Epilogue

The Mendoza brothers were finally reunited from the harsh conditions of a broken man's past. Looking back would've been just as painful as a crick in the neck, or a blade in one's Adam's apple. The smooth sailing back to the docks in Aguadilla gave Armando time to think about where he wanted to take his family's future, or what was left of it. Carlos slept next to him trying really hard to forget the trauma stewing in his brain; lord knew the outgoing, loving sibling of a Saint would deteriorate into something not even the lovely island of San Juan would fix. He had no clue where to go beyond the serene shores of turquoise. The only thing that mattered was Carlos was safe in his arms again.

As for their uncle, killing Enrique Padilla meant two extra favors since it was a team effort in a sense. He would have to get in touch with Manuel when things start settling down he thought. When they reached the docks, parking the boat was the easy part. It was getting out of there that was the challenge. Luckily, the driver who took Armando from the airport was there front and center, as if he saw the future and carried it out. He lowered his shades and saw both and them in critical condition coming up on the dock. "Jesus Christ…" He said before running down to help them on their way.

Armando just about had it from what came before, and Carlos was no exception as he held onto him limping out of the boat. Before he almost lost his footing, the driver caught him and said, "Word travels fast around here." As he looked behind them, he noticed their uncle was missing and asked, "Where's your uncle?" Armando responded the only way he knew how at that point, giving him an exhausted glance before staring at the ground with regret engraved in his eyes. The driver shook his head in disbelief and replied, "Let's get you boys to the hospital."

Probably the finest hospital in all of Aguadilla he wondered, but given the informal situation and the amount of pain in his calf muscle he was willing and able to get fixed up. And to think, there was a time that whenever he was zoning out from a turf war, one of his purple brothers would drop 40 ounce liquid on his head to get his ass back in the game, but that was only during the hottest of days during the seven years fighting for the Row. This time however, he was extended three courtesy painkillers to take the edge off the injury.

"Hydrocodone, take three of these bad boys and you'll ride the high for a while." He said giving him bottled water as well.

"Um… thanks." Armando replied swallowing the pain meds, grunting from a sudden sharp pain in his leg. "How long will it take for this shit to work?"

"A few minutes to take the edge off; your brother need some too?"

He looked at his knocked out brother sleeping off the day. For the most part, he was fine physically; thank god Padilla wasn't one of "those monsters" he thought. If only Hydrocodone was effective enough to wipe out one's memory, but luck had a sadistic sense of humor. Armando sat back and said, "No…"

"Before you nod off, I got in touch with Manuel. Those cops who stormed the park in the mountains, one of his old combat buddies left Colombia to be closer to his family in San Juan. He's the Chief of Police there. Manuel had him keep a close watch on the island for Padilla's movements. They found his body a mile and a half south of the park."

"Bueno, now the Colombians can do whatever they want with his body."

"I'm sorry, amigo, for your uncle. I'm sure he was a good guy." The driver apologized out of nowhere.

"He was never an uncle in my eyes." Armando replied as he started feeling the effects of the meds.

"Then who was he?"

"A father…"

Armando and Ferdinand didn't get along when he showed up out of the blue with a baby boy holding his hand. He didn't always agree with how he graduated High School, the decisions he made as a Saint, but over time, he understood the internal as well as external struggles Saints Row went through on a daily basis. Since the Lopez Mansion party in '86, seeing Armando and A.J. venture into Carnales controlled neighborhoods and getting beaten back soon after, it broke his heart at times. When he started working at Apollo's by Big D's recommendation, he got a deep glimpse into what a Saint was really like: fierce, an immense respect for the people they protect, and can be quite the comic relief whenever Denzel told a few jokes, namely the one about Bellie Jellies and the Cockbreaker. One of the few things Armando regretted was not telling him about Arianna, how her wolves nearly made him a meal when one hit his car.

Whatever she was doing at this moment, hopefully she was doing alright. The entire time he was riding back to Aguadilla, he pondered whether or not about fulfilling his recurring dream; surrendering to the ocean blue determined to never come out. He couldn't do it after all these years, not without leaving Carlos in the cold without any semblance of a family left. He couldn't bear the thought of him all alone in Stilwater with gangs shooting at each other everyday when he has his whole life ahead of him. That dream was put to bed, for how long he couldn't say with his future shrouded in doubt.

By the time he woke up, he was already in a hospital gown being wheeled down to the O.R. with the pain meds wearing off from his leg. A team of surgeons surrounded him like he was to be baptized under the allure of anesthesia, telling him in Spanish to count backwards from ten. "Diez, nueve… ocho, siete, seis…" Well, it wasn't the cooling sensation of the ocean, but knockout gas was the next best thing he thought before passing out. It made him forget all his troubles from the outside world, if only for a few hours. The sting of losing their uncle still lingered in his heart, making him uneasy at times during the operation.

If only he'd pulled himself together sooner and used the protection money he collected to get to Puerto Rico… all he had left now was choice, and when he slowly opened his eyes to the bright sensation of his emergency room, he found himself looking at Carlos waking up as well. Inside, words couldn't describe how happy he felt seeing him, but the outside he was unsure whether he secretly blamed him or not. His leg was holed up tight inside his cast with his shoulder in a sling from the sneaky gunshot. Before he broke the ice, Carlos suddenly spoke, "Hermano…?"

Dry mouthed and feeling good from the anesthetics, he smiled and replied, "Ha, I'm here little man. How're you feeling?"

"Very hungry..." He said as both quietly chuckled.

"I'll bet. Carlos, listen, about…"

All of a sudden, one of the doctors entered the room and told Armando they had a guest. Manuel was no worse for wear; he used a cane to get himself moving with a few cuts around his face which was a rarity since he usually left the dirty work to the Carnales. However, the look of dread mixed with relief seeing the Mendoza brothers alive gave Armando an idea of what took place in Stilwater. He thanked the Doctor and said, "You boys look well-rested. How are you feeling, Carlos?"

"...I'm fine." He said before giving a confusing look at Armando.

"It's okay. He's a friend. What the hell happened to you?"

"Much has happened, my friend." He replied with regret. "Your doctor said you should be fit to walk on crutches. Do you mind if we talk in private?"

"Sure. How long was I out?" He asked suspiciously.

"Two days." Manuel said before telling Carlos, "I'm just going to borrow your hermano for a second, okay? I'll have the doctor come back and bring you something to eat."

"Ooh, I want ice cream." Carlos asked.

"You got it." He smiled, helping Armando out of bed and on crutches.

Both men took a crippled stroll around the hallway of the hospital to catch up on current events on both Padilla and what happened to Manuel. He gave Armando closure on the former by saying, "You've done me a great service, Armando. This debt won't go unnoticed. My people found Enrique Padilla's body and is being shipped back to Colombia where my colleagues can do with him as they see fit."

"You know, I've heard rumors about his dark history, something 'bout a misstep that caused a toxin to kill many of his countrymen."

"It was a fatal mistake for all parties involved. The look Alejandro had afterwards…" Manuel sighed. "Enrique grew distant from us after that, determined to prove his innocence. If you ask me, Armando, the fear of going home killed him more than taking your family for a crime you didn't commit."

"He wanted to die. I saw it when he was strangling me with one hand. Manuel, whatever happened before is none of my business. I'm just glad Carlos is alive."

"As am I; much has taken shape back in Stilwater, none of it good."

"Did something happen to Saints Row?"

"Worse. Hector lost an eye… and a wife not too long after. Arianna is dead."

Life's sense of humor came bouncing back, and kicked Armando when he was already down. He thought he would get used to it by now. Losing three people closest to him made his legs numb, and had to sit down to digest what Manuel was going to tell him about the peace gathering at the Lopez Mansion. Manuel already knew deep down what Hector had planned, although a bold move to stabilize the gang violence, was a pipe dream given their history with both the Vice Kings and the Saints. However, both parties didn't attend the affair he told him; the Rollerz unknowingly sent a message from Enrique Padilla before he hightail it to Puerto Rico for his final resting place. One of the Lieutenants, Mikey came with enough manpower to start a small civil war.

It was suburban vengeance coated with Colombian blood, courtesy of Padilla's word as a chance of taking down the Carnales once and for all. The front yard conflict would have come to a standstill if it weren't for some mountainous ingenuity. Manuel wasn't one for getting his hands dirty, but for Arianna's case he made an exception; something Armando knew a thing or two about during their secret meetings. "I couldn't believe it myself; over twenty gray wolves ran to our aid with her falling behind them. We fought off both the Rollerz and Padilla's lap dogs half the night.

The blue Lieutenant was capable, Armando. For a moment, we underestimated those entitled rich kids. Hector and Ari fought side-by-side until Mikey burst through the mansion doors with two dead wolves on his shoulders. Apparently, his father taught him how to hunt in the past life. Pretty soon, it was just him and Hector.

I was backing Ari until I got this wound." He stopped before showing what happened to his right breastplate. One of the wolves went rogue and attacked him. He lost so much blood he passed out from the fight on the southwest corner of the mansion grounds, where he had a clear vantage point in taking out each invader with a McManus rifle. By the time he woke up, it was already late morning with the mansion in ruins and bodies occupying the front lawn. Resilient to the pain, Manuel limped back inside to see the surviving Carnales Members battle ridden and standing parallel from each other.

The look of dread was on everyone's faces, but the one face he saw broken beyond all reason was Hector himself. Bleeding out of his right eye socket, he wept over his wife's limp body. One of the crew members told Manuel he was on his knees with her for four hours; just couldn't see a logical explanation for any of it. Another spoke of a brute almost twice the size of Victor grabbed her by the neck and threw her out of a glass window. Three wolves came to help her while she tried to compose herself.

Victor stepped in and assisted his prowess with over a dozen bullets hitting his back. She limped over behind three Mockingbird sports cars while the battle pushed further into the mansion. What she did beyond that was anyone's guess. She came in looking like a serial killer after a fresh kill. Hector became silent the following morning, leaving his men a wind chill that cut skin deep.

"You know, I can count the number of times I've seen her in action on one hand." Armando pointed out. "Johnny sparred against her in Sunnyvale last year, said if she wasn't Hector's girl she would've cut out to be a bad ass Saint."

"Is that what he really said?" He asked.

"Eh, it's the polite version. How will she…?"

"That I do not know. Hector always talked about being buried with her at Mount Claflin." He replied before feeling like he got the wind knocked out of him. "Aye Maria, these past seven years, Stilwater can't catch its breath. Hector losing his brother, his wife, and what's left of his sanity to you losing what was left of your family words can't express the sorrow I feel on both fronts."

Being knocked out in the emergency room for the past two days, Armando had time to think about where the next chapter of his life was going to be. He looked up at Manuel with certainty in his eyes and said, "I'm not coming home."

"Where will you go if you don't mind my asking?"

"I ain't gonna sit here and say Stilwater isn't the greatest city in the world. It's also a tomb for those who give their lives at the expense of two-faced pendejos serving their own needs. After my accident in Bayamon as a child, I've developed enough sense to only look out for myself. I didn't speak a lot of English and the chronic headaches… I was constantly afraid that some hopped up mugger or gang member was going to run me over with his car, or worse. I won't deny being a Third Street Saint was my greatest achievement.

We used to be about honor among purple brothers, you know? Now it's whoever can rise through the ranks no matter what the cost. I fear that brotherly bond between Saints grows thin with each passing year. Julius won't admit it, but something is going to cause the Row to come undone. But after everything I've been through, losing my best friend too, suddenly the well-being of Saints Row means little to me. Where will I go, Manuel? It's a place where my hermano can grow up without the threat of violence tailing his every step. I owe him that."

All that time talking, not going back to Stilwater may have been the smartest decision he ever made he thought. He felt as a Saint in exile he would bring more harm than good to his little brother. It was also along the lines of what their uncle wanted. To the rest of the city, he was a humble Donut maker at Apollo's, but he wasn't ignorant to the reality around him. He knew sooner or later Stilwater would eventually turn them into pariahs on the run.

Armando gained a few dangerous enemies in the Carnales gang, Victor being one of them after what he did to Denzel. However, at the same time, he felt like he was back where he started; washed up and looking for a new place he could call home, and Santa Olaya was his destination. Manuel reminded him that the driver who brought them to the hospital left his car for him to travel as soon as he was able. For a moment, he felt the need to ask, "Why all the hospitality? I thought we're already square." Manuel looked at him and responded, "I always take care of my business partners and friends. You're a good man, Armando. You have severed a lingering nightmare from a bloodlust past. The debt has been paid; bienvenidos, amigo."

It took a minute to compose himself after he shook Manuel's hand and walked back to his room with his destination ready to go. Santa Olaya was where Ferdinand grew up in Bayamon, just ten miles east from where the hurricane took place. The protection money Armando got from the territories he took over, a good sum went to renovating his old hill house from the seventies. It was still unknown whether at least one of their parents survived the Bayamon tragedy. Perhaps one day they might run into their tombstones; as devastating as it would be to fathom.

Over the course of a year, the Mendoza brothers lived in Santa Olaya as normal citizens without any hunger to go back to a gang. Although beautiful weather and roast pig welcomed them with open arms, flashbacks to what took place with Padilla remained etched in his mind. It took him a full year to keep those memories repressed while walking with a limp brought back bits and pieces whenever he turned it the wrong way. His ghetto severance package was enough to keep the lights on and their bellies fed. Homeschooling a little brother returning to his outgoing persona took his mind off the past, too.

Carlos had a way of making the best out of a bad situation. However, the late night crying reminded Armando living in his uncle's old house was still being processed for both of them. He wanted the new life to work, more than anything he could dream of. Beyond that, Carlos's homeschooling led him wanting to be somebody in the business world, like an Accountant or a Weatherman. For Armando, he wanted to do something that was gang-related but as a spokesperson to help young teenagers get out of the life and go straight.

Plans were set in motion in the spring of 1994. He had an arranged meet at a High School in Cabo Rojo. One of the objectives was to bring a positive, yet realistic perspective on what being in a gang was like. In his experience, a gang begins with a symbol, something for the people to strive towards and rally beside. A couple days before the presentation, Carlos got on Armando's bed and eagerly told him to get up and hurry before "it" leaves. He shook his head and went out to the backyard to see what all the fuss was about. Both ran through a slew of trees that took them downhill and towards a pier that had a great view of the sapphire blue sky. Although it was cloudy on this particular day, he asked, "Okay, okay little man, there's nothin' to see here."

"I know the sky's gonna show it, bro! It did earlier when you were asleep." He replied, waiting eagerly.

"You snuck out without my permission?"

A flash of lightning blinded the surroundings for a split second. Then when he looked up at the sky the flash happened again, revealing something extraordinary above the clouds. It was purple lightning at first glance; another split second it formed into an angel. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, as simple yet profound as it was at the time. The third flash lasted a little longer, showing both brothers the purple lightning moving gracefully within the clouds' ripples as if an angel was flying to the heavens.

Clichéd as it sounded at first, the title of "Saint" was conceived during one of Father McKinley's sermons at the Row's Church. When he came back to reality, this event brought up an old discussion that ended abruptly between them.

"I'm telling you. This is a sign for us." Carlos said.

"Carlos, we talked about this. We have a good thing goin' here. We have a roof over our heads, places to explore, and legit goals for ourselves. What you just showed me was beautiful." He said before standing up. "But that's where it ends."

"I understand what Saints Row did to you. Uncle A.J. used to tell me you had trouble adjusting to the way Julius did certain things. And it's not just you. A.J. was a lifer, but he was conflicted too."

"We're not going back to Stilwater. End of discussion." He firmly replied, grabbing Carlos's hand and walking back to the house.

Carlos broke away and raised his voice, "Why not; what're you afraid of… Look, I've been thinking all night about this. I want PR to work for us and it has in the last year. I'm sorry bro, but this isn't home. The purple lightning in the sky said as much."

"And what did the lightning tell you when you snuck out of the house earlier?"

"That you and I can start our own crew, the right way! It doesn't even have to be called Saints Row 2.0, but something better. Think about it. You once told me that if you've lived in Stilwater all your life, the people are your family; city is your home. A part of me misses that."

"I don't understand, Carlos. You're tellin' me you want to go back to living in constant fear and gang warfare happening outside your school?"

"In a way… yes." He replied sheepishly.

"¡Ah, señor dame fuerza para entender (Ah, lord give me strength to understand him). Listen to me. Back in that hell hole I've risked my neck a thousand and one times a day to keep you and Tío safe."

"Not to mention going to Mount Claflin most nights."

"That's not the point." Armando said, getting annoyed. "I'm not connected to the Row anymore, and A.J.'s gone. No one's gonna protect us in Stilwater."

"Which is why we must take it upon ourselves to be better than the Saints, or at least help them somehow. You guys have been struggling to make your mark since Day 1. You have the experience, and I have the drive to make this worthwhile. Let's face it, being normal isn't us. It isn't who we are, bro. We owe it to guys like A.J. and Denzel to be the better men."

Armando raised his eyes to the cloudy sky again while looking around the life he struggled to maintain. Carlos did have a point about Mount Claflin though. He would spend most of his time in the free night air and pine smelling atmosphere of the place with Arianna to forget about the bullshit that came before. Her advice alone helped put things in perspective for him when he needed it most. It wasn't going to be the same without her presence keeping her wolves in check, save for one pup he cared for.

Right then, he started pondering on the potential possibilities of what they can do to even the playing field on gang violence, but if he was to go through with the idea he wasn't going to do it for Saints Row. He got one knee, looked Carlos in the eye and said, "If I agree to do this, you have to accept everything that goes into making a gang. It's not about having fun or intimidating others. No doubt Saints Row has been going through a spiritual shift after the original members like A.J. and I left. We're in this for the long haul, entiende (understand)?"

"I know I have a lot to learn." He acknowledged.

"Yeah, you do. There are also conditions you have to follow without complaint: Do exactly as I say, tell no one from the Row we're doing this. Don't tell Julius, don't tell Dex, don't tell anyone until I say otherwise. Also, you're still a kid which means you still have to go to school. Apply yourself. Remember, a smart gang member is deadlier than a guy who only knows how to shoot. Lastly, you can't walk away from this life. For me, I got a pass because I didn't run and hide when they found out I was talking to Manuel. I came clean."

"But they still threw you out."

"Like you said, we have a chance to make something better. We're not doing this for the Row, we're representing all of Stilwater; all of Stilwater. We have to be the helping hand the Saints overlook." Armando explained before he asked him in a direct manner. "Are you ready to take on this huge responsibility? No doubts, no turning back."

Carlos looked back at him with affirming eyes as he took his brother's arms to help him on his feet. He then retorted, "Let's do this!" Armando gave a slight smile and asked himself where did the time go? He was growing up too fast, but his word was given that when they get back to their real home, they were going to show the city it belongs to the people that empower it, not enslave it. And like all gangs that start from not-so-humble beginnings start with a name. The purple lightning in the sky, the mountain that helped him regain perspective in the last few years; a name finally hit him: The Claflin Angels.

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