Grand Theft Auto: Vice City
Clerical Work
Authour's Notes: It's been a while. A long while. But this has been my most successful fic ever, and after rediscovering my book in which I had laid out the plot, I decided to come back and write Chapter 4. I won't make any more excuses, and get on to the long awaited fourth installment.
Mission IV - When the Saints Come Marching In...
Tommy Vercetti was not a happy man.
He's been dealing with the S.W.A.T. team, large amounts of explosives, bad drivers, and an old woman on coke who thinks she owns him. Now, a "board meeting" had been called by grandma herself, Cassandra Vegas.
Vercetti walks into the top floor board room scowling and muttering something to himself. The plush carpets under his feet were too cushy, everyone in the room looked too worried, and the situation he was in was getting worse by the second. He takes a seat beside Alexa Vegas, who promptly jumps into secretary mode.
"Alright Tommy, we've definitely got a situation, you know, we've got some problems and, oh, thank God we have you, I mean--"
Tommy silences the annoying young woman with a single hand motion. It would seem that his reputation preceded him.
Cassandra Vegas walked into the room.
"Okay everybody. We've got problems -- really big problems -- Everest sized problems -- elephant shit sized problems -- prob--"
"Nana! Get to the point!"
Tommy rolled his eyes, prompting a glare from the elder Vegas before she continued. "Okay. Well, it would seem that the Haitians aren't the happiest that we blew their boat back there. They've been looking for a way to get back at us."
A short, pudgy man spoke up. "Surely there's no way that WE'RE associated with this?"
Cassandra sighed. "You prick, why else would I call this meeting? Anyway -- it's no secret that I, uh, partake in the, uh, narcotics business. So--"
"What?!" Same short man. "Narcotics?! I'm gettin' outta here!" He leapt from his seat and flew from the room like a man possessed,
"You people don't know about this?!"
Confused grunts and mutters from the board.
"Oh shit... Here's the bottom line: The Haitians have a deal with the cops. They're coming here to bust a cap in all of your asses."
Utter chaos erupted throughout the room.
Amongst the mess, Alexa managed to catch up with Tommy.
"Surely you're getting out of here?!" she cried.
"Hell no," he said with a smirk, loading a clip into his Mac-10.
Her eyes widened upon setting her sights upon the weapon. "You aren't..."
"Why wouldn't I?" he laughed, and ran out the door.
Tommy Vercetti doesn't like elevators. In this case, however, he thought it'd be more efficient to take one than running down fifty-plus flights of stairs. He assumed wrong. The elevator got stuck at around floor ten. After what could be described as several minutes of infuriated button-smashing on the console, the elevator jerked and dropped the last five or so floors, landing in the lobby with a hearty crash. The desk attendant, obviously not shaken by the gunshots emanating from the outside or the smash of a several ton elevator rig crashing down, could only roll her eyes.
"Don't you know how to work a lift?!" she screeched in Tommys general direction.
"Hey, screw you lady! This is just an, uh, minor inconvenience."
And with these words, Tommy marched to the front of the foyer, threw the door open, and (in the most dramatic and cocky pose possible), drew his weapon and...
Was shot in the leg.
The pain caused him to tumble backwards through the frosted glass doors, somehow managing to not get hit by any of the seemingly hundreds of bullets flying from the outside congregation.
"Bastards!!"
The same old receptionist sighed. "So you can't deal with a huge mass of Haitians and cops either?! Jesus Christ, kids these days!" She collected her things and stormed out the door to her left.
"Is everyone who works here a bitch?!" he called, obviously hoping she would hear.
The gunfire outside grew in its intensity, and in an explosion of glass and metal, an airborne metallic-red convertible, piloted by none other than Cassandra Vegas, erupted into the lobby.
"God damnit, bitchy old ladies, bullets in the legs, exploding windows-- what the Hell is going on?!!"
Cassandra rolled her eyes, moving over into the passengers seat, with Alexa sitting in back. "Will you stop whining and drive the damn car?"
Bleeding leg and all, Tommy clamoured into the vehicle and, using one good leg, pummled the car through the doors and into a hail of a thousand bullets.
Mission Complete!
Authours Note: Well, it's a cliffhanger, but that's how you keep your readers. Chapter was a little short, but I promise to update sooner this time.
Clerical Work
Authour's Notes: It's been a while. A long while. But this has been my most successful fic ever, and after rediscovering my book in which I had laid out the plot, I decided to come back and write Chapter 4. I won't make any more excuses, and get on to the long awaited fourth installment.
Mission IV - When the Saints Come Marching In...
Tommy Vercetti was not a happy man.
He's been dealing with the S.W.A.T. team, large amounts of explosives, bad drivers, and an old woman on coke who thinks she owns him. Now, a "board meeting" had been called by grandma herself, Cassandra Vegas.
Vercetti walks into the top floor board room scowling and muttering something to himself. The plush carpets under his feet were too cushy, everyone in the room looked too worried, and the situation he was in was getting worse by the second. He takes a seat beside Alexa Vegas, who promptly jumps into secretary mode.
"Alright Tommy, we've definitely got a situation, you know, we've got some problems and, oh, thank God we have you, I mean--"
Tommy silences the annoying young woman with a single hand motion. It would seem that his reputation preceded him.
Cassandra Vegas walked into the room.
"Okay everybody. We've got problems -- really big problems -- Everest sized problems -- elephant shit sized problems -- prob--"
"Nana! Get to the point!"
Tommy rolled his eyes, prompting a glare from the elder Vegas before she continued. "Okay. Well, it would seem that the Haitians aren't the happiest that we blew their boat back there. They've been looking for a way to get back at us."
A short, pudgy man spoke up. "Surely there's no way that WE'RE associated with this?"
Cassandra sighed. "You prick, why else would I call this meeting? Anyway -- it's no secret that I, uh, partake in the, uh, narcotics business. So--"
"What?!" Same short man. "Narcotics?! I'm gettin' outta here!" He leapt from his seat and flew from the room like a man possessed,
"You people don't know about this?!"
Confused grunts and mutters from the board.
"Oh shit... Here's the bottom line: The Haitians have a deal with the cops. They're coming here to bust a cap in all of your asses."
Utter chaos erupted throughout the room.
Amongst the mess, Alexa managed to catch up with Tommy.
"Surely you're getting out of here?!" she cried.
"Hell no," he said with a smirk, loading a clip into his Mac-10.
Her eyes widened upon setting her sights upon the weapon. "You aren't..."
"Why wouldn't I?" he laughed, and ran out the door.
Tommy Vercetti doesn't like elevators. In this case, however, he thought it'd be more efficient to take one than running down fifty-plus flights of stairs. He assumed wrong. The elevator got stuck at around floor ten. After what could be described as several minutes of infuriated button-smashing on the console, the elevator jerked and dropped the last five or so floors, landing in the lobby with a hearty crash. The desk attendant, obviously not shaken by the gunshots emanating from the outside or the smash of a several ton elevator rig crashing down, could only roll her eyes.
"Don't you know how to work a lift?!" she screeched in Tommys general direction.
"Hey, screw you lady! This is just an, uh, minor inconvenience."
And with these words, Tommy marched to the front of the foyer, threw the door open, and (in the most dramatic and cocky pose possible), drew his weapon and...
Was shot in the leg.
The pain caused him to tumble backwards through the frosted glass doors, somehow managing to not get hit by any of the seemingly hundreds of bullets flying from the outside congregation.
"Bastards!!"
The same old receptionist sighed. "So you can't deal with a huge mass of Haitians and cops either?! Jesus Christ, kids these days!" She collected her things and stormed out the door to her left.
"Is everyone who works here a bitch?!" he called, obviously hoping she would hear.
The gunfire outside grew in its intensity, and in an explosion of glass and metal, an airborne metallic-red convertible, piloted by none other than Cassandra Vegas, erupted into the lobby.
"God damnit, bitchy old ladies, bullets in the legs, exploding windows-- what the Hell is going on?!!"
Cassandra rolled her eyes, moving over into the passengers seat, with Alexa sitting in back. "Will you stop whining and drive the damn car?"
Bleeding leg and all, Tommy clamoured into the vehicle and, using one good leg, pummled the car through the doors and into a hail of a thousand bullets.
Mission Complete!
Authours Note: Well, it's a cliffhanger, but that's how you keep your readers. Chapter was a little short, but I promise to update sooner this time.