Def Jam Vendetta


Foreword: Hello, my readers. Recently I had started playing "Def Jam Vendetta" and thought what if I could do an adaptation of this game. This was one of my favorite games during my teen years and playing it again made me feel like a teenager again. It still holds up to this day.

Let me also say this: Although the game was rated T, this will be more explicit in terms of language to go with the environment. It will also be more violent. Not in the sense there will be gunplay in it, but rather brutal melee violence, which brings me to another change.

This will be similar to "Def Jam Fight for NY" in terms of environments and style. So while there will be some wrestling involved, it will be mainly street-fighting, because that's what would go down in a brawl like the games depicted. I will also change up descriptions of some of the venues from Vendetta. I may also include characters from "Fight for NY," as well as venues. I also will refer to some of the real people by their character names. For example:

Method Man as Blaze

Redman as Doc

Christina Milian as Angel

You get where I am going with this? I hope you do assuming you have played the Def Jam games.

Regarding the use of real-life celebrities here, they are going to be fictionalized versions of them, not the real thing.

Feel free to ask me some questions about this. Enjoy!


"Used to be, you wanted to make yourself known. You proved your worth as a street fighter or hustler. We don't fight out in the streets no more, we organized now. We're too gangsta for the Gardens, so we've taken it underground, inside.

I'm a businessman, and this…is my business. My soldiers are legion…

Method Man, N.O.R.E., Capone, Luda, Redman, DMX…

You want a shot at me? You got to make it past these brothas.

It's a dangerous world out here. It seems like every time I turn around there's another young buck wants to take me on.

I lay down for no man. You want to take what's mine? You got to beat me.

But NOBODY…EVER…BEATS me."

-Darrell "D-Mob" Lewis


It was another night in the Bedford Stuyvesant district of Brooklyn, New York. Inside Club 357, a well-known hotspot for people not only people to get their drinks on, but also to see some bloodshed in the ring.

This was home to many fights that take place. Every so often, this venue hosts cards with some fighters out to prove themselves, as well as some of the best up-and-comers to prove their own worth in the underground fighting circuit. Tonight was no exception.

With the blue and white lighting glaring over the ring at the center and also the booths on the sides and tables for patrons and spectators, it gave the place a unique feel. What was odd, however, was that the walls had busted wall paper that some areas had displayed bricks under the ripped up wall paper. One would think that the owner would have the money to get the walls fixed.

In fact, the underground fighting world had become so huge in New York that there were a lot of fight arenas set up all over the city, some of which being the unlikeliest of arenas, such as an old church, a warehouse, and also a train yard underneath the Brooklyn Bridge. One could wonder how illegal fights became such a big deal in NYC.

Enter Darrell Lewis, known on the streets as D-Mob. Standing at 6'6" with a muscular build, shaved head, a beard, and most of all, the kind of glint in his eyes that if you stare at him the wrong way, you would be lucky enough that he would let you live. But D-Mob usually abided by a code of the streets – money, power, and respect. With him, though, the line was blurred between the difference of fear and respect, as it was hard to tell.

Growing up on the streets of Baltimore, Maryland, he had turned a neighborhood corner into a network of hustlers who worked for him. When he came to New York, he was already a true crime lord with enough money, power, and respect that had New York at the palm of his hand, buying clubs all over the city, running illegal fights and gambling operations out of them. It was only a matter of time until he grew a large and loyal crew of followers, held together by mutual respect and a code of street ethics.

D-Mob sat back at a table with a beautiful young woman named Angel Rodriguez by his side, a singer D-Mob dated and had perform at some of the clubs he owned, including 357 when the stage was open for live music.

Angel was D-Mob's girlfriend. Some three years prior, Angel used to be with a man who was a well-known fighter in New York's fight circuit. However, D-Mob had driven that man out of the fighting world and took Angel for himself, with promises of fame and fortune, as well as having connections with record labels to sign her. There had been times when Angel questioned why she was with D-Mob, though, as for a while she felt like she had been used as arm candy, a pretty face for the powerful crime lord to show off for men to envy. She sometimes wondered if those promises at a record contract were false.

Also by his side were two of his high-ranking members of his crew, Blaze, who was his crew's adviser, and Sticky, one of D-Mob's top fighters and war chief. To top it off, he had three bodyguards in the form of Pockets, a scrawny young African-American man with an orange bandana wrapped around his head, a hoodie, and another orange rag wrapped around the left sleeve of his sweatshirt. Another was Snowman, a Caucasian man with dreadlocks, an orange bandana around his head and also around a leg of his pants, and also dragon tattoos on both of his arms. And finally, House, a massive African-American man who also rocked the orange rag. One wondered if D-Mob had connections with a street gang that had the orange as part of their flags.

The entire crew at that table observed what was going on inside the ring. There was a young bald man in a white tank top and was heavily tattooed and had a cast on his arm. He stood at ringside shouting at one of the fighters in the ring, "Come on, Baxter! I got money on you! Don't let me down!"

D-Mob smirked at this man with a little nefarious glare in his eyes, like maybe this man would be of no use to him anymore very soon. He knew that this man was up to his usual tricks. While Angel sat there and looked at the man with some concern, and Blaze looked on so calmly. However, Sticky leaned over towards D-Mob and whispered, "Looks like Manny ain't making shit tonight. You want me to take care of him after this?"

D-Mob shook his head, "Nah, not yet. It's not time for that. Manny knows what's up."

Angel turned towards D-Mob, "Are you sure, baby?" The way she said it, she seemed to be a bit concerned for Manny. She knew Manny was in debt with her boyfriend, but she also knew what he was capable of.

"Oh, don't worry, I have him right where I want him." D-Mob then smirked some more. You don't get me my money soon, my boys will be putting your ass out in the Hudson when they get through with you. He thought.


For Manny Gray, this was just another one of those nights where things didn't go his way. A tattoo artist by day, numbers-runner and street-fighter by night, and a gambler all around, but currently, he wasn't fighting because sometime prior he had suffered a broken arm from the last time he fought.

Manny was born in Boston, Massachusetts but moved out West to California when his mother died. He had many brushes with the law and was sent to prison for two years on an armed robbery charge. During his time in prison, he met an associate of D-Mob, who set him up with a job in New York when he got released.

Manny shout at the fighters in the ring. He bet on Baxter, a man who dressed like it was still the 1980s and fought against Iceberg, a retired pimp from Miami, Florida, whose real name was Mack Parker. However, Iceberg got the upper hand on Baxter, who still put up a fight, but it wasn't enough for Manny to win his bet.

"Oh, come on!" Manny yelled. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

One of his worst habits was gambling. Manny had gone in debt and had fought a lot to pay it back, but his arm injury prevented anything like that from happening. So he resorted to betting on fighters to see if they can give him some money to get closer to the debt he owed.

Drops of blood spread throughout the ring mat. Both fighters were bruised. Looking down, Manny sighed in regret over the choice he had made while he saw Iceberg celebrating in victory as a few women climbed into the ring to approach him. Iceberg wrapped his arms around the women and continued to celebrate as Manny shook his head. What could be done now? This was not his night. It was just about to get worse now, too.

He looked up and saw a tall and muscular man in a snazzy pinstripe suit while he wore an overcoat but both of this man's arms were out of the sleeves. Accompanied by a beautiful young woman, as well as five men, but three of them stood out as they looked like street thugs, this man approached Manny.

"Looks like you lost again, Manny. Where's my money?"

Manny gulped, took a deep breath, and the only other thing he could do was look at this man in the eye, but hopefully this man won't be the last thing he would see.

"Oh, hey, D-Mob," Manny said timidly. "Look, just give me some more time, okay?"

"Sure, sure, you wouldn't want anything bad to happen, now would you?" D-Mob pulled the lapel from his suit jacket to reveal a gold-plated Beretta. One could wonder if he had that gun custom made or if it was spray-painted that way to look like that. Whatever the case may be, this suited the man perfectly.

Manny trembled. There was no way to negotiate here. He knew he was high in debt, especially with this man right here, who was powerful and well respected. This man ran the fighting world across NYC and had a lot of men working for him in various fight clubs across the city. Manny was just one man who owed a lot of money and had a broken arm. He was unfit to fight at the moment. He couldn't draw tattoos on people at the moment, either. D-Mob could take over his tattoo shop, but there was one thing worse than that and Manny was not about to risk that anytime soon.

"No, I wouldn't want anything bad to happen," Manny said.

"Good, good." D-Mob smiled. "You just need to figure out something or else you'll be six feet deep really soon." D-Mob gave an evil grin.

Manny knew he was as good as dead if he didn't pay his debts soon. There had to be a way out of this, but what was it?


Out in Corona, Queens, lights shined brightly on the pavement from headlights on cars and motorcycles with many people stand around watching as a motorcycle pulled up to the delight of spectators with a few other bikes behind that motorcyclist. It appeared that was the finish line. How does a city known for its heavy traffic have the streets open up for illegal street racing? A mystery that only so few people can solve.

The bike slowed on Roosevelt Avenue as it passed a known bar called "The Limit," where it was rumored to have a street crew running that place. The first place winner straddled his bike, raised his arms up in the air in victory while the spectators chanted "PROOF! PROOF! PROOF!" The motorcyclist lifted his helmet as it slide upward revealing the victor of the race as he was had a goatee, dark skin, and small dreads. His hair was short, but the dreads would be noticeable if he grew his hair longer. This man was Erick Jackson, known on the streets as "Proof."

"Thanks, everyone, hold your applause," Proof said.

Born in Los Angeles, California, Proof was a true adrenaline junkie and loved anything that gave him a thrill. He started racing motorcycles when he was younger, such as dirt bikes and ATVs, as well as regular motorcycles when he got of age. He had entered the US Superbike circuit when he was 19 with all of that experience under his belt. However, he was known for being reckless, especially when doing stunts on the track. Proof was responsible for a crash that ended the career of another racer and was handed a five-year suspension.

Now that he had been on the street racing circuit, he felt good to be doing what he loved all over again. He felt he didn't lose his edge after being suspended from the more legitimate superbike circuit.

When several groupies surrounded him, another beautiful young woman approached him.

"Back up, this man is with me," said a young woman who looked to be mixed, with black and some European ancestry. She approached Proof and looked him in the eye. This woman was named T'ai-Monique, an auto mechanic by day, although one would not expect that at first glance with the way this woman looked. Never judge a book by its cover. She had met Proof when he took one of his bikes to get looked at one time, then it led to more times, and then finally it became clear to both parties that he faked needing something to be serviced or that she needed to check on something, as both of them wanted to see each other more.

"My trophy," he said and hoisted her while he hugged her and gave her a kiss.

"Great race, baby, come on, let's go get something to drink," T'ai-Monique said.

With the finish line right in front of The Limit, what better place could there be to get a drink? The place was known for bar fights, but it was not like Proof could hold his own in a fight. In fact, he was known for being in the fighting world at one point.

The thought occurred to him, though. While he and T'ai-Monique would go and celebrate, it was possible that a fight would break out in the bar, whether it would just happen or if it was organized. Was this giving him flashbacks to another time in his life?

"Okay, I'm down for a drink," he said. "Let's go."

The Limit was a roadhouse bar with a rowdy crowd. Entering through an old school saloon-style gate, inside the bar was glared from the ceiling lights, a neon light of a rooster on one of the pillars and a jukebox right next to the gate. Although the bar was the first thing on the left, the main floor was kept clear for some reason, especially on the other end with a pool table there. Why was the floor kept clear?

After they got into their stools at the bar, as soon as Proof order himself and his lady some drinks, a voice was heard on the speakers announcing what would be a match of some sort in the bar.

It looked like a fight was about to start. On one end, one guy who looked familiar to Proof looked like he was ready to fight as he took off a motorcycle jacket. In fact, he was one of the racers who took part in the race.

"Oh, shit, Dre, the fuck are you doing?" Proof said under his breath.

T'ai-Monique leaned in and said under her breath. "Something wrong, baby?" Her eyes then shifted to the main floor of the bar.

"That fool's always got something to prove." Proof looked down and shook his head. While he respected him on the track and had seen that Dre could hold his own in a fight, some of the time he tried too hard, like he had something to prove. Proof respected the man and got along with him, but at the same time, he knew that things don't always end well with him.

On the other end, accompanied by three large and hard-looking Mexican men, as well as a lovely young African-American woman, there stood a Puerto Rican man with a sneer on his face that gave off a rough vibe about him. This man was Rafael Oliveras, known on the streets as "Spider."

"Oye, let's do this," Spider said.

Proof had heard about this man. There was talk about how he was a high school basketball star but something allegedly happened to his basketball career. No one knew except for Spider himself.

Right as the fight was about to start, a beep was heard.

"What was that?" T'ai-Monique said.

The sound came from inside his motorcycle jacket. Proof unzipped it a bit and reached his hand inside to find the pocket where the sound came from. It was his two-way pager.

What? Who could that be? Proof thought. He pulled out his two-way pager and saw that the message was from Manny. Manny? I haven't talked to that fool in a minute. What does he want?

Proof pulled the top and the message read:

In too deep.

Need your fists.

Just then, it hit him. Proof sighed.

"Who was it?" T'ai-Monique said.

Proof sighed. "It's Manny."

After her eyes widened, the thought occurred to T'ai-Monique about who Proof mentioned. She had met Manny before, but Proof filled her in on some of the trouble he had gotten into. Manny may have been a friend to Proof, but he knew that he got himself into something. There was a reason he had not talked to him in months, but at least Proof wanted to help his friend in some way.

Proof turned around and saw the two men scrap in the bar. Suddenly, things started coming back to him.


Author's note: That was the first chapter. Regarding Angel's last name, I recall reading her last name being Rodriguez on the "Def Jam Vendetta" website way back when. I also still have the strategy guide, so I might give some insight to some characters.

With this being an adaptation, I might change some elements around. If it was a direct novelization, I don't think a lot of things could work from the game, so I'm going to change a few things around. I may also do different perspectives.

While Proof will be the main protagonist of this story, I will also incorporate the other story mode heroes in there at some capacity. I know I did something like that in my old Def Jam story, but I am starting a little fresh here. If I do "Fight for NY," I may do the same thing as well.

Hope you all enjoyed this. I will see about getting to the next one soon.