Author Notes: I have to give credit to BlueKnux for this. He made me do it...and although I don't regret it, I'm sure I could've done better.
Disclaimer: I don't own GTA3, I wish I did...then I'd be filthy rich and be able to live out my dreams of smashing cars and beating up hookers in real life, rather than on my TV.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following is a magazine article, taken from some...travel magazine...yeah. Just read the damn thing.
Liberty City: Hell On Earth, or An Insurance Policy's Worst Nightmare?
by Brodie Ford
I originally planned this article to be included in the "Little known cities that will be big in 2003" feature, however, now that I have traveled to Liberty City, I include it in the "Top 10 cities not to send your only daughter to college in"
I arrived in Liberty City at the ungodly hour of 2AM. The train slowly shuddered away from the station to leave me alone on the platform, facing an empty abyss of nothing. Abandoned newspapers fluttered across the pavement, providing the only movement on that rather windy night. It was strange that such a large city was so quiet; even in the middle of the night I had expected some activity from the local denizens. The first mission on my agenda was to find suitable lodging for the night, a task I didn't dread too much as finding a hotel in a large city had always proven to be quite easy. My first mistake was to wander in the wrong direction. As I walked along the chilled streets, the neon lights got brighter and the city seemed to come to life, although not the type of life I was hoping on meeting at 2AM. The hotels all seemed to have some sort of connection with the word "love" and strangely charged by the hour, a practice I had never seen before.
While checking room rates in these hotels, I bumped into countless women, all wondering if I was looking for "a good time". I politely declined, mentioning that I was only looking for a clean bed and some rest. As I escaped their scantily clad grasps, I noticed that the dress code in this city was stuck strangely in the 70's with most of the men sporting platform shoes, afros, large neck chains, and flashy-colored jackets. When I finally made my way out of that part of town and onto the main roads, I called for a taxi and requested to be taken to a respectable hotel. The driver gave me an odd glance, shrugged, and hit the gas. It was when we reached 80MPH that I realized that the picture ID on the back of the seat did not match up with the driver's face. I casually tapped him on the shoulder and quickly had a 9MM automatic pointed in my face. "Sit back and shut up." he grunted as his quick maneuvering of the cab bought us precious seconds from the police now accumulated at our rear. I sunk back in my seat, not sure whether I was more afraid of the gun or his reckless driving.
I came to in the Liberty City hospital with a concussion and a few scrapes and bruises. The nurse mentioned that I was involved in a high-speed chase, but the cops figured I was innocent and allowed me to be released. Thankful for the competence of the local authorities, I asked about my possessions that were with me in the back seat, only to be informed that they were kept for evidence. Another blow, but I wasn't about to let this get in the way of my first real article. As I dressed in my now tattered clothing, I at least had my wallet to buy new clothing with, and headed out for a local department store. On my way out, I saw a doctor sporting a pair of shoes, which looked strangely like a similar pair I had with me, but I shrugged it off.
Daylight in Liberty City at least was more pleasing to wander in, the nights are horrid. As I made my way downtown, I took in some of the local color. Cars of all kinds crowded the streets while residents of every race and creed shuffled along the sidewalks. Quite a colorful city, I remarked as I made my way into a nearby clothing store. After my purchases were made, I ventured back outside, only to be greeted with the sound of gunshots. Two of the local gangs (I learned later they were known as the Triads and the Diablos) had apparently had a run-in down the street and chose to settle it with guns. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, both gang member and pedestrian alike, and several black cars with red flame detailing were smashed into various piles and pieces. A stray bullet flew past me and I ducked for cover in a nearby alley.
It was here that I had my first encounter with a real Liberty City citizen. A scraggly old man sat propped against some garbage cans with a label-less bottle between his legs. He looked up at me, let out a rattling cough, and held his dirt-encrusted hand up for a donation. I shook my head, never trusting what the homeless would do with the money had I given it to them, and attempted to leave. It was at this time that he pulled a baseball bat out from behind the garbage can and took hold of the end of my overcoat. "Gimme dem packages purdy boy, 'less you be seein' stars" he growled, waving the bat around in a menacing way. I gulped and handed over my bags, taking his pause to inspect the contents as a means of escape. Lucky for me, the mayhem between the gangs had quieted down as the authorities had arrived and taken out what was left of the members. While some cities are said to have streets lined with gold, Liberty City has streets lined with blood. Turning my head from the carnage, I sought out an unoccupied officer to report my encounter in the alley. The only man not shoveling dead bodies into the ambulances was a hefty, grizzled officer who looked more interested in the holes in the donuts he was eating rather than ones in the victims. I approached him and tapped his shoulder gently, only to get a belch in the face. "Waddya want?" he grumbled, wiping powdered sugar from his chins. I told him of my plight with the local street ruffian, only to get a laugh. "30-some guys get killed out here and you're bitchin' about some panzy ass clothes? Fuck off, I've got bigger things to take care of."
I turned and walked away. This was not a time to get angry. But...he insulted my taste in clothes! Those were the best Ralph Lauren slacks and dress shirts that you could get in this hellhole! I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth, and turned around to face the officer again who had turned his back to me and buried his face in the donut box again. Suddenly, my hand lunged out, grabbed his nightstick, and turned him around. I found myself beating him mercilessly until he was reduced to a quivering pile of blubber on the ground. As the other officers heard his raspy cries for backup, I flashed them a manic glare and took off, looking for any means of escape. I saw a green station wagon, occupied only by an old woman; the perfect getaway car. I ran up to the drivers' door and opened it, grabbing her by the sweater and shoving her to the pavement. As I took possession of the vehicle, she stood, shot me the bird, and yelled a few expletives before a speeding blue Sentinel took her out.
I traveled up the street and found myself driving along the docks when I realized what I had just done. Not only did I attack and possibly kill an officer of the law, but I carjacked an old woman and indirectly caused her death. My right fist unclenched and the bloody nightstick hit the floor with a sickening thud. I pulled over under a bridge and buried my face in my hands, sobbing quietly. What had begun as my first real magazine article had turned into a hellish nightmare. Suddenly, I heard a soft tapping at my window. A rather attractive young woman was standing outside smiling at me. I rolled the window down and she introduced herself as Misty. She asked me if I needed a little company, to which I reluctantly agreed to. She climbed in the passenger seat and immediately wrapped her legs about my waist. Before I could protest, she had my shirt off and had reclined the drivers' seat so she was lying on top of me. It was at this point that I realized she was actually a prostitute and the "company" she offered me was of the sexual kind, not the verbal as I had hoped. As gently as I could, I pushed her off, commenting that I didn't really mean to take her up on her proposition. She giggled and pushed me back, "First timer, right? All guys are nervous their first time...just let me do the work, baby." After several more attempts (and the removal of a few more pieces of clothing), I finally lost my temper with her. I launched her from the car and grabbed the nightstick, raising it above my head. Upon examination of her unconscious body, I found about two thousand dollars in cash and a nice semiautomatic handgun. This was apparently a very experienced hooker.
Suddenly, headlights illuminated the underside of the bridge and two men in mafia attire stepped out. "Do you know who you just fucked with?" the taller one questioned. "Ey Geno, Joey's not gonna like dis...I tink she's dead." the short, fat one commented, hovering over Misty's body. I backed up against the wall and shuddered, both men were unquestionably armed and part of some organization that apparently had some ties with this woman. "Joey likes his girls ALIVE...he don't like them dead!" the one named Geno shouted at me, his breath reeking strangely of garlic and cheap wine. The short man laughed a nasal laugh and pulled an uzi from the back seat of their car. "I tink Luigi won't like this none, either...so I say we off him right here!" He came up close to me, shoving the tip of the barrel under my chin, "Youse got a lota nerve fuckin' wit one of Luigi's hoes without payin'...and to top it all, Joey's favorite!" Geno pulled the smaller man away, "No, we let the boss take care of dis one. He'll wanna see who did the job."
I was bound and gagged, then shoved into the trunk of their car, which was thankfully very roomy, and bounced back to the headquarters. When I was removed, I found myself at a place called "Sex Club 7" which was about where this journey into the middle of hell had begun. As they shuffled me to the back door, I threw myself at Geno and slammed him into the railing of the stairs and sent him tumbling down. Before the shorter man could reach for his gun, I drew my knee up and connected with his crotch, eliciting a strained gasp from him before he too hit the ground. I jumped over the railing and took off, looking quite odd with a gag in my mouth and rope around my wrists. I tripped once or twice but got back up, intent on escaping to the train station and finding my way back to the publishing office to put in my resignation. As I reached the ticket office, there was a police barricade, ready and waiting. The officer I had assaulted earlier in the day was sitting in a wheelchair and pointed a shaking finger at me, "That's the guy! That maniac tried to kill me!" I froze, much like a deer in headlights, and was surrounded by what seemed to be the entire Liberty City police force. The ropes were replaced with handcuffs and thankfully, the gag was taken from my mouth. I was ushered into the back of a police cruiser and taken to the station. Luigi's men never found me.
And so, that is where I write to you loyal readers from now, the Liberty City Police Station. Thankfully, the magazine has allowed me to put this in as my first and last piece. I stand trial for manslaughter, indirect manslaughter, attempted manslaughter, assault on an officer of the law, soliciting sex from a prostitute, two counts of assault, fleeing the scene of a crime, resisting arrest, and...Grand Theft Auto.
-----------------------------------------------
Yes, the dramatic ending. If I offended you in any way with this fanfic, good, my work here is done. Snooch to the Nooch.
Disclaimer: I don't own GTA3, I wish I did...then I'd be filthy rich and be able to live out my dreams of smashing cars and beating up hookers in real life, rather than on my TV.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following is a magazine article, taken from some...travel magazine...yeah. Just read the damn thing.
Liberty City: Hell On Earth, or An Insurance Policy's Worst Nightmare?
by Brodie Ford
I originally planned this article to be included in the "Little known cities that will be big in 2003" feature, however, now that I have traveled to Liberty City, I include it in the "Top 10 cities not to send your only daughter to college in"
I arrived in Liberty City at the ungodly hour of 2AM. The train slowly shuddered away from the station to leave me alone on the platform, facing an empty abyss of nothing. Abandoned newspapers fluttered across the pavement, providing the only movement on that rather windy night. It was strange that such a large city was so quiet; even in the middle of the night I had expected some activity from the local denizens. The first mission on my agenda was to find suitable lodging for the night, a task I didn't dread too much as finding a hotel in a large city had always proven to be quite easy. My first mistake was to wander in the wrong direction. As I walked along the chilled streets, the neon lights got brighter and the city seemed to come to life, although not the type of life I was hoping on meeting at 2AM. The hotels all seemed to have some sort of connection with the word "love" and strangely charged by the hour, a practice I had never seen before.
While checking room rates in these hotels, I bumped into countless women, all wondering if I was looking for "a good time". I politely declined, mentioning that I was only looking for a clean bed and some rest. As I escaped their scantily clad grasps, I noticed that the dress code in this city was stuck strangely in the 70's with most of the men sporting platform shoes, afros, large neck chains, and flashy-colored jackets. When I finally made my way out of that part of town and onto the main roads, I called for a taxi and requested to be taken to a respectable hotel. The driver gave me an odd glance, shrugged, and hit the gas. It was when we reached 80MPH that I realized that the picture ID on the back of the seat did not match up with the driver's face. I casually tapped him on the shoulder and quickly had a 9MM automatic pointed in my face. "Sit back and shut up." he grunted as his quick maneuvering of the cab bought us precious seconds from the police now accumulated at our rear. I sunk back in my seat, not sure whether I was more afraid of the gun or his reckless driving.
I came to in the Liberty City hospital with a concussion and a few scrapes and bruises. The nurse mentioned that I was involved in a high-speed chase, but the cops figured I was innocent and allowed me to be released. Thankful for the competence of the local authorities, I asked about my possessions that were with me in the back seat, only to be informed that they were kept for evidence. Another blow, but I wasn't about to let this get in the way of my first real article. As I dressed in my now tattered clothing, I at least had my wallet to buy new clothing with, and headed out for a local department store. On my way out, I saw a doctor sporting a pair of shoes, which looked strangely like a similar pair I had with me, but I shrugged it off.
Daylight in Liberty City at least was more pleasing to wander in, the nights are horrid. As I made my way downtown, I took in some of the local color. Cars of all kinds crowded the streets while residents of every race and creed shuffled along the sidewalks. Quite a colorful city, I remarked as I made my way into a nearby clothing store. After my purchases were made, I ventured back outside, only to be greeted with the sound of gunshots. Two of the local gangs (I learned later they were known as the Triads and the Diablos) had apparently had a run-in down the street and chose to settle it with guns. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, both gang member and pedestrian alike, and several black cars with red flame detailing were smashed into various piles and pieces. A stray bullet flew past me and I ducked for cover in a nearby alley.
It was here that I had my first encounter with a real Liberty City citizen. A scraggly old man sat propped against some garbage cans with a label-less bottle between his legs. He looked up at me, let out a rattling cough, and held his dirt-encrusted hand up for a donation. I shook my head, never trusting what the homeless would do with the money had I given it to them, and attempted to leave. It was at this time that he pulled a baseball bat out from behind the garbage can and took hold of the end of my overcoat. "Gimme dem packages purdy boy, 'less you be seein' stars" he growled, waving the bat around in a menacing way. I gulped and handed over my bags, taking his pause to inspect the contents as a means of escape. Lucky for me, the mayhem between the gangs had quieted down as the authorities had arrived and taken out what was left of the members. While some cities are said to have streets lined with gold, Liberty City has streets lined with blood. Turning my head from the carnage, I sought out an unoccupied officer to report my encounter in the alley. The only man not shoveling dead bodies into the ambulances was a hefty, grizzled officer who looked more interested in the holes in the donuts he was eating rather than ones in the victims. I approached him and tapped his shoulder gently, only to get a belch in the face. "Waddya want?" he grumbled, wiping powdered sugar from his chins. I told him of my plight with the local street ruffian, only to get a laugh. "30-some guys get killed out here and you're bitchin' about some panzy ass clothes? Fuck off, I've got bigger things to take care of."
I turned and walked away. This was not a time to get angry. But...he insulted my taste in clothes! Those were the best Ralph Lauren slacks and dress shirts that you could get in this hellhole! I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth, and turned around to face the officer again who had turned his back to me and buried his face in the donut box again. Suddenly, my hand lunged out, grabbed his nightstick, and turned him around. I found myself beating him mercilessly until he was reduced to a quivering pile of blubber on the ground. As the other officers heard his raspy cries for backup, I flashed them a manic glare and took off, looking for any means of escape. I saw a green station wagon, occupied only by an old woman; the perfect getaway car. I ran up to the drivers' door and opened it, grabbing her by the sweater and shoving her to the pavement. As I took possession of the vehicle, she stood, shot me the bird, and yelled a few expletives before a speeding blue Sentinel took her out.
I traveled up the street and found myself driving along the docks when I realized what I had just done. Not only did I attack and possibly kill an officer of the law, but I carjacked an old woman and indirectly caused her death. My right fist unclenched and the bloody nightstick hit the floor with a sickening thud. I pulled over under a bridge and buried my face in my hands, sobbing quietly. What had begun as my first real magazine article had turned into a hellish nightmare. Suddenly, I heard a soft tapping at my window. A rather attractive young woman was standing outside smiling at me. I rolled the window down and she introduced herself as Misty. She asked me if I needed a little company, to which I reluctantly agreed to. She climbed in the passenger seat and immediately wrapped her legs about my waist. Before I could protest, she had my shirt off and had reclined the drivers' seat so she was lying on top of me. It was at this point that I realized she was actually a prostitute and the "company" she offered me was of the sexual kind, not the verbal as I had hoped. As gently as I could, I pushed her off, commenting that I didn't really mean to take her up on her proposition. She giggled and pushed me back, "First timer, right? All guys are nervous their first time...just let me do the work, baby." After several more attempts (and the removal of a few more pieces of clothing), I finally lost my temper with her. I launched her from the car and grabbed the nightstick, raising it above my head. Upon examination of her unconscious body, I found about two thousand dollars in cash and a nice semiautomatic handgun. This was apparently a very experienced hooker.
Suddenly, headlights illuminated the underside of the bridge and two men in mafia attire stepped out. "Do you know who you just fucked with?" the taller one questioned. "Ey Geno, Joey's not gonna like dis...I tink she's dead." the short, fat one commented, hovering over Misty's body. I backed up against the wall and shuddered, both men were unquestionably armed and part of some organization that apparently had some ties with this woman. "Joey likes his girls ALIVE...he don't like them dead!" the one named Geno shouted at me, his breath reeking strangely of garlic and cheap wine. The short man laughed a nasal laugh and pulled an uzi from the back seat of their car. "I tink Luigi won't like this none, either...so I say we off him right here!" He came up close to me, shoving the tip of the barrel under my chin, "Youse got a lota nerve fuckin' wit one of Luigi's hoes without payin'...and to top it all, Joey's favorite!" Geno pulled the smaller man away, "No, we let the boss take care of dis one. He'll wanna see who did the job."
I was bound and gagged, then shoved into the trunk of their car, which was thankfully very roomy, and bounced back to the headquarters. When I was removed, I found myself at a place called "Sex Club 7" which was about where this journey into the middle of hell had begun. As they shuffled me to the back door, I threw myself at Geno and slammed him into the railing of the stairs and sent him tumbling down. Before the shorter man could reach for his gun, I drew my knee up and connected with his crotch, eliciting a strained gasp from him before he too hit the ground. I jumped over the railing and took off, looking quite odd with a gag in my mouth and rope around my wrists. I tripped once or twice but got back up, intent on escaping to the train station and finding my way back to the publishing office to put in my resignation. As I reached the ticket office, there was a police barricade, ready and waiting. The officer I had assaulted earlier in the day was sitting in a wheelchair and pointed a shaking finger at me, "That's the guy! That maniac tried to kill me!" I froze, much like a deer in headlights, and was surrounded by what seemed to be the entire Liberty City police force. The ropes were replaced with handcuffs and thankfully, the gag was taken from my mouth. I was ushered into the back of a police cruiser and taken to the station. Luigi's men never found me.
And so, that is where I write to you loyal readers from now, the Liberty City Police Station. Thankfully, the magazine has allowed me to put this in as my first and last piece. I stand trial for manslaughter, indirect manslaughter, attempted manslaughter, assault on an officer of the law, soliciting sex from a prostitute, two counts of assault, fleeing the scene of a crime, resisting arrest, and...Grand Theft Auto.
-----------------------------------------------
Yes, the dramatic ending. If I offended you in any way with this fanfic, good, my work here is done. Snooch to the Nooch.