Retribution
Chapter 1: An Unfortunate Accident
It was a sweltering summer day in Verona Beach, Los Santos. Vick couldn't get rid of the dumb smile on his face as he walked with his new wife Lisa down the boardwalk. They were on the right side of the street, which had little traffic in the heat of the afternoon. Vick was walking on his wife's right, holding her and babbling about unimportant things. There was a pier with a ferris wheel ahead and he was considering going on it, for nostalgia if nothing else. A seagull rose excitedly, as if something had frightened it from its perch, but Vick couldn't see or hear anything amiss. There was the slight roar of engines in the background, only as loud as the humming of insects and nothing unusual on a summer's day in the city. But the drone quickly grew to a roar.
"Vick, honey," began Lisa, "What was…" WAM. Vick turned his head just in time to see the blue blur of a speeding car graze his left hand, the hand his wife had been holding only a second ago. Two more blurs, black-and-white with blazing, howling sirens, flew by going over 80 miles per hour.
Vick stood in shock. His eyes went briefly to the ground, splattered with blood, where his wife lay. Crimson tire tracks led away from the body. His knees buckled, and his eyes went over to the speeding blue blur. Just as it was about to round a corner out of sight, two more cop cars came out of nowhere and boxed it in against a wall. The two behind it seized the chance and slammed full-force into the side of the car. Police clambered out of the 5-car pile-up and drew their pistols.
"Carl Johnson! Come out with your hands up!" one shouted into a megaphone. A lone black man climbed out of the stolen blue getaway car, now buried beneath the squad cars. He calmly walked down from the wreck, and continued a short distance down the street with his hands above his head. "Stop! On the ground!" said the cop, who ran over to cuff him. The cop had only a second to wonder why Carl had walked so far out from the wreck instead of just lying down right there. Carl reached into his pocket with one quick, almost unnoticed motion and pulled out the detonator. No one spotted the explosive charges buried in the wreckage until he had already hit the button. Vick cringed and shielded his eyes as all 5 cars went up in a ball of fire and a rush of noise and heat. Burning squad cars rained down on the street and exploded. The hapless police were caught in the chaos, burned by the explosions of killed by falling wreckage. Carl Johnson calmly walked into a nearby parking lot and jacked a white sedan.
Vick took a mental picture of his wife's killer. Black afro, black shades, shirtless, buff and tattooed, with urban camouflage pants, a gold chain around his neck, and expensive green basketball sneakers on his feet. Vick watched him speed away to the east. The looked around desperately. White-hot rage welled up in him, clouding his vision. One thought crossed his mind. Blood. Revenge. He reached out a hand and found the 9mm of a dead cop. Near the burning wreckage of a police car was a shotgun. He put the pistol in the back of his pants and carried the shotgun in one hand. In the distance an ambulance's siren wailed. Vick found a black Sentinel in the same parking lot Carl had just jacked his car from. He opened the door and hotwired the car. Hell, you learn a lot of thing living in Los Santos. The Sentinel tore out of the parking lot and roared eastwards.