Chapter II: It ain't me, It ain't me, I ain't no Senator's Son
Author's note: I'm continuing this cause why not? Prefacing with that I do not own the Grand Theft Auto series nor do I own RWBY. All rights are held by RoosterTeeth and Take-Two Interactive Software. I hope all of you enjoy this next chapter, please leave me critiques, and remember! Have fun reading this.
Author's note II: Some technical difficulties with the doc manager, hopefully it's been resolved now!
He wasn't going to lie, he's been in quite a number of what could be coined as "evil" lairs, hell he even owned some, but really?! They were working and living out of a fucken warehouse?! He could judge, he was one hundred and three percent able to judge. They also didn't have any proper decoration. They had the resources for what he would learn what was called a Bullhead, but not a proper interior designer. Yet what he did notice were a large series of containers filled to the brim with that colorful cocaine stuff that turned out to be something called dust. But, our protagonist pushed those thoughts aside. His newly minted employer, Cinder, and Co-Worker Roman were talking. But, he had tuned them out, something about some gang called the 'White Fang', kinda sounds like a racist group? He then felt a slap to the back of his helmeted head and an almost not necessarily shill tone of voice "BIKER!" Within an instant, he cocked his head to Roman. "Did you tune us out?" The only response he had to his coworker was a brief nod. This elicited a groan from the white trench coat wearer, and a raised brow from his employer. "First and foremost, can you take off that ridiculous helmet? We're introducing you to your new — how'd you say — 'Co-Workers'" He grunted, and with a brief pull of the helmet he revealed his face to the world.
"That is a lot of tattoos." Cinder commented. "And an even larger amount of bruising, you look like you were hit by a semi-truck." Roman quipped, it was an attempted jab at his appearance, but he wasn't far off. He shrugged seemingly not caring as Cinder took the lead. "Don't talk much do you?" Roman inquired. He nodded, he could talk, but he was always doing work, and that necessitated total silence. His father had taught him from a young age that loose lips would always lead to the F.I.B raiding drug warehouses. Oh and sinking Narcosubs off the coast of Vice City. "You and our other mute sociopath are going to get along swimmingly! That's my prediction." Roman stated, as they reached a door, seemingly there was some conversation going on behind. Cinder opened it, and there was a couch, some gray-haired looking kid laying on it reading a comic. An almost wasabi-haired dark skinned teen reading a magazine in an adjacent comfortable looking seat. Then finally what seemed to be a short woman with brown and pink hair, notably with heterochromia, eating a tub of neapolitan ice cream, she was sat on a coffee table.
The first one to notice them was the green-haired girl. Then she began ass-kissing. Calling Cinder 'ma'am and Miss Cinder'. Cry him a river! She probably wasn't fun at parties. This got the attention of the other two folks in the room. "By oum that guy is fuck ugly!" The Comic-Book reading teenager declared, as eyes went to him, the stranger in the room. "Mercury, Mercury, that's no way you should talk to your new co-worker, uhhh—" Roman shoots a glance at him and he might as well humor him. "Bones, Digger, Digger Bones." His voice was coarse, as if he smoked a pack a week over the course of a decade. Which was categorically true. But as for the name? Absolutely bullshit, names hold power. He sure as shit wasn't gonna give his name, even in this kangaroo court of a world. Roman coughed and nodded "Yes, thank you, Digger." The newly christened Digger nodded. "But, these lovely individuals are Emerald." He gestured to the green-haired teen, who was now sitting upright. "That ball of toxicity is Mercury." Yeah, like he totally didn't figure out his name. "Finally! The best one out of these three, my right hand and better-half, Neo!" Mercury and Emerald looked rather indignant at Roman's proclamation and an annoyed sigh escaped Cinder's lips. "You two fuck?" Digger then proceeded to make a hole with his gloved hands and ran a finger through it.
"And here I thought you didn't speak much Digger." Roman huffs, Emerald and Mercury both clearly enjoying his annoyance. Neo for what it was worth was glaring daggers at Digger. "Now that introductions have concluded." Cinder sauntered into the center of the room. "The dust Job was a partial bust, we only got away with a briefcase worth of crystals." Digger could sense a 'but' and Cinder gestured over to Digger. "However we also acquired an ally in this, but those Thugs from Junior proved to be lackluster." So they rented out thugs from a guy named Junior? Interesting explains why it's so goddamn quiet. "Thus, we need to recruit some more muscle, and we have a possible ally of convenience." He didn't know much about what they were fighting for. But if it gets him paid, that's all that matters. From there he sorta tuned it all out, occasionally he heard the name "White Fang" still sounds like a Gang of Skinheads, but he didn't hear his "name", so he did not care. At least not at this moment. Eventually he tuned back in when it seemed like she was finishing. "Finally, our newest associate will work as Muscle for Roman and Neo."
With that concluding part Cinder along with Mercury Poisoning and Emerald Gemstone begin their task. Exiting the room and about five minutes later the sound of propellers whirling could be heard from outside. Digger however cocks his head towards Roman. "Well it seems like you're our responsibility, besides knocking out old men what are you good at?" Well that was a good question. "Shootin', Drivin', Running, Divin', Punchin', and Flyin'." All of it was accurate, though whenever the crew and him got together? He was average. They were all running jobs with each other since they all arrived in Los Santos. He ran with the actual breaking of boxes with drills or explosives or what have you, they all had their own codenames as well. He was Mr. Platinum, then there was Ms. Gold, Mr. Diamond and finally the man who helped him complete his first bank job Mr. Sapphire. All of 'em formed one of the most respected crews in the Los Santos area. Achieving the unachievable. He missed those bastards. He knew Gold ran a club, Diamond became an Armsdealer and his best friend? Well he started a Motorcycle Club. But him? He took an early retirement. Enjoying his life in an ivory tower with hookers galore. Yet soon enough he's drawn out of these thoughts. "Those seem vague and undefined, ya know what? We'll figure out a trial by fire! In the meantime my two nefarious Henchmen, let's make some Lien!" Roman declares armed stretched out in a dramatic fashion.
He would soon enough educate himself about the value of Lien. A cough escapes from the lips of Digger, gaining Roman's attention. "Yes, Digger?" Inquired Roman with some exasperation. "Need new threads, and time for heat to die down." The Los Santos Crimelord stated with some seriousness in his tone. "Turn of phrase." Roman clarified rolling his eyes and then he scratched his chin. Neo seemed to pout, appearing to want to be a part of the action. "And as for Threads? There's a bargain clothing store on 3rd South West Street." With those instructions noted, Digger exited the break room, and began walking towards the central exit of the warehouse. Roman was uncaring as always and went to do Roman things. But Neo however kept her heterochromic eyes on him as he exited. The warehouse was in the shipping district of whatever the hell this city was called. However there were no proper cars or bikes anywhere so he resorted to walking. Not that he was complaining (he was). But, walking the sidewalk, he was ever so aware of his surroundings occasionally seeing the odd worker. Digger hummed a tune to himself as he approached what seemed to be a parking lot. This is probably where workers parked their cars. There weren't many but quite a few.
Perusing through the Car lot like a shopper, Digger comes upon a car not too dissimilar to that of the first car he ever stole in Los Santos. That being the ever classic Imponte Phoenix. Its profile was similar to the Imponte Phoenix, yet seemed much more retro and slick at the same time? It wasn't retrofuturistic, but there were some elements that reminded him of the 1950s or 1960s. This was probably driven by some sort of manager at one of the warehouses. He approached the car and with the skills of an experienced carjacker, he slams his elbow into the window breaking the glass and unlocking it from the inside. Then he opens the door and promptly begins hot wiring it as the alarm blares. It didn't take him long. No, it only took him five seconds to get his car claimed. With the driving skills of a Street Racer, Digger drove on out of this warehouse filled hell. Coming to a line of cars stopped at a red stoplight, an annoyed sigh escapes his lips. He looks at the radio and turns it on, flipping through a few of the FM stations. Eventually settling on a random one. "This is 95.7 FM Radio otherwise known as Nonstop Pop — I'm your disc jockey Kasem Aurora, and I'm just reminding you that the work day is over, so let's enjoy some 'This will be the Day' by Father-Daughter duo Jeff and Casey Willaims."
The wait behind the cars was heinous. It felt as if he had jumper cables attached to his balls. Well not that bad but still pretty bad. Least the music in this world was a total bop. Nodding his head as he listened to the song. Drumming his fingers on the dashboard he was enjoying this. He was really enjoying this. But soon enough the traffic began moving and he felt relief, looking at the street signs as he drove, Digger kept listening to the Nonstop Pop station. The jockey reminded him of Captain Loggins and Cara mashed into one person. Eventually after a thirty minute drive, and spending another few minutes tryna find parking in a small parking lot, Digger arrived at the store Roman directed him to. The name of the store was written in the same weird foreign characters as the gas station. He didn't want to relearn how to read. Please God don't make him relearn reading as a basic skill. The reason why he was able to make it out as a clothing store was 'cause it looked similar to a Suburban. He needed new threads and he had two wallets so that should cover the costs.
DING
He didn't know why but he always loved the little bells in stores. They were fun. The store was still open, a tired looking woman with two, absolutely massive, great looking, rabbit ears atop her head. She also had some nice looking tits but, did he care about that? Yes. The bell has seemingly startled her from her drowsiness. "Welcome Sir." She greeted Digger, and he acknowledged her with a grunt. Like a moth to an open flame Digger approached a floral print shirt, a white shirt, and black khakis. He was assembling an outfit that was nostalgic for him. Always loved floral print, and he had built a pretty impressive collection of the stuff at his Penthouse. Finally rounding the ensemble off with a pair of shoes that didn't look too dissimilar from chocolate-colored Oxfords. All in all? Some decent looking threads, but that raised the question. Did he have enough to pay for all of this? Approaching the counter, he sets all the items down as the Rabbit-Woman rings him up. "That will be sixty-seven Lien." The cashier states, tired, she must have thought it odd that he was getting clothes so late in the day. Grunting in acknowledgment, producing a yellow Lien card, this seemingly satisfied the Rabbit-Woman. With his items being bagged he gently nodded along to the ambient music being played in the store.
The music of this world wasn't too dissimilar to that of his home of Los Santos. Wished there was some more Dr Dre or some N.W.A. God he'd kill for some rap, ya know what? He could probably make a killing for himself setting up a recording studio and just blatantly copying songs from his world. What would the big companies do back in his world? Sue him! Ha as if. Honestly it wasn't a bad idea. "Sir?" The cashier caught his attention. Seems like he spaced out, and he takes the plastic bag and exits the store. The warm air of the city hit him as he approached his appropriated automobile. He would need to ask Roman if he knew some Custom shops. Make this bad boy his own baby. He entered the vehicle, hotwired it to turn it back on, and drove on outta the parking lot. Turning on the radio and changing it to 95.7FM. "This is Kasem Aurora, reminding you that you're unique, and next up we've got 'Champions' by David Stardust." Our protagonist nodded his head to the guitar, as he drove. God he needed a smoke right about now. It was the literal perfect environment for one. As he came up to a stoplight, Digger produced his pack of cigs and placed one in his mouth. Conveniently for him there was what he so aptly called the "Cig hole" built into the car. Removing his cigarette he flips open the port. Sticking the death stick into the car cigarette lighter. Soon enough his cigarette was lit and he perched it in his mouth.
He drove once the stoplight turned green. He just drove. He was after all a tourist to this bizarre world. Alien yet familiar in some aspects. He nodded his head to the music as he looked at the sights, people were out and about. He occasionally saw some pigs, but he didn't give them trouble. The city was filled with large skyscrapers, and even larger airships. Bullheads flew through the air, they seemed to be the order of the day in this bizarro world. Yet, something caught his eye, a small little building which he presumed to be a bank. Didn't help that it had the Lien symbol plastered on it. This bank was in what could be described as what constituted the middle class part of the city. If he had to wager a bet, if he had another pair of hands it would take him less than five minutes to rob that joint. In and out. Maybe he could talk Roman into helping set up that Job? Probably. Speaking of Roman, the Career Criminal begins making his way back to the storage yard. Traffic was insufferable. Least he had the soothing voice of Kasem Aurora to keep him company. Yet after what felt like a century, Digger arrived at what he had nicknamed 'Cinder and Partners LLC's Headquarters'. Aka the drab looking warehouse. "This is Kasem Aurora signing off for the evening, and to make it an excellent evening for you folks, I present to all of you 'You can't stop me' by King." Digger remained in his illegally gained automobile listening to the wonderful music. Three minutes just absolutely vibing. Three minutes of pure bliss. Yet soon enough a new song came on, and with a sigh of disappointment he turns the radio off followed by his car.
Exiting the damn fine looking car, with bag in hand, Digger entered the Lion's Den, humming a tune to himself as he walked past the boxes of dust. Grabbing the door knob of the break room he gave a turn of it, and swung it open. Roman was busy smoking a stogie and reading something on a weird ass looking device not too dissimilar to a scroll, Neo was happily eating ice cream in what could be described as the warehouse's kitchenette. "Hm?" Roman looked up from his 'iFruit Thin' he nicknamed the device. "You get your much desired 'threads'." He nodded and took a seat in the seat that Emerald Gemstone had once perched herself in. "Bedrooms?" Roman raised a brow. "Oh, uh bedrooms? Those have all been occupied, looks like you're slumming it on the couch." He's slept on worse. But yeah he could thrive in this world of wild and dramatic things.