Playa, Fresh Meat, Jefe, Boss, and a myriad of other nicknames besides 'Mute Sociopath'. Yet, all of those nicknames? His true name? Well that's hard, a blur, really. But, pushing those thoughts aside, our Protagonist gets back to thinking. He's been in this game for what? A good ten-fucking-years? Yeah, ten fucking years, since he arrived on October first. God he felt like an old man. But! He was at the top! Producing a redwood cigarette from his silk robe, he looked out over the pacific with a satisfied smile on his face. He had built a successful career for himself doing the impossible. Defeat what was quintessentially Skynet? Check. Rob an entire fucking island with his Crew? Check. Steal Military hardware? Quadruple check. Occasionally he got calls from Martin and Simeon to do the odd job with them, but he ignored them. He was set for life. Hell he even managed to set up like three? Four. Yeah four trust funds. Don't ask him why, long story and a story for another time!

Let's just say, what goes on in Sandy Shores stays in Sandy Shores. But, he was successful and that's what he cares about. Hell, besides robbing the Diamond Casino, he almost bankrupted them with his sizable gambling habit! Yet they still don't ban him from playing the tables! Buncha schmucks. Sorta made him wonder how his folks in Vice City were handling things. He inherited his Father's violent streak that's for sure. Yet, once again our Protagonist pushes these thoughts aside, as he quietly enjoyed his Redwood. Nothing can ruin this day. Nothing at all! Everything was going well— then buzz. Grunting in slight annoyance, he reaches into his robe and produces his iFruit, unknown number. It was a text message, 'THIS IS FOR AVERY!' Well shit. Then just as he stood he saw a Pounder barreling right towards him. Well this was inevitable, with a quick draw he produced his Heavy Pistol, aimed at the driver which upon further inspection he was unable to make o-

SPLAT

Our protagonist was reduced to a hood ornament, dead upon impact. But he knew he would wake up in hospital like all those other near death experiences right? Right? RIGHT? Yet, instead, he awoke suddenly and rather violently! He was in a place that smelt like shit! Quickly looking around his surroundings, he was in a dumpster, his nice silk robe gone, instead he was naked as the day he was born. Grunting, with his bodybuilder-like strength he pulls himself outta the dumpster. He needed to take a shower. He felt fucking disgusting. Guess now he knows how Lester feels, but catching his breath, he begins analyzing his situation. His eyes dancing around, he was in an alleyway. Lovely. Running a hand up and down his sides, nope, no signs of stolen organs. There was fencing leading out to a busy street, and it was dark out, which was lovely! Absolutely fucking lovely. Yet, from an entrance way along the side of the alley a man stumbles out. With a bottle of whisky in one hand, and muttering to himself in a drunken and incoherent manner. With Ninja-like Stealth, he begins his approach, but notices a recycling bin, and a glass beer bottle in it. He had learned from his ten years in Los Santos that beer bottles made excellent weapons!

As the drunken man kept stumbling around, eventually grabbing ahold of the side of the building and throwing up his guts. Poor guy. But did he care? No. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. He was now standing behind this man. He wore clothes not too dissimilar to a biker, got his patches on his denim jacket, a visored biker's helmet by his side as he threw up his guts. Raising the bottle he brings it down HARD onto the guy's head. God he felt like Jack Howitzer in the Annihilator movie. Such a damn shame he had such a dramatic spiral. But, the biker went down like a sack of potatoes and our ever so nude protagonist, like the vulture he was, stripped this poor putz of his clothing. The man was unconscious, but he took great care in not dirtying the clothes with that bastard's vomit.

Leaving the alleyway was a man in Biker regalia, standing around six foot, and in a patch filled denim jacket, a pair of decent jeans and scruffy looking boots, and a helmet with a polarized visor. His identity hidden, didn't wanna get what Uncle Lester called the 'Stars', apparently some sort of cop system where Criminals would earn 'stars' and that'd determine police response. But, the protagonist kept walking. Approaching a simple parking lot, he momentarily fumbled around for his keys, well more of a key fob. He clicks the green on it, and suddenly a copper-esque motorcycle comes to life. Huh, this looked pretty promising, he approached the bike, the metal of the bike was dark, which was contrasted by a light blue color scheme. Then he saddled the thing and started her up, she purred nicely, then he quickly sped off. Traffic was light as he pulled out of the parking lot. He took all the valuables off the guy he robbed, hell even upgraded from a beer bottle to a pair of Bronze Knuckles and a Switchblade! Today was his lucky day. Yeah everything was looking up. He was in a place with quite a lot of Urban Decay. Old worn down brick buildings, overpasses were another feature he noticed. All of this just felt so familiar yet so much more different. But, all he knew is that he wanted to get a pack of smokes. He pulled up to a Gas Station and the first thing that caused him to scratch his head is that the gas pumps weren't traditional gas pumps. Odd. But he parked, another odd feature was the signage. Like, what the fuck? This wasn't English. The characters were reminiscent of Japanese kanji? Possibly even Chinese, Georgina had been kind enough to educate him on some Chinese phrases.

Yet he pushes those thoughts aside as he enters the convenience store. This reminded him when he was an up and coming thug, hell he managed to rob twenty convenience stores in one day and escape the police each time. That in his opinion was the highlight of his criminal career. Cheap hotdogs on rollers, beer in the fridge, donuts, sunglasses rack? Yup. Everything seemed normal. Yet, the brands all seemed weird, as our protagonist made his way through the store he perused what they had. An old Asian-looking man sat behind the counter reading a book. Fucken' Nerd, well he was an old ass man, probably hiding a porn magazine with tha book. But, as he perused the selection of sweet treats and sugary beverages he didn't see the iconic E-Cola and Sprunk. No, he saw some weird ass shit instead. As he kept looking through the items on the shelf, none of it seemed remotely familiar. No meteorite bars, no Ps and Qs, nope. None. Nada. The Biker strolled on over to the cash register, the old man seemingly taking no notice. He clears his throat, and the old man looks up from his book.

"Yes?" Okay, the guy spoke English. That's good. Really good! Thank fuck he wasn't stranded in like China. Was this China? Probably not. Maybe it's Korea. Yeah, probably Korea, explains the signage and the exotic snacks. The Biker points to a pack of cigarettes, and the old man sighs. Getting up from his stool and grabbing a pack of cigarettes. The old man rang up the pack and then announced "That'll be six Lien sir." Lien? The hell? Probably the Currency of Korea. Yup. Producing the wallet he stole earlier, he takes out a plastic card? Huh. He certainly didn't know that Korea used plastic currency. He gives the man two of the Lien Cards. Seemingly this placated the Shopkeep, the Biker picked up his pack of cigarettes and placed it inside an interior pocket of his new denim jacket.

Ding

Huh, someone else entered — "EMPTY THE FUCKING REGISTER." The Biker spun around and a man in a Ski Mask, with a pistol not too dissimilar to the Hawk and Little pistol he used in his early hustler days. But this one was clearly a bit more colorful, with striking red lines running along it. I mean he did the same, but this seemingly intimated the Shopkeep who was no longer lethargic, but instead rather terrified. He was approaching his register to presumably empty it. But, he wasn't having this shit. With the agility of a Triathlete and with the strength of a Bodybuilder, the Biker socks the Robber in the face. Hard. Like really hard. Like in a single nasty right hook, he managed to send the cunt to the floor. Unperturbed, the Biker stole the guy's Pistol, sliding on the safety and placing it in his waistband. Then he stole the guy's wallet. Yeah, today was his lucky day in Seoul! Yeah, he's pretty sure he's in Seoul. Strolling on out, he approaches his bike and just drives on off - leaving a confused, albeit both terrified and grateful Shopkeep behind. The engine of his chopper roared as he maneuvered through cars, bobbing and weaving down the now increasingly busy streets. Buncha tall, very modern skyscrapers seemed to be the norm. Hell, he even saw big ole blimps! Definitely reminded him of good ole L.S. but there was still that odd feeling. But, as he drove, noticed what seemed to be more 'regional exotic flair'. From his peripherals he noticed people with animal features like ears and shit, probably just of those cosplayers that Jimmy rattles on about. Eventually, he came to a relatively deserted parking lot, and produced his stolen lighter and pack of legally gained cigarettes. Finding a nice wall to lean on, the Biker removed his helmet and he put a happy lil cigarette in his mouth and looked up to the sky as he began smoking. Stars were hard to see, probably because of the light pollution and the ever so lovely moon was cracked. Yeah everything seemed normal. Wait. Hold up, wait a minute, our Protagonist double takes and looks up at the moon. It was fucking cracked.

Excuse me for the profanity

BUT WHAT IN THE TITTY FUCK FROM CHEETAH, AVON HERTZ MEGAMANICAL SHITTERY, PRINCESS ROBOT BUBBLEGUM OVERHYPED FUCK, EL RUBIO'S MINATURE TESTICLES HAPPENED TO THE FUCKING MOON! Like what the fuck?! Did the Republican Space Rangers think the moon was housing WMDs and decided to shoot now and never ask questions?! Think calming thoughts, think happy thoughts. Yeah. Maybe he was just in something. Yeah. Medical grade morphine. This was all one bad dream. Our brave protagonist then proceeded to pinch himself. Nope. Not a dream. Well, shit? He was shit outta luck. But as panic began to set in, he centered himself. He flew out to L.S. to create a legacy for himself. Now, he'll create a legacy for himself here. He was one of the most notorious crime lords in the Western United States and by God he would restart it here! In whatever the fuck this place is. But first, he would need to make contacts with the criminal underworld. Our protagonist threw out his cigarette into a garbage can, hopped on his bike and began riding.

The Biker drove through the streets before coming across a nice little store, with big ole containers of colorful powder? Did this place sell colored coke! Hell yeah! Parking his bike, the amoral biker-helmet clad mute strolled in. Huh. Odd. The same gas station attendant was also working at this Flavored-Cocaine Shop. He perused the shelves, they sold bullets as well? Was this some sort of Ammu-Nation-Cocaine hybrid? If not he wasn't complaining. As the silent man glided throughout the store he noted that there was someone else. There was one other person in this store, a teenage girl. Probably between the ages of thirteen and fifteen if he had to guesstimate. Too enraptured in a gun magazine and music, as he quietly passed her. Seemed like one of those Emo-Goth chicks that Jimmy always going chimp brained over. Huh. This place was pretty nice, but why they allow kids into this Cocaine + Ammu-Nation Ammo dispensary was beyond him.

Then in a rather dramatic fashion, another party entered the store. Matching black suits following a ginger in an unfashionable bowler hat. Matching suits? These fucks all reeked of mafioso, and he knows from experience, his Father was one. But as he kept his head low, he heard something about finding a "Dust Shop open this late." Huh dust, WAIT. THIS WASN'T A COCAINE DISPENSARY?! The fuck uhh, what should he call this place. In retrospect calling it Seoul seemed pretty dickish. Ya know what! He was gonna double down on it. But, quickly pulling out his ill-gotten Handgun, he approached the party as they began siphoning Dust. Like a vulture, he hopped the counter, pistol whipped the store's attendant, resulting in an audible CRACK, sending the man to the floor as he began emptying the register. Seemingly surprising the Bowler Hat wearing hustler, but did he care? Nope! He quickly begins entering the register. "Say, Outlaw, would you like to earn some easy Li-" before the ginger could finish his sentence one of his men went fucking flying into the wall right next to him! There was that teenaged girl and WHAT IN THE JESUS, JOSEPH AND MARY RIDING A UNICYCLE WHEN DID SHE GET A GIANT FUCK OFF SCYTHE?! The thugs went after the Girl, and Mr Ginger-vitus shot him a glance towards one of the briefcases filled with crystals.

Without skipping a beat, he nodded and grabbed the Briefcase as he and his new employer watched the unfolding carnage. Then this teenaged Super-Soldier turned her attention towards him and his new employer. "You were truly worth every cent. Truly, you were." Then he dropped his stogie? Who wastes a perfectly good stogie! They aren't ya average pack of Redwoods that's for damn sure. No respect at all. "Well, Red, I think we can all say it's been an eventful evening, and as much as I and my Outlaw compatriot here would love to stick around. . . we must certainly get going." Then his new boss raised his Cane and a sight appeared, he aimed at the girl. "I'm afraid this is where we part ways." Then he fired like a Red Ball of energy. Sort of reminded him of his Unholy Hellbringer! God he missed that plasma-firing version of his Gunsberg Sweeper. But with that, he and his newly minted employer began running away! Bravely running away! Seemingly the teen now nicknamed Red was focused on the Store Attendant as they ran. So no contest there! After a series of ducking into alleyways, and finally climbing up a fire escape, and then their escape vehicle came. It was large and reminded him of an Avenger! First his Employer hopped on and then he seemingly extended a hand to help him up.

But, our protagonist has seen enough double crosses to know where this was going! The Outlaw with all his agility hopped on, shooting Mr Ginger-vitus a look that said 'Don't try that shit.' As the door closed, he shot a glance to a third party. A woman in a rather attractive looking red dress, with long Raven locks, and fiery orange eyes. "Roman, was the job successful?" Roman that was his name? Huh. Didn't look like a Roman, and he knew a Roman! Guy liked bowling too much. Not that he blamed him. "Partially, our hired help from Juniors performed horribly! But, we did manage to abscond with pure uncut crystals." The Biker held up the briefcase, and opened it revealing a series of crystals. "And I traded those idiots for a new model of Henchman, Cinder, might I present you to this Vulture I acquired, he robbed the store while we were stealing Dust, clever bugger? Doesn't speak much however." To that he nodded, seemingly confirming his statement. "Maybe this is Neo's long lost older brother? Bu-" The woman named Cinder shot a glance to her underling, shutting him up. He closed the briefcase and handed it to her. "Hm, seems sturdy enough, probably won't back-talk." Cinder states, and that she was right, he was Six Foot, and was built sturdy — all natural not like Brucie, god certainly not like him. He didn't use bull shark testosterone. But that did give him an idea for a business venture. "Would you like to help us win a war?" Well shit, why did he have a feeling he couldn't say no now? Cause he most certainly wasn't a fortunate son.