The Saints infiltrated Steelport.
Carlos' tragic death had instilled a rage in their leader's heart that could only be settled by the organization's complete destruction, and his loyal crew had relocated promptly to assist him with that. Geared up, they had soon seized a penthouse from the Morningstars.
They were still far from destroying the Syndicate, however, and Playa was growing more and more impatient with each passing day.

It was on the way back from a Friendly Fire one day, that he spotted something that would finally take his mind off things: A pink cat mascot with a giant head and doctor's outfit that was cheered on by a nearby crowd as it disappeared into a large warehouse. The worn logo on the outer walls read "Professor Genki's Super Ethical Reality Climax" over neon pink graffiti that tried to lure people in with a "Sign up here!"

"Professor Genki…? The fuck is this..." Playa mumbled to himself but, too intrigued by the strangeness of it all, decided to step outside and see for himself.

He walked over to the warehouse and pushed open the door through which the strange cat-person had disappeared. He found himself in some strange sort of entrance hall.
It reminded him of a run-down ticket counter, only with less popcorn and more bulletproof glass between the worker and himself, and the holes in the brick walls told him they were there for a reason.

"Hi, dear!"

A shrill voice greeted him enthusiastically through the wall-mounted speakers. Playa looked up, then back at the pink-haired woman behind the glass who was offering him an uncomfortably wide grin as she spoke into a microphone. There was a crazy look in her widened eyes and the Saint wondered if she was on some sort of high. Judging from what he had seen of Steelport so far, he wouldn't be surprised.

"Are you here to sign up for PROFESSOR GENKI'S SUPER ETHICAL REALITY CLIMAX!?" She continued euphorically, shouting out what the sign outside had read in little less than mania.

"Uh… no, not really. What kind of place is this?" Playa answered, though his words seemed to have a strange effect on the woman.

Her grin stayed in place, but she averted her eyes as if to disregard the man's presence from then on.

"Hey! What kind of place is this? And who was that weird cat-mascot that walked through here before?"

Playa hammered against the reinforced glass to get her attention but the woman did not bat an eye. It was as though she had completely blanked out his existence. The Saint let out a frustrated groan and considered the situation for a moment. Whatever this Genki thing was, could it really be that bad? If things turned out for the worst, he could always just shoot his way out of it. And if not, perhaps whatever this was could offer some sort of entertainment.
He slammed his hand flat against the window and let out an annoyed sigh before he resigned.

" Fine! What if I am here to sign up for the Genki whatever. What do I do?"

Instantly the woman's attention returned to him and she beamed as if nothing had happened.

"Splendid! It just so happens that we've got an opening for tonight! Aren't you a lucky one! Just place your hand on the screen to your right and we'll be all set!"

Playa followed her instructions but pulled back in surprise when he saw his personal data flash on the display.

"Hey, what the fuck!? What is th–"

"Alright, you're all set! Have fun and good luck!" The woman interrupted him with her stretched grin and a wave of sound flooded the room as the metal doors opposite the entrance swung open. They led into a sort of waiting room, the odd Professor Genki logo plastered on a set of heavy doors and a screen mounted onto the ceiling next to it.

"And what am I supposed to d–" Playa turned around but before he could finish his sentence, the doors to the entrance closed behind him and the dark screen flickered awake. A short introduction video started playing and slowly the Saints' boss began to understand what exactly he had gotten himself into.

"So I just shoot a bunch of things and walk out with a load of money? Sounds easy enough!"

The Saint could imagine much worse predicaments he could have gotten himself into. If anything, this could even be fun. Either way, he decided he was going to make the best of it and readied himself for the challenge.

Then, at last, the doors slid aside and opened the way to the deadly course. Already, a bullet flew past him, missing his shoulder only by a little, and Playa ran ahead into the action.
As he was surprised by murderous fire traps and electrical currents, all while trying to dodge enemy bullets and take his opponents out in return, two men commented the actions delightedly through some speakers. Apparently the show was broadcast live on television.

"Welcome to Professor Genki's Super Ethical Reality Climax! Murder Time is Fun Time, right, Bobby?" The first commentator's voice boomed over the sounds of gunfire and fire blasts.

"You got it, Zach. If our contestants can survive the deadly traps, armed mascots and those freakishly huge hunters, they can win a hefty pile of cash!" A deeper, more raspy voice agreed with equal enthusiasm.

"This game looks deadly… because it is!" Zach laughed, before he continued. "But it's still - probably - safer than driving in Steelport!"

"Our competitor isn't from Steelport this time, Zach. Today we'll be watching the leader of the Saints, the world-famous Stilwater street gang."

Playa almost missed a shot in surprise when he heard the commentators mentioning his identity and cursed under his breath. "Bet that was that damn screen."
Part of him wanted to wonder just what kind of resources and technology the host had at his disposal to bypass the Saints' own security measures of keeping their identities and fingerprints off the records, but a bullet grazing his cheek reminded him that now wasn't the time to reflect about that.

"As many times as this former gangbanger has been shot at, blown up, run over and generally put through hell, this competition probably seems pretty routine!"

They certainly had done their research. In the very short time he had spent in that establishment, no less.

"Routine, maybe, but lucrative!"

Ten minutes of pure adrenaline passed and when it was over the Saints' leader felt both relieved and hungry for more. In the rush of life and death there had been no time to think about the shitty things in his life. No problems. No worries. Just the thrill of survival and sheer instinct.

When Playa walked out of the building, wallet loaded with money, he could still taste it on his tongue. The addictive taste of success.

"That was fucking beautiful." A voice suddenly came from behind him, and Playa turned around to face the unknown man who was approaching him. Though it was dark out, a set of dark sunglasses was covering the stranger's eyes, and the Saint could make out the red shirt he was wearing. Instantly Playa readied himself to draw his gun, but the other man didn't show any sign of hostility. Not yet, at least.
"I wish some asshole hadn't shot the fucking speakers in the lobby. Couldn't hear a damn thing. But what I saw… Seriously, that was a motherfucking masterpiece. You come here often?"

The boss didn't know what to think. This stranger who was complimenting his skills so was most certainly a member of the Syndicate. He had gotten to know the red and black colours well enough ever since they had relocated to Steelport. But contrary to the other members they had encountered so far, this man seemed completely relaxed. The only explanation Playa had was that he really had absolutely no idea that he was talking to the leader of the Saints.
Perhaps that was for the better. There was something about that man that told Playa not to mess with him… and his instincts were usually right.

"Nah, first time today."

"For real? Man, you've been offing those mascots like you'd done nothing else your entire life! If you keep this up, imma have a serious contender to my title."

"Your title?"

"Johnny Gat, five-year champion of the Genki Bowl. Pleasure to meet ya." Gat smirked at Playa.

"Playa." The Saint answered shortly, wondering how much he could keep to himself without the other getting suspicious.

"Just Playa?"

"That a problem?"

"Nah, man, it's cool." Gat shrugged it off, obviously not too concerned with names. "Hey, watching you really got my blood pumpin'. Whatchu say we head in for another round? Been a while since I entered as a duo since I hate people dragging me down, but I gotta feeling that won't be too much of a problem with you."

"Sorry, I have somewhere to be." Playa answered quickly, knowing that there was no way he could enter the game with an enemy gang member. The moment he'd step into the course those commentators would certainly blow his cover. "Thanks for the offer though."

"Alright, sure. Next time." If Gat was disappointed, he didn't let it show. He did raise his hand to wave goodbye though, before he turned around to leave. "I'll head back in then. See ya."

Playa watched him disappear through the entrance doors and pondered for a moment. He couldn't help but feel curious about how the five-year champion of the Genki Bowls mastered the courses and decided to ask Pierce for assistance to find out once he was back at the penthouse.

It turned out that the name "Johnny Gat" made it ridiculously easy to find not only a whole video library of his murderous feats, but a plethora of newspaper articles, websites, blog entries and more, all glorifying or demonizing the man in sunglasses. Gat was a legend. And Playa felt all the more relieved that the Morningstar hadn't recognized him as a Saint back at the warehouse.

"You know him?" Pierce asked as he looked up from the computer search.

"Not really." Playa answered, feeling like this wasn't technically a lie.

"Well, better keep it that way. I know we'll have to go through him eventually when we want to take out the Syndicate, but damn . This ain't a motherfucker you wanna mess with."

"Alright. Thanks, Pierce." The boss patted his friend on the shoulder and walked out onto the balcony for some fresh air, thoughts running wild between the Genki challenge, the Syndicate and

"Johnny motherfucking Gat." He mumbled to himself and looked down at the night-lit city. Something told him that he hadn't seen the last of him.