Alexia was stunned from this unexpected turn of events. To think one minute she was racing right down Vinewood Boulevard the next basically a hostage being ransomed for money! "What are you going to make me do?" She asked Doc.
"I'm so glad you asked girlie! We're not gonna do anything too horrendous. Mainly housekeeping errands. Think of this time as a personal first class tour of Los Santos up close and personal! By the way what the hell is your name anyways?"
"Alexia." She replied quietly.
"Alex then, now cheer up! First your going to get some rest then tomorrow it's your very first day of employment. Now doesn't that sound exciting?!" He said condescendingly. Alexia shrugged her shoulders in response. "Hey Doc, don't forget the house rules." Grit chimed in. "Oh right. Lemme inform you of a couple things. First off, I take blood samples to make sure everyone under this roof this clean. That means no booze, no drugs, and no smoking. I run a clinic here! Not a fucking addict despot. Second, everyone working here will be in uniform so to promote our business. Third don't even think about calling uncle dearest! When he contacts you, you'll hand the call to one of us." Doc released Alexia from the table and stood up. "Now if you excuse me I have my work to do. Grit, go out and get her a bed and some casual clothes and some company uniforms too while your at it." He said walking away. The biker nodded and left the garage. The sound of the motorcycle revving up and getting farther away soothed Alexia's fears. The pistol Lamar gave her earlier was resting in her right pocket. She decided to get out of here and back to her uncle. Even if she was thankful for the strangers cleaning her up, she would not be anymore of a burden, then it sunk in. She lost the race! What would her uncle think?! That spurred her even more to escape. Alexia slowly reached in to her pocket silently. She removed the pistol and gripped it amidst the pain from her hands. Then she aimed at Doc's back. She'd never killed a person before. Alexia thought back to how she got here.
The fiery sensation in her hand left her with tainted memories of the humble place she formerly called home, a small trailer in the outskirts of Billingsdale, South Yankton, which she had shared with her mother and two rambunctious teenage brothers. The painful memories of burning herself on the household's open electric stove and suffering a broken wrist during an ill-advised game of indoor football served to remind Alexia of the reason she had left this perpetual homestead on the Great Plains; she had wanted room to grow individually, free from the stagnated market of the Recession-stricken town and the incessant nagging of her mother to procure work and help the family, even though there was no work to be found anywhere nearby. Even if there was some kind of job opportunity, however, Alexia probably wouldn't be having it, due to her very poor social skills and her not-so-spotless permanent record.
She was expelled from the local high school at age 16 and sent to juvenile detention on charges of violently assaulting another girl, a well-known school bully that had picked on Alexia for many years, with a pair of large metal scissors. The incident had come about after the girl had shoved Alexia into the teacher's desk, knocking the wind out of her and causing her to fall onto the hard tile floor. This, of course, caused the whole classroom to erupt in laughter, jeers, and insults directed towards her. Embarrassed and in severe pain, Alexia's instincts soon turned to violent rage; she promptly stood up, grabbed a pair of 10-inch scissors from the teacher's top drawer, then lunged at the girl, inflicting several deep, painful stab wounds.
This 'particularly-disturbing incident', as the principal called it, left the girl with a mild level of disfigurement and a slight speech impediment, as well as several noticeable scars on her chest, face, and arms. Eventually, a few large boys were able to knock the weapon out of Alexia's hand and tie her to a desk until police could arrive. Soon afterward, a courtroom psychologist diagnosed Alexia with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, a mental illness characterized by outbursts of violent, angry behavior when she was pushed to a certain limit.
The rest of Alexia's teenage years were spent in a tiny cell in juvenile hall's psych ward, where she soon regretted her violent, impulsive actions and became a model prisoner; she read at least 3 books daily (including the entire King James Bible) and worked on several community service projects. She rarely interacted with her hardened fellow prisoners, instead opting to spend the time in between her tiring shifts of physical labor in the air-conditioned library, where she soon worked her way up to head librarian, the lone prisoner in charge of the 5,000-or-so state-owned books that the prison possessed.
Probably Alexia's most lasting impact at the juvenile facility was a small prisoner-run book club that had started one day, after a particularly-exhausting shift of highway litter clean-up, when a few prisoners decided to follow Alexia into her self-proclaimed "Eden" and predictably fell in love with the large, air-cooled environment. Sensing an opportunity, Alexia used her influence as head librarian to convince the warden to allow the book club, which humbly started out with the 4 inmates that had followed her that day. However, as word spread around the facility and the summer days grew hotter, several more inmates decided to invade this oasis within the prison walls. At its peak, the prison book club had 53 members, who were each required to write a detailed report on their book in order to have time tacked off of their required laboring time. The club lasted for a little less than a year and a half, unofficially disbanding when Alexia was released from juvy at age 18, although letters from some of her still-incarcerated friends indicated that it has made a recent comeback, now boasting some 12 full-time members.
Upon her release, Alexia's parole officer gave her an assortment of G.E.D. programs and halfway houses to choose from, all of which she promptly declined. Instead, she chose to move back into her mother's trailer for an unspecified amount of time and search for a minimum-wage job somewhere, which would hopefully pay enough to help her earn a decent living.
It was also around this time that a distant relative started contacting her, an uncle who showed quite an interest in her violent outbursts and promised her steady pay and security if she was willing to move to the city of Los Santos, which was some 2,000 miles away, to perform work that was far beyond the bounds of what was considered 'legal'. In his many e-mails, he would often describe fantastic scenes of explosive car chases and drug deals gone wrong that would saturate Alexia's dreams. These dreams, however, were limited by the fact that it was a violation of her parole to leave South Yankton, so she decided to remain and hope for more law-abiding work.
However, 2 years and no job later, the tiny corrugated metal trailer was made even more cramped as her brothers grew into men and her mother continued to relentlessly deride her, based solely on the fact that she was a lazy, unemployed ex-con living with her family. Low on cash and especially self-esteem, Alexia many times set out to prove her mother wrong (in some respects). On the advice of her uncle, she would sometimes borrow her father's old Winston rifle and don a cheap Halloween mask, then walk into the nearest liquor store along State Highway 69, demanding large amounts of money. As the local PD caught onto her gig and were closer to finding out who the mysterious robber was, Alexia, out of desperation, urged her uncle to make her a fake ID and pay for a flight to Los Santos. He, of course, immediately obliged.
She focused now. It was no time reminisce of days past. Now was the time to act!
"Hey girlie. Next time you wanna off somebody do your homework." He said from behind her. How-when did he move behind me?! Alexia thought
"I'm an ex-assassin if your wondering. Back in the day I was notorious in the underworld, just for being way too good at getting rid people quietly. I could slit that pretty little neck of yours before you EVEN think of pulling that trigger!" Doc hissed. "Don't you dare try to pull that crap again."
Alexia felt her legs quake with fear then buckle under her. The gun clattered to the floor beside her. Doc walked back in strides to his lab. "Once a human's rebellious flame is snuffed out, their will to escape fizzles out too. If you really want to escape that badly then go on! Try grabbing that gun!" Doc urged Alexia. Alexia looked at the weapon and reached out for it. Just before she grasped it she was struck by intense fear and apprehension. Her hand shook. An image of the doctor flashed in her mind and she broke out in a cold sweat. "What's wrong girl? Don't have the guts to touch it? You wouldn't be able to anyways! It's called the fear phenomenon. No matter how smart or how muscle headed you are it's a psychological thing. Your mind automatically associates that pistol with fear when exposed to small intense events of trauma." Doc summarized.
Never in her uncle's stories had she heard of such a frightening figure. The sheer skill of a professional made Alexia doubt what she could contribute to her uncle's syndicate."Do you think...if I go along with your scheme...I could learn a thing or two about being a criminal?" Alexia asked.
"Heh. That all depends on experience in the field. Either you viciously sink, or victoriously swim in this city of deceit." Doc said.