(PART 1: WEIGHT OF THE BADGE)
They were all gone. Dead or scurried into the unknown corners of the city, Stilwater was free of gang violence from the Vice Kings, the Westside Rollerz and most of all, Los Carnales. Their death grips of gold, blue, and red were no longer felt, giving way to the one gang that made it all possible: the Third Street Saints. Different shades of purple flowed throughout the neighborhoods from Shivington to Chinatown, from Cecil Park to East Stilwater, all the way to the gang's origins: Saints Row.
Once a regular street kid turned recruit, "Playa" did the impossible. Almost singlehandedly, he took to wiping the other gangs off the map; months of dismantling one operation after another. It wasn't long until Stilwater followed behind the Saints, while others questioned what it was all for.
Sitting on the front steps of the Row's church smoking a cigarette, Troy Bradshaw harbored a tremendous weight over the loss of his friends, lost sight of who he was supposed to be. And with such a weight, an air of regret plauged his psyche. Where do his loyalties lie now? Did any of this bloodshed even mattered?
Mulling it over, Troy thought about Lin and what it took for her being undercover with the Rollerz crew. Did she have any fears being somebody else? Any traitorous thoughts? Troy believed the longer you are somebody else, you start thinking like them. This way of thinking kept him awake most nights.
All it took was one man that brought reason to the chaos: the Row's leader, Julius Little. His authoritative, fatherly advice kept Troy sane during his three year cover with the Saints. He learned how they operated, how Julius' wisdom made more sense than his corrupt police chief, Richard Monroe. Monroe threw Troy at the deep end of the undercover pool with the assumption he wouldn't survive the transition.
Troy was unlike the other cops under Monroe's command; the kind with integrity. He was three smokes deep when Dex came outside to sit next to him.
"Got an extra smoke?" He asked Troy.
With a glazed look in his eyes, Troy handed him one and said, "Knock yourself out."
"We fucking did it, man." Dex chuckled with disbelief. "I still don't believe it. After all the crazy shit that kid did for the Row, a little too Johnny-like at times, but it was all worth it in the end."
The name "Johnny Gat" rang in his head like a migraine. Even when he proved himself as a Saint, Troy was apprehensive he would end up in his crosshairs. One gun-toting psychopath was bad enough, but two?
"Yeah, it was all fuckin' worth it." Troy replied with disdain.
"What's up with you? We won, Troy. The Saints own this whole city!"
"Too much blood was spilled." He replied flicking the cigarette. "Lin is dead, many of our friends are in the fuckin' ground... all this shit is just too much."
"You think I don't know that?" Dex asked. "Lin's death did a number on all of us, especially Johnny. The next few weeks will be hard on us, too. The other gangs may have dropped their flags, but there may be rogue elements out there looking to take what's ours."
"Yeah, and how much is enough?!"
"Shit, man, still with all the questions! King is gone, those Lopez fucks are dead, and Playa avenged Lin by taking out the Rollerz...
Dex took a moment to collect his next thoughts.
... Look, I'm not saying we should throw caution to the wind, but we can finally breathe a little. For once in your life, fucking enjoy the moment!"
"I know. I hear you." Troy agreed. "You and I didn't always agree on how to handle things."
"No shit, Dex fired back, considering you always second guessin' the mission."
"You wish things could have gone differently? The history between Julius and King?"
"Can't change what's been set in stone." He made clear.
"Think about it. Those two were Vice Kings back in the day, thick as thieves and shit. Then, bad blood split 'em apart. I just feel if they had worked things out before this whole gang war happened, lots of bloodshed could've been avoided."
Dex shook his head hearing Troy going on about the what-ifs.
"Bro, I hear you on all accounts, but what's done is done. I don't always agree with Julius' leadership skills, but the only thing that matters now is the future of this crew. Like it or not, Playa is the key component to said future. We keep playin' our roles 'till one or both of us is in the ground."
"Shit, never thought you would make it so simple." Troy said sarcastically.
Throughout the entire exchange, Dex still sensed something was off about Troy. Even while sitting, he looked like a man defeated. Troy then stood up and started walking away.
"Anything else on your mind, man?" Dex asked.
"Gonna head to Tee N' Ay, get my mind straight. I'll see you later."
Dex was right about one thing. Everything that led up to this point was a reminder to keep things in the past. Getting drunk and an exotic dance from Olga and Selena seemed like the medicine he needed. As he walked to his car, a few Saints gave him friendly nods, acknowledged their victories as a gang.
It only added more to his guilt. Troy knew what had to be done to complete his investigation. Chief Monroe knew it too as the caller ID suggested. He could feel the tone of surly self-importance of his commanding officer. He then took a deep breath.
"This is Troy."
"Officer Bradshaw, Monroe announced over the phone, allow me to be the first to congratulate you for keeping your cover with Saints Row. I must admit, didn't think you had it in you."
"What's this about, Monroe?" Troy subtly lashed out.
"You know damn well what this is about. So I would mind your tone if I were you. This is a win for the Stilwater Police Department. Four major gangs reduced to one; mostly the work of some "street mute."
"That mute has a name."
"He's a thug, and a resourceful one I'll admit. Plans will be set in motion where he's concerned, but you needn't worry about that. The reason for this call is that Julius was seen driving west towards Prawn Court. One of my men left a wagon for you eight blocks from where you are. It is high time you bring him in."
A lump lodged in his throat. Troy knew eventually Julius was going to be taken down, but in a corrupt justice system? Monroe had his ways in making the uncooperative disappear.
"Sir, with respect, this is still my investigation. Julius is a reasonable man. I can talk to him."
For a moment, Monroe couldn't believe what he was hearing. He played the long game for cops like Troy; those who couldn't march to his own beat. The disturbed chief had hoped at least one street gang would take him down, save for the Vice Kings, but things were slowly unraveling.
"Out of the question," Monroe lashed out. "Saints Row wasn't supposed to survive this long. With Benjamin King out of the picture, the natural balance is disrupted, as I'm sure you already know. Now, the Saints may be the last ones standing, but there's grander things in motion here, for the future of this fine city. This isn't up for debate. Either you bring Julius into custody, or one of my boys will do it for you. Time's wasting."
The long silence that followed left Troy numb. The Saints were his family. How was he going to go after the one man that brought everything together? The lump in his throat grew bigger, eyes glazed still with his right hand on his hip.
A silhouette of a square revealed under his purple shirt; the promise he made to serve and protect. His shield felt heavier than ever before. All Troy knew was that he still had a job to do.
"God forgive me..." He drove away in the cop car.
...
The second he had Julius in his sights, damage control was the only card he had left. As for the rest of Stilwater, it underwent three, major turning points in a matter of days. The city's prestigious mayor, Marshall Winslow, met his swift end by train while campaigning all over town. Rumors spoke of him being soft on crime, causing Monroe to take action.
Soon after upon attending his funeral service, Playa and Dex attempted to assassinate Monroe. A hail of bullets and exploding squad cars ensued, looking like the 4th of July. The final pillar of the Stilwater community, Alderman Richard Hughes, reduced to charred remains as a bomb went off on his boat, taking the trapped Playa along with him. As far as the general public was concerned, no one knew who assassinated Hughes... save for two.
Who would have thought the aftermath would spiral this fast? Times were changing, for the better or not varied amongst the people and the news media; Channel 6 chief among them. Following the Alderman's death, news anchor Jane Valderamma brought the devastating event to light.
"Breaking news! Earlier tonight, Stilwater's esteemed politician, Alderman Hughes, was lounging on his yacht, enjoying his victory in becoming the next Mayor. A few witnesses say he was having a closed conversation with one of the prominent gang members from Saints Row. The yacht met its short lived voyage under the Stilwater Bridge, and so far the police have yet to find any survivors. It seems Mr. Hughes went from a stellar victory to ridding the streets of gang violence, to a sunken defeat by the end of a ticking time bomb.
Along with the Alderman's passing, a Saint whom many came to know him as "Playa" was found charred to death in the boat's remains, and is currently being fished out of the water. It has not been confirmed whether he's alive or dead. Which begs the question: was Hughes a suicidal man, or were the Saints trying to kill two birds with one explosion? I am Jane Valderamma: Channel 6 News."
The entire city was in an uproar over what just happened. Many didn't know Playa on a personal level, but through his destructive actions, he set a great many people free from the other gangs. The law enforcement side however had a different agenda. Their corrupted nature ran just as hot as before.
Out of the 200 cops that "served" and "protected" this city for decades, a civil war of blue on blue broke out. This didn't affect the public much, but to the officers who actually followed the law, either transferred to another city or stayed behind to defend themselves.
In the three and a half months that followed after Monroe's death, cops that opposed his command were forced to fortify their homes against squad car attacks. Night sticks, pepper spray, and molotov cocktails evened the playing field, reduced to common criminals to the acting Chief of Police, James Floyd. He was an aging shield from Ironton City, placed in Stilwater until one of their own steps up and takes the job.
All this became the perfect smokescreen for the Saints to stay under the radar, looking to replenish their ranks. It took the elbow grease of Floyd and several brave cops to bring the civil war to a standstill. 200 strong brought down to about 160 shields; corrupted lieutenants were demoted to traffic cops, others were sent to prison for arson and aggravated assault.
Nearly four months of blue blood spilling from Brighton to Centennial Beach, ceased from the public eye. For a time, the media was afraid the S.P.D. would be the catalyst for the rise in gang activity once again. Dex and the other Saints made a conscious effort to stay out of the crossfire, much to Gat's disappointment. After the scene at the boat wreckage where Playa was "killed," Johnny's girl Aisha kept him level-headed, focused more on recruiting than shooting up everything. Despite this, Saints Row was still considered heroes in the public eye.
As the heat died down within the department, the inside remained both corrupt and territorial. There were Monroe Sympathizers and cops that just want to do their part. If the ire was split down the middle, Chief Floyd would have an easier time putting out fires, but lieutenants McClendon, Stiles, and Jeffries kept the fires at bay on one side, while former undercover shields like Camden and Hoss stirred the pot with Monroe's people.
With everyone forced to choose sides, Troy became neutral after helping Floyd turn the tide. He gained enough clout during his stint with the Saints upon completing his investigation. The convictions landed on Julius and 24 other Saints. However, Troy kept his promise by "missing" a few collars to save some lives; all the good that did. It was just as big a media circus as the cop-on-cop fiasco, reporting updates day after day.
Most days after he kept to himself in the archives area of the precinct, sorting through stacks of old case files. The work was mundane, lights flickering on and off, but the worst of it was the silence. Sometimes Troy would hear distant voices, as if the last archivist committed suicide and haunting the place. The man who used used to run the archives, Roy Wilkinson, loved telling horror stories of dead officers looking for a reprieve. They never held a candle to the spook stories of Old Stilwater, but a part of Troy felt like he deserved the unease, given all that has happened.
The entrance door from the far side creaked, and a young male voice called out.
"Officer Bradshaw, you in here?"
Troy recognized the rookie's steadfast tone. He appeared before the 27 year old with sleepless eyes, a full beard, and a near gaunt frame. His cheap, navy blue suit had seen better days as well.
"What's up, Creagan?" Troy asked with a stack of files in-hand. "What can I do ya for?"
"I just got back from the Desk Commander. There's an old man asking for you, said he has an anonymous tip."
"Does this man have a name?"
"He didn't give one." Creagan replied. "And... Roy being Roy..."
Troy walked up to the husky built rookie with reassurance in his voice.
"He's harmless. He may be Monroe's guy, bit of a weirdo, but as long as you stay firm in your beliefs as both an officer and a man, he'll respect it."
Creagan gave an affirming nod as they walked away from the homicide section. He possessed a stern, yet positive outlook on life. The jaded nature that came with the job hadn't set in yet, which was odd. Within the first few weeks of cops going against each other, rookies were sought after first, either as potential partners or cannon fodder; mostly the latter.
Stilwater's main law firm, Legal Lee, had seen more dire cases against seasoned officers, ranging from sexual harassment charges to committing insurance fraud. Creagan on the other hand was tenacious, even head butted a lieutenant high on weed doing perimeter checks around Brighton. No one at the precinct spoke of him, only that he went missing a week prior to all the chaos.
Troy wasn't one for war stories; never spoke of his early days undercover either. Making their way up the stairs and through an L-shaped hallway, both found themselves on the ground floor of the bullpen.
"I appreciate you, man." Creagan said while noticing the circles under Troy's eyes. "Say, have you been gettin' enough sleep? Roy says the archives take it out of you. That, or a ghostly presence is feeding on your guilt."
"I have no guilt." Troy said in denial. "Look, I gotta get back to it, see what this old man has to say. Keep your head down."
"Alright, take care of yourself you hear?" He asked as Troy continued walking.
The entire precinct felt just as divided as ever. The stench of stale Freckle Bitch's burgers and burnt coffee filled the air. It could turn a career criminal into a rat if it meant inhaling fresh air again. Half the cop eyes were kept on paperwork while the other half judged every footstep he made. The peace, while maintained, was still fragile. How long before the next gunshot goes off?
The front entrance had a slew of tatted up snitches and worried faces. A family of three was filing a missing person's report about their son, Conrad. Without missing a beat, the father of the group mentioned he was once a member of the Vice Kings. People can say what they want about the gang from Sunnyvale Gardens. Benjamin King ran the crew like a well-oiled machine... until it all went sideways.
Roy was in the center, taking phone calls and keeping a close eye on surveillance. Being Monroe's whipping boy for the last ten years, watching surveillance footage kept him alert.
"Yo Roy, Troy walked up to him, Creagan said you got somethin' for me?"
"Y-yeah, gimme a minute." He brushed him off, talking on the phone.
Roy's attitude changed depending on the day. One day he can carry himself as a model police officer, whereas another every word oozing out of his mouth would be snarky. Monroe knew of his usefulness. Roy was tasked in destroying evidence on any Vice King activity. When it came to keeping secrets however, it was a rocky trust for the most part.
Troy was too focused on the man's stocky shoulders, bulging eyes, and a police shirt that was ready to give.
"Can you at least point me in the right direction?" Troy asked getting annoyed. "I have a lot of shit I need to get done."
Roy glances his way and speaks into the phone, "Jesus... sorry ma'am, could you gimme a sec? The hell do you want, Bradshaw?"
"Creagan said an old man has an anonymous tip, but didn't say what it entails."
"Tip... oh yeah, the tip." Roy suddenly remembered. "Yeah, he's been waiting outside for the last five or ten minutes, said he would only talk to you."
"Did he give his name?"
"Nope, just said he had some information and asked for you; some smooth talkin' asshole." He said as Troy walked towards the outside parking lot. "YOU'RE WELCOME!"
The outside of the precinct slightly differed from the hostility and whispers of his peers. Streets were quiet for the first time in months; minimal gang violence unless you count hobos chasing down college kids for disturbing their nightly benders. Troy turned left walking down the steps until he came upon a classic Hollywood sedan.
The driver stood tall on the passenger side, leaving him stunned. You have got to be shitting me, he thought.
"Good afternoon, Mister Bradshaw." Manuel Orejuela greeted him. "I see you traded purple for blue. We have much to discuss."