the staircase, and relished the sound of the satisfying thud that followed.

Stepping out onto the roof of his mansion, Tommy was surrounded by packs of Sonny's men. Instinctively, Tommy ducked behind a pile of crates. It was Harwood all over again. He aimed his rifle at the oncoming mob of thugs and mowed them down. He saw a trio of them, one with an M-4 assault rifle, standing near a bright red barrel. Big mistake.

Tommy rolled out from behind the crates and fired directly at the barrel, causing an explosion that sent the bodies of the three men flying off the roof into the driveway below. Then he saw Lance, crouching behind another bunch of crates next to the helipad, where a Bell Maverick sat. Tommy was almost tempted to jump off the roof, jump into the Bell Seasparrow down in the backyard, then fly up here and mutilate the prick with the Seasparrow's machine gun. Unfortunately, that option was almost certainly out of the question, as one well-fired bullet from the Ruger Lance held would have put an end to his takeover for good.

Instead, Tommy pumped round after round in Lance's direction. Several got through the body armour, staining his white suit with red. To be honest, Tommy thought it was a good outfit. Shame it was being worn by a backstabbing bastard like Lance.

"This is the last dance for Lance Vance!" Tommy cried, mockingy.

"I told you I had enough of that at school!" Lance shouted back, firing blindly over the crates as more and more rounds whizzed over his head. Finally, he stood up, wanting the perfect shot.

Tommy got there first.

A single bullet was all it took to pierce the armour. Lance crumpled to the ground, the Ruger slipping from his hand. Tommy growled, convinced that the backstabber had gotten what he deserved, "You picked the wrong side, Lance."

Tommy then turned on his heel and charged back downstairs to the safe. He peeled down the stairway, knocking aside another of Sonny's men. The thug's head hit the armrail and made a sickening crack, the guy's body slumping to the red-carpeted floor. Tommy tore past the scene of the firefight, Sonny's men having been cut down, but not without several dead on his side as well.

Dashing into the main lobby of his mansion, he quickly did away with several more Mafia dickheads, as Tommy's rampage of revenge once again took him to the top of the staircase that stood in front of the safe room. There were two guys in the room, helping themselves to as much of the green as they could carry. Tommy made sure, with two precision shots, that neither made it out.

Then Tommy turned and saw the man who had screwed him around the whole time. He glared down at him with vengeance in his eyes. One way or another, it would end here.

"You took fifteen years from me, Sonny! Now I'm gonna make you pay!"

Sonny chuckled as two more of his lapdogs flanked him. "You still don't get it, do you? I OWN you, Tommy. Those fifteen years were MINE to spend." with a quick glance at his two buddys, he ordered, "Get him boys, he never understood a thing."

Tommy aimed and fired at the first thug. The shot was so well place it took the guy's head off, his lifeless and headless corpse dropping to the floor. He aimed at the second, and pulled the trigger. Nothing came out.

Tommy cursed and ducked behind the rail as Sonny opened fire on him with his Ruger, laughing to himself as though he enjoyed taking down former assosciates as a sport. Tommy grit his teeth and grabbed the Colt Python he had dropped after going after Lance. He jumped out of hiding and fired, the shot so powerful it broke through the second guy's chest and impacted against the far wall. The dead body slumped at his feet. Now it was just him and Sonny. Mano - a - mano.

Suddenly, Tommy felt a hand grip his shoulder, and he wheeled. "What the-"

Lance raised his Ruger directly at him and pulled the trigger. The mansion, Sonny, and Lance faded into a misty white as the bullet went straight through his head.

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Tommy's eyes jerked open. He caught his breath and sat up. Rubbing his forehead, he determined that, once again, it had only been a dream. That day, when he had killed both Lance and Sonny after they had turned on him, had been six years ago.

He got to his feet, his back aching. He stared down at the leather couch he had been sleeping on, in the main room of his mansion. Nearby was his desk, where he always kept a spare MP5 submachinegun in case of emergencies, the surveillance screens showing images from nearly every angle of the mansion, and on the wall were pictures of one of his movie starlets, Candy Suxxx. Everything, it seemed, was normal.

He walked out into the lobby and slowly made his way down the grand staircase. He turned left and headed into the small room where he often had breakfast should he not decide to head out to the new Cluckin' Bell that had opened up near where Avery's construction sites were. Last he had heard, Avery was still going strong in his attempts to acquire every portion of prime land he could in Vice. His apprentice, Donald Love, had moved off to Liberty City and was attempting to make it in the world of media, or radio, or something Tommy couldn't quite remember.

He sat down at the minibar and flipped on the coffee machine. He felt like crap this morning, so he probably needed a couple of espressos at least. While it was boiling, Tommy strode out to the front of the mansion and peered out across the front towards the north. Even though the numerous houses and trees on Starfish Island blocked his view, somewhere up there was Prawn Island, where movie director Steve Scott was no-doubt coming up with ideas for yet another Candy Suxxx porno.

He could see, down to his right by the garage, the sparkling white body of his Lambourghini Infernus. It had once been Lance's, but only the best keep the goods. Apparently, it was one of the last of the type left, as Acura had bought rights to the new Infernus model, and had already sold them to many areas in the west. To his left was his limo, which he rarely needed unless helping Steve out with a movie tour.

He ducked back inside, strolled into the breakfast room and poured his coffee. He brought the steaming drink to his lips, just as a voice interrupted his thoughts, "Catch you at a bad time, Tommy?"

Tommy slowly turned, smiling slightly, "Toreno, you old dog, what are you doing back here?"

Mike Toreno folded his arms as he leant against the wall, "I've just come back from San Andreas. Thought I'd stop by. I've got some news for you." then he tilted his head slightly, "You alright?"

Tommy rubbed his forehead and the side of his face, feeling the presence of stubble. His hair, thankfully, was still a dark shade of brown. No grey areas yet... "Ah, just had a rough sleep."

"You look more like you've been interrogated by Nazis." Toreno commented.

Tommy sipped his coffee, "It's some sort of dream I keep having. Every so often, but it's the same. It's of the day, six or so years ago, when my old boss, Sonny Forelli, came here to collect twenty million off me after a bungled drug deal. My former friend had turned on me, so it was up to me to stop them both from ruining the name I had made for myself here. It plays out exactly the same as the real thing, except when I'm about to kill Sonny, Lance comes back, and kills me instead. But I killed him on the rooftop. What do you think that means? Is it trying to tell me something?"

Toreno chuckled, "In dunno, I'm not Chris Formage..."

"Who?"

"Ah, some nutter who runs the Epsilon Program."

Tommy remembered that name, some guy from the Epsilon Program had appeared on Maurice Chavez's Pressing Issues as few weeks back.

"So what's your news?" Tommy asked, taking another drink of coffee. He was feeling better already.

"This whole new influence bullshit that's coming to town is the real deal, Tommy. Whoever they are, they mean business. I've done my research and it's not the Columbians. They've been having stuff go wrong in Liberty and Carcer, so it's likely they'll be delayed from setting up down here. But, no matter who they are, they want to take you out, Tommy."

Tommy grumbled, "And I was expecting some good news..."

"There is some, if you want to hear it." Toreno said. Tommy nodded, so the CIA agent went on, "I managed to round up some guys from San Andreas. A ragtag team, but they're quite skilled. Managed to pull all kinds of crazy shit over there. I believe your old pal Ken Rosenberg is among them."

Tommy's face lit up. He hadn't heard from Ken in three years.

"So anyway, they're here on Thursday. You might want to welcome them. Get together some guys and make 'em feel welcome."

"So... they're here to help out. Do they have any idea who this new power is?"

Toreno shook his head, pacing slightly around the room, "Doubt it. One of them is some crazy hippy guy who knows almost everything he's not supposed to. Maybe he has links with some info. But anyway, you've got a few days to prepare. I suggest you use them. You'll also need weapons. Lots of them."

Tommy chuckled, "Don't worry, I know a guy who's got plenty to go around."

Toreno nodded and headed for the door, "I'll keep you posted. Meantime, don't let that dream bother you. You gotta spend more time with Mercedes. Might cheer you up a bit."

Tommy shrugged, "I guess."

"Watch your back!" Toreno reminded as he headed out through the front door into the sunlight.

Tommy groaned, the image of Lance holding the Ruger to his head still fresh in his mind. He decided that he needed to distract himself, both from the visions, from the Haitians and from those new boys in town. He headed upstairs and changed into his brown and pink suit, swallowed the last of his coffee, and headed outside. The garage opened obediently for him and he jumped inside the waiting '72 Sabre Turbo. Inside the glove box was stashed a Micro-SMG, just in case of any police trouble.

He sped out of the driveway and over the bridge to Washington Beach, and toward the one place he knew was the best distraction from troubles in all of Vice.

The Pole Position Club.

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Okay, not the most action-packed chapter, but it had to start somewhere. We're heading back to San An in the next installment, have no fear.

Please review. My first fic, I always appreciate input!

Cheers,

Griddles.