The long, white halls were almost bare, save for a few nurses walking back and forth, and doctors entering, and exiting rooms, and of course the occasional patient getting up for one or another reason. Apparently, it was a slow day for a Hospital in Los Santos -- If there was such a thing. Barely any sound echoed throughout the building, except for the occasional "Paging doctor ..", and the sort of things you would hear in a Medical facility.
Dreams flooded through Sweet's mind, some good, but mostly bad; visions of his future, even. The life he lived would get him in danger one of these days, and he knew it. More danger than it'd already gotten him in, of course. He lay in the bed, a large bandage above his right eye, and a brace around his right arm; Apparently, he'd shattered one of the bones, though he could still move the arm. Just not do anything with excessive force (examples being punch, shoot, etc.)
Carl's eyes slowly opened, Sweet thrashing about in his bed rousing him. Carl quickly stood, and grabbed Sweet's wrists. "Sweet, chill! Chill! It's Carl, calm down, Sweet!" After a few moment, Sweet began to quit his thrashing. Carl released him, and sat back down, sighing. Just as he did, the door to the room opened, and Ryder walked in. "Hey, Ryder. Where's Smoke at?" Ryder shrugged slightly, and sat down next to Carl, putting his feet up on another chair and leaning back. He wasn't allowed to smoke in a Hospital. "'E said he was goin' t'do some shit, I don' know. Said he be here in a few minutes." Ryder sighed slightly. "So, how Sweet doin' in here?" Carl shrugged. "He been havin' nightmares, goin' crazy once in a while. But the doctor say he gonna' be okay, for now. Broke his leg, bashed his head.. He don' look okay t'me." Ryder waved his right hand. "I don' never trust no doctor, CJ. S'all 'bout the money, even for they ass." Carl shook his head. "Don't be no idiot, Ryder."
As they finished talking, the door opened once more, and Sweet's doctor entered. He was an old man, clearly, in his later sixty's, Carl could assume. "Well, Mr. Johnson, as soon as Sean wakes up, you're free to take him home. He should be well enough to be relatively active, though I would advise you keep a close eye on him, and make sure that he doesn't over-use his right arm." Carl nodded, and the man left. The door didn't close entirely, but instead, Big Smoke walked in, and closed it behind him. "Hey, Carl, Ryder. How he doin'?" Smoke sat down in the seat Ryder had placed his feet on, forcing him to move them.
"Fine, Smoke." Carl said. "Doctor said we can take him back to the Grove, soon as he wake up." Smoke nodded. "Good, good. So, where Kendl at, anyway? An' yo moms, an' Brian?" Carl shook his head and sighed. "Kendl's at home, makin' sure no one jack us while we all out here. Moms and pops still on vacation in Vice City, and Brian back at the house with Kendl. I figure there ain't no reason for all of us to stay down here with Sweet. He just be pissed when he woke up, if you ask me." Carl put his hand up to his chin, and then looked back at Smoke and Ryder. "Infact, you two go back home, or keep Kendl and Brian company. Somethin'. I'mma ask the Doctor if Sweet can stay here over night, you know, so he be ready to leave in the mornin' .. I don' even know if he'll wake up tonight."
Three men clad in purple shirts and black pants stood on a corner, at Glen Park, Rollin' Heights Ballas territory. They were discussing idiotic matters, for the time being. "'Ey man, pass that blunt! C'mon!" One of them said, as he reached over and grabbed a smoking stick of pot from the other one. "Shit man .. This shit whack! Where th'fuck all the good shit at, bitch?" "Hell, I do'know. 'Ey, you guys hear, about that O.G.F. fool that robbed the 27/11 a street over from Grove Street?" The former man inhaled on the weed, and nodded. Coughing, he responded. "Yeah, yeah .. Heard Tyrone and his friends tried to shoot the fucker off, but he jumped off the god damn fence into the highway! You believe 'dat shit, mayne?" The other Balla shook his head. "Naaah. Some crazy ass fuckers out there, you know. More d'an us, I bet." The other two men laughed, just as a Majestic slowly pulled around the corner off the small bridge that overlooked the pond in the center of Glen Park.
Tyrone Williams opened the door to his slightly battered up Majestic, looking around a bit, and then closing the door. Tyrone was a thin man, in a black tanktop with a white short-sleeve underneath, and loose purple long-shorts, with a Jheri Curl haircut. He stepped over to the hood of his car, then jumped onto it and slid across, jogging forward up the steps to the house that he'd parked infront of. As he reached the top, he balled up his hand into a fist, and banged on the door three times loudly. After a moment, a "Who the fuck is there?" sounded from behind the door. " 'S Tyrone, you dipshit!" "Oh, fuck, hold on." Tyrone heard the sound of a deadbolt and chain lock being undone, and then the door opened.
"So, the job done?"
"Yeah. He layin' in the Hospital. We 'bout to lay him out f'good."