Saints Row 3 Love (Rewrite)
Prologue: Introduction
...
Author's Notes/Comments: "If you have not played any of these games nor know who is speaking in a dialogue format, I suggest and/or recommend you play and follow the original plot of the Saints Row Series as a whole. However if the readers are here because you are interested on seeing either the sequel to Saints Row 2 Queen, or just interested in this one as a whole, feel free to give it a show. There are a few small disclaimers though: the main character in the story is referred to as a she/her, check out the first story if you want to; I do not own Saints Row The Third nor do I represent it, I grew up on the game and I have wanted to show my interest of having an idea by showing the works; lastly, always give feedback, positive or negative. That is all, see ya."
(_-_)
There was a time where I thought my life had no meaning. A life where I would just do whatever it takes to get the job done, whether it be preparing my Saints for a gang fight, escorting, robbing stores, or just shit in general; no matter what I do in the world, it would mean absolutely nothing. I used to think that, and deep down inside, I still believe that, but not until my friend says otherwise. A friend who is my crush, but more than like friends with benefits: Shaundi McTovin. She helped me see sense, and come to terms with myself on so many levels. Speaking of which, my crippling depression. I don't know how she does it, but my god that woman is dedicated on pushing herself to the bone when it comes down to helping others. It's probably why I have so much sympathy for her, I genuinely care about her, and I'm willing to do right by her. Jesus, I'm such a hopeless romantic…
Anyway, enough about her. I've already dealt my rough patches in Stillwater and I'm not about to relive it talking about Shaundi. So, what exactly was I ranting on about? Well, this was the time where I got caught with my pants down. Er, no, not literally. I meant in a sense of Josh, Johnny, Shaundi and I were doing a heist, in Stillwater. There were these people dressed in suits. Black suits and pink ties. Hm, I remember the girls there too. Cute ones. They look… Asian? I could have sworn they look French. Regardless, we fought, we killed, and as soon they were dead, this bastard Josh Birk pressed the alarm underneath a desk to not only open the vault, but to alert every policemen, including SWAT teams to come here as fast as they can. It didn't take too much time either, we've all struggled, but we're the Saints. We don't know what quitting means in our book. For a while, our helicopter came through, I used the hook when it came down to attach the vault before lifting myself on top of it for higher elevation. It was difficult trying to survive while being shot at but luckily the SWAT can't exactly get a clear shot, what, with my life flashing before my eyes as I'm swinging from side to side as my Saint trying his damnedest to keep the chopper steady.
Unfortunately, it didn't last long, though I managed to kill a number of SWATs, and the moment I gotten into recovery, you know, laying flat out on my back because of how exhausted I was during all that… There was more incoming and surrounded me with guns pointing directly at me. Like, yeah, have the guns point at me at my most vulnerable position: exhaustion.
They rounded up Shaundi, Johnny and me to be put in jail. Last I've checked, I paid them since last month, but somebody paid them top dollar to throw us in jail… because otherwise we wouldn't be in here.
What happened?
We got arrested…
No, to us… Birk's right, we trade our d*cks in for p*ssies… Seriously, movie deals? Commercials? The Saints name used to mean more than body spray and some ass tasting energy drink…
Our brand's worth a shitload of money…
Sigh, is that what it's all about?
As the light peered into the room of our holding cell, those same posses came from behind the door as they entered in, the gang in black and pink suits, they got some red in there somewhere but it's mostly pink.
It's always about the money, Mr. Gat, which is why our employer wishes to speak with you.
If you'll indulge us.
And to think I didn't think it'll get any better, my childhood friends were there. Of course I didn't tell Shaundi or Johnny about it because my past is too horrid to even comprehend, considering starting a conversation about them without crying is hard enough; however though, when it's the DeWinter Sisters, no matter on how this Syndicate bullshit operates, I'll drag them out and into the light. Viola is always the strict one, consistently following orders no matter the task, and Kiki is the babiest of the twins. I kept my mouth shut and said nothing. Not even batting an eye to look at the twins, so actually I pretended to be oblivious to the situation and headed to a location in Stillwater: Wardill Airport.
In the skies soaring through the city of Stillport, I would know it'd be given our other heist mission included this new city. Inside the cargo plane, we were tied to the chairs as the man turning in his swivel chair like some cartoon criminal mastermind would do, with a little bit of sipping his wine and twirling his mustache. Those classical villain shitheads. He was an old guy too, and he got both Viola and Kiki on each side representing that he has all the power and loyalists to withhold. Gotta give him props where credits due, but this is just getting ridiculous.
You have any idea on who you're fucking with?
But of course!
Boss…
Shh, I got a plan…
Ok, I'm trusting you…
A remarkable likeness. These visions here are Viola and Kiki. And I am Philipe Loren, chairman of a multinational organization called the Syndicate.
Never heard of it…
Evidently not, or you wouldn't have robbed our bank. Perhaps you wonder why you're still breathing at this point.
Actually, I wonder why my foot's not up your ass at this point.
Like it or not Mr. Gat, our organization is expanding into Stillwater. I am offering you a chance to leverage your assets against your lives. Ladies?
As he stood up to show us a chart of the Syndicate and the Saints' record of how our money comes into our pockets, I pay close attention really carefully. I still do the financial work and analysis, but I barely got the investment and time to do everything.
You may continue to operate the Saints/Ultor media group as you see fit, in exchange for 66 percent of your monthly gross revenue.
That is before taxes of course.
An approximately 33 percent increase of our financial resources and they have an average 66 percentage. Once we're out of the plane as the Syndicate continues to increase in market value and profitability, they'll reach heights that the Saints can't even reach. In all honesty, I like the DeWinter Sisters a lot, but they need to get the fuck out of this gang, and come join me. They'll be happier, more freer than this man keeping them hostage. They know and studied economics more than I do, and they can join up with me to maintain a positive outlook for the Saints; plus the PR department handling our business well, we only need more people. Now, with that said, at that moment I was more pissed about the shit he threw at us, and I wasn't about to keep this d*ckhead run his mouth just because he's top dog.
Listen you French fuck…
Please. I am Belgium.
So make yourself a fucking waffle! We're done here!
Hmm, and I had so hoped to come to a rational business agreement.
As one of the goons held up a gun to my face, Johnny broke out of his capture and manages to break free, kill a bunch of them before getting us out of this tight rope.
Boss, you gotta bail!
No, not without you!
What, like a dozen guys with guns? Heh, I can take them!
What about the plane?
I'll drive it back to Stillwater!
Johnny, you can't even drive stick! How are you gonna drive a plane?!
Details, details… Just cover the Boss! Go! I got this!
As Johnny saw the opportunity to grab the gun from the Morningstar, shoot him, and got us to escape out the back way. I am worried for him surely, but Johnny's a big boy. He can take care of himself and outlast longer than any Saint possibly could.
Shaundi and I have no weapons the moment we got free. The coast wasn't clear so we improvised by beating the living shit out of the Morningstar to see if they got any weapons on them to snatch and grab. Pistols, only. I didn't mind. It was to clear out most of the Morningstar to provide a safe entrance for Johnny to make it back to Stillwater. Lastly, I grabbed a parachute for safekeeping as Shaundi saw the intercom on the wall, telling Johnny that we were about to jump. From the inside of the com, there was an interference wrestling on the other side, signs pointing to Johnny as he continue to struggle and kill every ounce of Morningstar in there. For a brief moment as Johnny was about to address he was going to see us back in Stillwater, an abrupt gunfire was heard and was cut off from the call. "Johnny?" Shaundi was shocked, and sadly scared. I didn't hear much when I was there because of the plane's carrying cargo and vehicles, while having plane turbulence, Shaundi heard all of it from her perspective.
But no time like the present, I grabbed Shaundi to jump out of the plane and eject the parachute to fall down carefully and slowly. She was in my arms, silent, holding onto me tightly. He was gone. Dead, I assumed. I want to believe he is still alive up there, because it takes more beating, it takes more guns than to kill Johnny fucking Gat. "He's gone, Boss. I… I don't know what to do." I kept Shaundi close, and made this my number one priority for stopping that guy: Philipe Loren.
We will kill him. Don't let his death be in vain. We will avenge him.
She nodded slowly as her tears came down; her body trembled the longer I held her in my arms. I specifically told her to have all that anger she had before and dump it into the Syndicate, and the Morningstar.
"Gentlemen, negotiations were… less than successful. Viola and Kiki will spread the word: Stillport belongs to the Syndicate, and the Saints are not welcome. Mr. Killbane, gather your Luchadores and bring me the leader's head. Mr. Miller, hack into the Saints' bank account, and leave them nothing."
To Be Continued…
Extra Details: (Appearance)
Saints Row 3 & 4 - Character Customization: Isabella Lycian
(Body): Sex: Female. / Race: Caucasian. / Build: Strength 22% & Fat 7%. / Skin: Caucasian 5. / Age: 0. / Sex Appeal: 22.
(Face): Features: Mole 3. / Crown: 50, 78, 55, 50, 20, 0. / Forehead: 95, 50, 50. / Brow: 50, 15, 45, 55, 70, 60. / Eyes: All 50 Default. / Eye Color: Blue. / Ears: All 50 Default. / Cheekbones: 50, 45, 15, 55, 45, 20, 50, 50, 50, 45, 50, 50, 45. / Nose/Mouth/Chin: All 50 Default. / Jaw: 50, 40, 50.
(Head): Hair: Cheerleader. / Eyebrows: Tapered Back.
(Makeup): Eyeliner: Punk Liner.
(Personality): Voice: Female 1 (Laura Bailey). / Compliment: Chest Pound. / Taunt: Nope.
