Wolokai142

Do you know what today is? I clutched my arms tightly around myself, pulling them tightly to my form. A tremble passed through me, my lips only slightly quivering behind the T-shirt wrapped tightly around my head. Behind the goggles pressed around my eyes, tears brimmed and threatened to spill down across my face. It was a moment of weakness...yes, but one I would allow for this particular occasion. I wouldn't call it a 'special occasion', it being more so a horrific, traumatic experience, but it was an occasion none the less. What was today? The 7th. The 7th of May. Many years ago on this day, I lost you. Your name was Caroline Verona. You were 24 years old. You were an agent, like me. Your hair was a dark, stormy sea of brunette and raven. You had this smile...toothy, like your wolf mask, and just as sharp. You had this way of talking that just...entrapped people. I'm not sure what it was, but every time you spoke you commanded the attention of the entire room. The way you stood up for me in front of 'The Enforcers', staring into the bottomless pits that were the eyes of their bull masks, the way you spoke to The Matriarch to ensure I had a future amongst the agency... How you told me not to worry when we found out I didn't... Just like how you told me that we were going to get married, and run far, far away together. Away from The Blessings, away from Vice City, away from it all... But that didn't happen. None of it did. Our dreams never came true, our vows were never spoken. Hell, I still have them written down on a bloody index card in one of my dresser drawers somewhere. Why? Well you died, that's why. You were riddled and shot to pieces, beyond saving by the time I had gotten to you. I remember how my fox mask looked in the reflection of your terrified eyes, the way you pulled it off of me because you wanted to see 'Rhea', and not 'Red' before you made your way to whatever hell had awaited us. God I still remember it all so perfectly, so vividly...the tears that washed away the blood on your face in small lines, or the way your chest labored for breath. I begged, I remember, begged for you to tell me what to do, on how to save you. All you could do was smile...smile and shake your head. I remember the only direction you gave me, the one request. It was a single word, simple in concept and monstrously impossible all at the same time. "Live," You said, clutching onto my neck and cheek weakly with the last of your strength. "Live...." You grew still, your breath silent, and you stared...stared right through me. You died. Years later and here I was, standing over a grave I claimed for you here in Los Santos. I ensured it was empty of course...falsifying the ledger and the records of the plots to ensure you wouldn't be disturbed when I had your body exhumed and moved. I clutched my arms tighter, sniffed a few times and shook my head, trying to blink the tears away as I adjusted the bag over my back, the AK inside of it rattling slightly. This was no time for pain...no time for weakness, or mercy. This was a time of war, against the West Coast Assassins. And little did I know, the Irony of what was going to happen to me today would be something I would never, ever forget. As the Matriarch always said: "Mercy should not be expected." It was the aftermath of a large shootout against the West Coast Assassin's, a few hours later. We had been summoned to Grove again to join the others holding down the block for about the fourth day in a row. We had occupied the territory for what seemed like ages, enduring attacks in the very early hours of the morning. LSPD, the fucking soulless, mercenary fuckers that they were had been sitting just one or two blocks away, hands gripping the wheels and holsters of their guns and licking their filthy lips in anticipation to get in on the action for themselves. A chance to get involved with a gang war? To 'quell a threat to the city', to 'bring peace to the streets'? Who the fuck did they think they were kidding? Even Detective Collona, that bastard animal, had a HOUSE in that culdesac, in the middle of a gang occupied hood which I found all too convenient. I could hear Logan Cross's ghost laughing somewhere. Regardless of their presence, we still managed to maintain the occupation. The WCA had been talking the huge, normal amount of shit I had come to expect from any organization that stood against us, and like the others in the blue bound history books, they always met the same fate. The fighting to an outsider could've been called 'chaotic', 'horrific', 'monstrous'. Yeah, I suppose they'd be right to a degree. But to people like us, the ones fighting outside of society's boundaries and rules, or the corrupt penal code, it was different. To call us killers and murderers is fair, but to do so you'd have to have no qualms about calling the cops the same. You really think Philipe Sanchez doesn't smile when he runs down people in his cruiser everyday? But the cops, just like the WCA, were all fucking clueless, all fucking mouthy and stubborn and so absolutely blinded by delusions of heroism and toxic pride. They didn't know our history, didn't care. Maybe if they had taken a look at the chapters of our history they'd understand why they keep losing. It didn't make sense to me, it really didn't. Hours after the fighting had settled and we had run from 'The Grove', running out from the closing noose of the LSPD, we returned to occupy the neighborhood. That battle was devastating for the WCA, as had all the others with the exception of one or two in the early stages of the war. But that's what I expected from every major engagement. It was a pattern as much as it was a way of life. In the beginning of every engagement, the fighting was rough, dirty, chaotic. You had to learn the strengths and weaknesses of your enemy, understand how they moved, how they breathed, how they fought. After that, after you saw it one or two times...it was over. We adapted rapidly, we countered, we overcame. And in a week's time or less our enemies disappeared. Whether they dropped colors, fled the city or went into the ground it didn't matter...the end result was always the same. That's what I didn't understand...this is what didn't make sense to me. Before my time here...it was the Narcos, Vice Lords and such. After I came through that airport for the first time, fleeing The Blessings in Vice City it was The Irish, Rebels, Russians, and The Rooks. All of them, gone. Why didn't these people take a hint? All of them, standing up against us, talking shit, puffing their chests and spouting off nothing but open-ended bullshit with no backbone and no follow up. Are you deadass? Have you not SEEN, the bloodbath that we've left in our wake?! And it's not like we're being blinded by pride, but rather the fact that we've earned our right to have it, and to show it. We're still here, we're still fighting. WCA? They'll join the history books as the people who like the others, share the same legacy. A legacy of hollow words after running to the police, crying and begging for help and losing hundreds when we lose barely a handful. What a fucking joke. I pulled my AK from my bag, checked the chamber and posted up in my position. I could've been cringe and called it a 'fox-hole' but I don't think I'd have ever heard the end of it. My out-of-pocket ass would say some shit like that. I was responsible for watching the east side of the block, at the yards beyond the neighborhood to watch for an advance from Jamestown. They had attacked from there the last two times, last night being no exception. They lost, as they done time and time again. At this point we were entering what was called the 'twilight hours' of the war. We could feel it in the air, and see it in the numbers. The Dojin, WCA's allies in this conflict, had all but been exterminated at this point, and most of WCA's high command were already buried. They were all on their last legs but as with the gangs of the past, their stubbornness was turning this into a war of attrition that we were no strangers in knowing how to fight and manage. We were tired, but the thrill of extermination was something that always kept the adrenaline pumping. At this point I expected the large scale fighting to dwindle to a point where there was no longer any organization, that they would just group up and throw themselves at us. But we still had Jay Gamble, Bruce Wong, Carlos Rodriguez, and the rest of our Command Element. This war was over. This? This was just a mop-up, a slaughter, and a hunt. A hunt for the rest of them. One by one we'd find them. One by one we'd hurt them. One by one we'd destroy them. And in the end, just like it's always been, like it always will be, they will disappear. And we, we will remain. But remember when I said that what would happen to me today would be considered a bit of Irony? It was the end of the day, after a long, bitter struggle of hunting the last of the Dojin and WCA that lurked about in the city. I stumbled into my house, huffing softly and out of breath. My clothes were torn, soaked in blood and reeked of gunpowder. I shakily made my way to the bathroom, dropping the bag and pulling away the goggles and t-shirt on my face, the rest of my clothes being tossed to the floor in a trail to the door. I stood in front of my kitchen sink, staring at myself. The red face, the tear-streaked skin that had cleaned away the dirt splattered on my face. I stared into my eyes, looking. I don't know what I was looking for really, in those dumb, moronic silvery eyes. They were dilated, the rush of adrenaline having yet to leave my body, the monstrous stream of voices roaring through my head. I slowly pushed my fingers into my hair, gripping at my scalp as my face scrunched up in pain. A noise escaped my throat, somewhere between a cry and a gurgled whine of pain. It was too much...always too much. I don't know why the fuck I ever expected things to be different...why I thought I could be different. And yet...I always tried to live. To be different. To try and be normal because of you. Because of you Caroline, I tried to live and to be a decent person...by cartel standards anyway... And fuck...I hate you for it. I hate you so god damn much for it. At times, in my weakest moments, I even wish that you had never said anything the night you died. That I could've just held you, and you cling to me...the two of us just holding onto the hope that maybe, by some miracle that things would be different, that we would get this magical chance to go back in time and erase all the horrors we faced together, and replace them with happier, more sunny days. But no...you told me to live, and you died. That wasn't a request...that was a curse. You cursed me to exist, to breathe, to live. And when I eventually see you again, I'ma slap the shit out of you for it. I had an anxiety attack earlier, before I had gotten home. It was during one of the hunts, chasing down one of the WCA. I was flying through Sandy Shores with the pack when my heart seized in my chest. A series of flashes crossed my eyes and I saw it all before me so vividly, like I was there again. I was on the beach, days before the Irish War sitting on my knees before Dardan Mayor. His gun pressed against my head, his question of "Any last words?" ringing in my ears. The slicing of my flesh and the screams that echoed across the ocean when Jimmy Walsh maimed me. The time I had overdosed on Meth, trying to fly away from all the pain...only to nearly fly away from my own life. And the fact that Logan Cross tried to murder me that night, and his SWAT team just watched...how my hatred for the LSPD finally gained a solid form of justification. And again...a vision flashed with the scene of you curled into my arms, blood in rivers around us, my fox mask soaked in it just near us. My foot came off the gas and I looked around frantically, gasping for air. I swerved out of control, Jay's voice roaring into my ear as his car nearly flew into the back of mine. My wheel flew to the right, and I crashed into a street sign, kicking up dirt and debris. "Who the fuck was that?!" Jay hollered, his voice barely audible over the ringing in my own ears as I cut away the air bag and stumbled out of the Rebla. I huffed softly, looking around as blurs of Triad Red and Zeta Blue flew by. I turned my head slowly, swallowing dry sand and air down my gullet and heaved "Ricky...wait up for me" as I caught sight of his vehicle slowing down nearby. "Was that you Red?!" He asked. "You're an idiot," he declared "You are a FUCKING, IDIOT." I stumbled towards Ricky's car, slowly at first, and then faster, picking up my feet and willing my legs to move me. Idiot. The word clung to me. It fueled my anxiety and my pain. It carried me to Ricky's car, and into his passenger seat. I think he asked me if I was alright, but I couldn't be sure. Maybe I was asking myself that, but I wasn't sure of that either. Maybe, but in the end I don't think it even really mattered, or that I really cared. How would I explain it to him if he asked? How could I respond? He didn't know, and I couldn't tell him. There was no room for weakness. Mercy should not be expected. We finished the hunt, Ricky took me back to my car, and I went home without a word. The fighting was over for the day, and I needed a rest...I needed to be away. So I went inside, stumbled to my bathroom, and looked at myself. Idiot. He was right. He was always right. He had always been right. Flint had told me Jay saw me in a positive light, that I was amongst his most loyal members. I told him that I wish they didn't talk about me...that they'd focus on more important things, more worthwhile topics. I didn't want to be seen, or noticed. Anytime I was noticed it was always for some way that I had fucked up, or done something wrong, and I didn't want to be known for that. All I wanted, was to show Jay that my loyalty was unshakable, unquestionable, and ever lasting. Contradictory I know...not wanting to be seen but to know my loyalty would always be his. I breathed Zetas. I fought the wars, I did my part, and I persisted through the mockery and the mayhem of it all. I bled blue, I preached blue, and I would continue to do so until my dying breath. I would keep my head down, silent, obedient, and carry out the will of the hierarchy without question. And that was where the Irony kicked in. My eyes settled, fluttering for a moment as I gripped the sides of the sink and looked as deeply into my own dead irises as I could. All this pain...all this misery I carried in my life? It was because of my promise to you. My promise to live. I had pretended...so long to be alive, that I completely forgotten everything else. I had let that promise overshadow everything in my past. All of my failures, all of the torture I endured both physical and mental in Vice City, and to all the trauma I've experienced here in Los Santos. And that was it...that was the epiphany. I had spent so long trying to live, but in reality? I was already dead. The more I thought about it, the more comfortable the thought of it was. Maybe that was why I tried killing myself before the Irish War kicked off. I was dead. I was killed in Vice City, I was killed the night you died. I had been dead ever since...and everything past that, was just a lie to myself, a lie to try and keep my spirits up and my heart beating with laughter, with compassion. I wanted to talk to CRU, I wanted to talk to DOC's CMT, I wanted to get help, to try and get to some level of normalcy but...it was pointless. I had spent so much time trying so hard to hold onto and save a sinking ship, to steer myself away but...I couldn't anymore. And I would waste no more energy on it. My radio crackled from its place on the floor, and slowly I reached down and picked it up, placing it in my ear. We were being called back to Grove. The hunt was over and the occupation was happening again. I slowly moved my eyes back to my reflection, to the dead woman looking back at me. I took a hollow, shuddering breath, swallowed the emptiness in my throat, and moved. I moved with an energy, with a purpose, my thoughts cloudy and scrambled. I picked up my clothes, threw them back on, pulled the T-shirt back around my head and donned the goggles. I stopped as my hand touched the door handle, taking a moment to collect my thoughts and quiet my mind. I had to remind myself that there was no more room for emotion, there was no more room for anything. Rhea Moraine was dead. She had always been dead, dead since that night. There was only Red now. And besides hurting other people, there was something else that would come to be known of her, and realized by her enemies: "Mercy should not be expected."

I believe FD should have the rp for fighting the fire and investigating the causes of the fire before PD are EVER involved in any sort of investigation. Metagaming the calls PD get for house fires, KNOWING that they're player placed drug labs is absolutely absurd. I've heard peoples' comments of swat showing up even before FD does on standby to simply raid the house and take all of the items inside and I have to say that's neither fair nor balanced. Now, I'm not saying PD shouldn't be involved at all, because at the end of the day for balancing and realism it's more than likely going to be found out that a drug lab was responsible for the kaboom. But I think a huge ton of RP steps are being overwhelmingly skipped because of the current state of the tables and their approach by Legal factions. An explosion shouldn't equate to an immediate squad of 4 swat members rolling up in an insurgent packed with heavies and door breaching gear minutes after the call has shown up on the call board, because how in the absolute world did they know it was A) A criminal household, and B) An explosion due to illegal methods? How would they know without a Fire Department investigation? Why would they be so eager to enter a burning, smoldering building until it is cleared by FD for safety??? Give FD a chance to respond, enjoy their RP of combating the fire, investigating, and with a simple department call to IB or PD, a unit can easily come by to investigate the grounds for suspicious contraband or the like. The over eagerness to get in on shutting down these labs and completely dumping peoples' houses is being very clearly seen. While I agree with Osborn's suggestion on being smart about the materials or gear you leave in your house with the risks of explosion/losing it, there needs to be some help on both sides of the equation. It's in the mentality of it and the approach in terms of RP and making things fun and interactive rather than what most people describe as "PD vs. CRIM" attitude, and it does exist. I can't tell you how many conversations I've seen on both sides that are just absolutely laced with toxicity for the other side, and with this new feature there needs to be a coming together on how to improve things not just scriptly but in a ROLEPLAY sense. Otherwise, we're just going to continue to fester really toxic relations between legal and illegal factions and nobody wants to see that.

+1, helped restore my house up north! Thank youuuuu

+1

+1

+1 rping the actual release of inmates through this system would be beneficial to all parties. When your time is up it, the interface can let you know how many guards there are to determine whether or not interaction is possible, and likewise notify doc when an inmate is ready to be released. Through this we could escort inmates to the evidence lockers, return their belongings, and release them from the front. It makes for a much more personal scenario which would amplify the quality of prison rp tremendously.

Current ruling from what it was last discussed is that if an inmate HAS PB permissions, you can take hostages without consent if roleplayed properly. However, if inmates do NOT have PB perms, hostage taking is at the discretion of the victimed officer if they want to rp it or not. That may have changed since it was last discussed. As far admin permissions for PB, the reason you need such is because of auto-teleporting scripts that move inmates who get too far away from the prison straight back inside. You need admin commands to release people from the prison script to continue and finish the PB attempt, in addition to ensuring the roleplay of the entire situation is up to standard in quality and interaction for all parties involved. As for number of guards, in a 'realistic' sense the prison would never be 'unstaffed', and there are outlying factors such as ooc commitments and general number of staff on the roster that plays a large role in how many guards are online during certain time periods of the day. Basically we can't guarantee the number of guards that will be available in any part of the day, and we have zero control over the Prison Break system as its at the discretion of the higher admins to allow permissions and such. Only thing I can do is encourage other avenues of roleplay besides combat and hostage based. If an admin denies your permissions for an attempt, try finding other avenues of rp to engage in until further developments to prison activities can be made.

<---- Sgt. Moraine | all of your suggestions hamin have been discussed and have been brought up to devs quite awhile ago. While we are always trying to imrpove rp theres several limitations both ic and ooc that make it difficult. While stamps are a pain rnow, unless they take away the stamp conversion upon release we wont be able to hand them out, since 1 stamp = 1$ when you get out of prison. You can imagine the abuse thatd get. Id like to bring up rdm in prison as well, stating that if people randomly punch you for no reason, admins have strongly encouraged you to report it. Its a dm breach and should be handled just as strictly in prison as it is outside of it. Also, if youre not aware theres a certain ic limitation for guards to enter or be near cellblock if theres a dangerous ratio of guards to inmates. 6 inmates to 2 guards for example. While ive wanted to try to bridge the gap between guard and inmate, its a relatively unfortunate statistic that keeps us wary, since about 80-90% of times inmates shout for us its an attempts to attack us. Now while combat rp is a guaranteed part of the job, the relentless factor of it all gets stressful to some quite quickly and many are discouraged to engage inmates further because of this. Right now the general attitude that seems to be a constant these days is "if i go into the cellblock i will be attacked and taken hostage", not in hopes of rp, or investigations, or medical rp, or general inmate interaction, but that theyll be attacked. Again, not that such a thing should be a surprise but the tiring amount of times it happens is concerning. I want to get away from the stigma of guards 'processing and leaving' and have more engaging rp but sometimes theres really only 1 or 2 guards on at a time and against 8 or so inmates you are probably not going to see them for safety reasons ic. But on this note we've noticed people injuring themselves just to get guards to the block, like running head first into walls. Its NRP and gets treated as such if youre caught so id not recommend it. I don't want to sound like im making excuses because i agree prison rp needs help, but until we can get more staffing, dev work, cooperation and effort from inmates to not just focus on hostages and rdming, change wont be easy. Its our theory that we'll see dev upgrades in the next major update, perhaps in the new year, but until then all i cam encourage is patience and understanding. I believe fixes to the poker table and stamps are being looked at as well but as with all server changes and script work, it takes time and sometimes a lot of time. Your suggestions are really good though and we appreciate them!

"They call me-" ...When I was a little girl, my mother tried to tell me that there was no such thing as Monsters. I thought I had gotten things pretty figured out, being alive for as long as I have been in the kind of life that I've lived. But oh could I not have been more wrong. Everyday I am humbled, put in my place and taught where it is I stand amongst my peers and the insane society that lords over this concrete nightmare of a zoo. I want to feel as though I'm really part of a bigger picture, that I really do matter as a person in this ocean of blue stained with pools of red... It's not been an easy road by any means...my fiance' died in my arms at the hands of those that called themselves 'Blessings'. I was betrayed by Irishmen I once called 'Brother' and 'Sister', a permanent scar drawn deep into my back to remind me of my failures, and their treachery. I even tried to kill myself. The night I nearly died, I overdosed on Meth. That night, Logan Cross ambushed the people who tried to save me, and offered to call the MD, should they reveal the location of the stash hidden away in the house that didn't even belong to them. I paid the price for trying to check out on my own by way of a coma. Since that night, I've tried to live my life in 5 minute intervals because there was no guarantee that I'd be alive for a 6th. By then I had join the Los Zetas, and my future looked...brighter, but also darker. Blood would run in rivers by the hands of myself and my new family. My trials would be heavy and daunting. I knew that I wouldn't be accepted easily, that there would be those always looking down upon me with disapproval and disdain... I endured for the man who gave me a second chance at a life, who recognized not with words but with actions and observation that I was someone who was willing to lay down anything and everything for his cause. My guns were his, my bullets were his, my life was his. He told me to shoot, I shot. He told me run, I'd run. Whenever he asked if people were there ready to support him in an engagement, I made my voice heard first. "If you're fighting, I'm fighting. I've got your back boss," is what I'd tell him. Always. And I was made one of the 'Old Guard' for it. A soldier of unquestionable loyalty. A marauder of fearless fury and unstoppable firepower. I would bring his enemies to ruination wherever they chose to rear their ugly heads, and would do as he'd say without question. To be honest I looked up to him and his wife like they were my own parents. I feared them, respected them, and would deliver onto them this city on its knees before them. Regardless of what happens now...how the others treat me, how they see me and view me, one thing is clear. It doesn't matter who puts me down, who belittles me or makes fun of me or hates me...I will still rise above and fight for my people. Throw everything you can at me, and I will remain steadfast. You can't stop me. No one can. Not the badge wearing gang members and mercenary soldiers the government has put in place here to run their tyrannical police state, not the Irish, nor the Russians, Rebels, or anyone else who dares get in my way. So before you try to cast in your lots to see if you can fair better than the last people who came after me, ask yourself one question: "Do you enjoy hurting other people?" I am a force of nature. I am a Sister. I am underestimated. I am a Zeta

Context and reasoning?

He means groups that reach a certain threshold of power and numbers, like Rooks, Wanted, etc. Seaweed didn't want to be managed, now seaweed is gone. If you're a group like, 4-5 deep you're probably gonna end up in some crosshairs regardless.

I'm a writer so, maximum effort!

Part 2 of 3 ~~~ I'm not sure where it went wrong... "We're losing her!!" I'm not sure I understand why...how how... "Charge to 300!" Maybe...maybe it's better that way. "CLEAR!!!" Maybe...but in the end even I know that I can't just walk aw- A blinding flash of white light seared its way over her vision as pain ricochet through her body, her cry echoing through time and space as all went white...and went dark just as quickly. ... ... ... "E-15 what is your 10-21?" The radio crackled, Reina Moraine holding a shaking hand up over her eyes as the blinding flash of lightning above her momentarily blinded her. She blinked several times, trying to get a decent focus back into her vision. Not that it would have mattered much, seeing as a monstrous thunderstorm was raging outside of her ambulance. The rain and wind roared against the metal of her vehicle, crashing against the windshield as the wipers over the glass tried desperately to give her some modicum of a clear view before her. Alas, the end result wasn't too promising. "E-15 to dispatch," She spoke into her radio, trying her best to see beyond at least ten feet in front of her "I'm currently 10-9 on the side of the northern parts of Great Ocean Highway, near Chiliad...got caught in the storm, and visuals aren't great out here. I'm probably gonna have to hunker down until the worst of it passes." She let go of the switch, a sudden chill running up her spine as the wind buffeted against he vehicle, rocking it slightly. "Dispatch to E-15, 10-4. Continue holding position until road conditions are safe enough for you to return to the Pillbox. Update us on your status if there are any changes." Reina looked around one more time before speaking back into her radio "E-15 to dispatch, 10-4, will radio in once I'm mobile again." She sighed as she finished her radio call, leaning back in her seat and drumming her fingers against her thighs for a moment, blowing a light raspberry through her lips as the torrential downpour outside continued to angrily pelt the roof and hood of her rig. She pushed her fingers up into her hair, scratching as her scalp idly and with a feeling of mild frustration as she took her 'free moment' to try and wrap her mind once again around the radical changes and events of the past few weeks. Things were...different. Mostly bad different. Most, if not all of her friends had left either the city or the country...a major influx of immigrants and travelers had the callboard soaring out of control....and then, there was her sister. She looked over into the passenger seat, her black ALS bag resting neatly on the cushioned surface. She reached inside, pulling out a small red notebook and flipping it open to the page she had bookmarked and was referencing quite frequently. A feeling of cold dread passed through her veins, her breath feeling icy as the book fell open to the sketch of a fox mask staring straight up at her, staring right into her soul. Around the margins of the book were a sea of disgustingly messy notes and arrows pointing every which way, her disheveled investigation laid out in a haphazard display across the paper. Words like 'tracked' and 'illusive' were the more legible, along with 'dangerous' and 'unstable'. Those words left Reina with a bad gut feeling in the bottom of her stomach, frowning at the messy page. Rumors and stories she had tracked down from the various sources she contacted or met throughout the city suggested that the Fox-Mask wearer was an extremely dangerous individual. The word most often thrown around was 'psychopath', but deep down Reina just couldn't bring herself to believe it. She sighed, looking up at two words scribbled heavily in bold-like writing and circled several times. 'Rhea' / 'Irish' The more she dug, the more she was able to piece it together... She didn't know what had brought her down to this point of the road, and though she wished she could reach some other conclusion, there was little to no denying that the person under that fox mask was her sister, Rhea Moraine, especially considering that around town she was known to all of her witnesses and contacts as 'Red', her nickname from their old racing days. She had tracked her down all the way from their hometown in Missouri, through heavier parts of Vice City, and finally...here. Los Santos. Rhea owed her answers...Rhea owed her years. It wasn't like her to just vanish from the face of the planet, especially with as close as they were. Add to the fact that in their last phone call to each other, Rhea had shown major concern over a group of people sending her messages about doing...terrible, awful things. What those things were she never disclosed...but they were severe enough to make her run. She looked up after a moment, frowning. A feeling of doubt crossed her mind as she asked herself a question she had been asking herself ever since she left home to find her wayward sister: "Why am I looking for her...what would I even do if I found her?" It was a question that plagued her for many, many nights. Answers was the most obvious conclusion. Of course she'd want to know why Rhea had vanished...but the cost of those answers was something she wasn't quite sure she'd be able...or willing, to pay for. The people she had been involved in...the people she was supposedly running from, and now to find that she may have been linked to the Irish Mob? This wasn't like Rhea at all...sure she got a little rough on the race track..but the Irish killed people, the people contacting Rhea most certainly wanted her to kill people. Rhea wasn't a murderer. .....was she? She shook her head, looking up into the thunderstorm which appeared to be lightening up some. If she found her...would she still be the same Rhea she knew from back then? She wouldn't...hurt her, would she? Her thoughts crossed over to the warnings that others had given to her, supposedly from Rhea herself over the course of the past couple of weeks. "Go home Reina," The warnings always said "Go home....this is your last warning." But her drive and focus could not be shaken. If Rhea, or 'Red' kept pushing, she'd only dig her heels in further. She 'had' to know what was happening, or what had happened to bring her sister here...and she wasn't leaving until she got the truth. Looking around the landscape around her, Reina finally decided that if she moved carefully enough, she could probably make it back to the Pillbox before the storm picked up again. "E-15 to dispatch," she said into her radio as she turned the key of her rig in the ignition, the engine roaring to life and all the dials and gps buttons lighting up, her hi-beams slashing their way through the thick muck of nature's fury before her "Show me 10-9, but en-route back to Pillbox MD from Great Ocean Highway." She put the ambulance in gear, sighing softly and staring out onto the expanse ahead of her, well...what she could see of it anyway. The drive back was slow and long, her speed slightly reduced due to the weather conditions. She was about half way back when a flash of lightning blared out above her, the ensuing thunder rattling her ambulance's frame. In the split second of vision she got across the area, her eyes widened considerably. She could have sworn she saw...something, standing in the middle of the road ahead. "What the-" she started to say, but her words were quickly cut off by a gasping yelp as what sounded like an explosion echoed out from underneath her ambulance, her rig dropping in height suddenly as sparks flew up in every which direction from below. "Fuck, my tires!" She shrieked as the ambulance started to swerve and sway violently, the rain-soaked road below doing little to aid her as she hydroplaned down the road. "E-15 to dispatch!" She cried out "My ambulance's tires have gone out and I'm skidding down the road, need immediate 10-...." her words were choked into her own throat. The world slowed down as another flash of lightning streaked across the sky, her ambulance continuing to slide with an ear-piercing shriek of metal on pavement. Outside, at the corner of her windshield, a figure stared at her as she slid by. Their gazes bore at each other, an icy fear gripping at Reina's heart as the souless, emerald eyes of a fox mask stared right back at her. The ambulance roared by her as the world sped back up to normal, the rig swaying too far to the right and clipping a large rock under her ruined front right tire. She screamed as the ambulance rocketed itself into a flip, rolling out of control as it tumbled down the highway towards the seaside cliff. Finally, after a couple of flips it landed on its passenger side, skidding to a stop just before it soared off of the cliff. A ringing noise rumbled in Reina's ears as she felt the side of her head growing damp, a feeling of thick moisture running down the side of her face. "F-fuck..." she whimpered, blinking her eyes slowly as she took in the scene around her. She was hanging from her driver seat, still buckled in with her front facing back towards the road. Smoke and sparks of electricity flowed and crackled within the cabin as she coughed hoarsely, weakly reaching up to grasp her radio and whimper "E...E-15 to dispatch...how copy?" Static responded to her words, garbled white noise and nothingness. "E-15 to d-dispatch, how, copy! My r-rig's toast...n...need....I need..." her words trailed off from her broken radio, Reina starting to shake as her eyes wandered towards the front of her shattered windshield, staring out ahead. Slowly, almost with a graceful, whisp-like step...came a womanly figure in a fox mask. And at her side...she held a handgun in a firm, tight grip. "Oh fuck..." Reina breathed, trying to get her seatbelt undone, her breath picking up as her radio continued to spit out crackled nothing at her, though for a few brief moments she thought she heard the words "Location" and "Responding". At long last she finally popped the jammed seatbelt free, a cry escaping her throat as she fell from the driver's seat and crashed into the passenger side below. She groaned and with a raspy heave, took another quick look outside. The fox masked woman continued to approach the rig, her high-heeled boot steps coming ever closer. Panic started to grip at Reina's heart as she desperately started to kick the windshield, grunting and shouting as the edges of the glass started to come free. Finally, after a few heavy attempts and a wailing shout did the windshield finally popped free of its frame and crashed out into the storm. The sounds of the wind and torrential fury outside roared in her ears as she was exposed to the elements, weakly crawling out of the ambulance. The edge of the cliff couldn't have been more than five or six feet away, her sharp, heavy gasps lost in the sound of the storm as her head turned to watch the gun-wielding woman stop in her tracks, a good twenty-five to thirty feet between them. Reina slowly started to get to her feet, holding her side with a light groan as she huffed and panted from the exertion. Eventually, she managed to stabilize herself, her eyes narrowing towards the fox as she was quickly soaked through by the rain. "I told you to go home," The fox said, the mask staring towards her with a blank, deadpan expression. "I've come for my sister," Reina replied, trembling in the rain "I...I'm not leaving until I get some answers!" The fox stared at her, unmoving for what felt like the longest time. Finally, she answered "You're right...you're not leaving. That window already closed when you didn't listen to my warning." "What warning?!" Reina shouted at her, seething in pain. "What kind of warning is 'go home'? What kind of person just ups and vanishes without so much as a goodbye or without any reason!" The fox stared once more at her, her thumb pulling back the hammer of her pistol. Reina saw it, her brave demeanor faltering slightly as she also reached up to grab the muzzle of her mask. She pulled it off slowly, Reina's breath catching in her throat as the woman's face was revealed. She was different than she remembered...her hair was cut, dyed silver but with her raven roots already growing back in. She looked older...hardened, her eyes colder and more glassy than the warm, fiery power she used to see within them. "Rhea.." Reina breathed, her voice breaking as her sister held her fox mask in one hand, her gun in the other. "The kind of person..." Rhea said, her eyes narrowing "That was trying to protect you, to keep you safe..." The shock in Reina's system finally wore off long enough for her to choke out "S-safe? Safe from what?! You crashed my ambulance, t-threaten me with a gun...! If anything, I should be kept safe from you!" "You don't know a goddamn thing Reina," her sister spat, the gun in her hand shaking "You have no idea what it's been like these past years...what I've had to do, what I've had to see in order to make sure they didn't hurt you or anyone else I ever cared about." "They?" Reina breathed "Who's they?" "The people I told you about," She replied, shaking her head "The monsters I told you about that were telling me to do those terrible things." She looked down at her gun, tears starting to well up in her eyes as she went on "I was...a part of something horrible...terrifying...but I got out. I got out and I took a lot of bad people down with me." When her gaze lifted back up, Reina could see that whatever softness she saw in her eyes was quickly replaced with something...darker. "But I'm not sure I got all of them Reina..." She said, a deadly tone in her voice as the grip on her gun and mask tightened "They could still be after me...that's why I told you to go home...to stop looking for me." Reina didn't want to believe it...she didn't want to see it but she was unfortunately starting to piece together a small bit of what Rhea was talking about...and it wasn't leading anywhere good. "Because...if they're looking for me...they could be watching you." She took a step forward, making Reina take a step back "And if they're watching you...then they've been watching you tracking me..." "Rhea, stop..." Reina whimpered, taking another step back. The reality of the situation was quickly dawning upon her, and her heart started to thud. She reached up and grasped her radio, pressing the panic alarm button along the side. Rhea watched her, shaking her head. "You're a loose end sister..." She said with an even, calm tone, her gun starting to rise up. The barrel was pointed at her now, hammer cocked and finger along the trigger "And I wouldn't count on your friends reaching you in time..." "Rhea, please!" Reina cried out, holding a hand out towards her "W-why are you doing this?! Where did this all go so wrong? Can't you j-just come with me? We could both leave, right now! You could tell me everything that's happened a-and I can try and help you! We can go back Rhea just pl-" "I CAN'T GO BACK, DON'T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND THAT?!" Rhea screamed, taking a sideways stance and aiming down the sights at her sister "I have gone too far Reina! I've done shit that no one can EVER come back from! The only direction I can move now is forward, and I'm not going to let anything stand in my way of that. Not my old employers, and especially not you." The grip on her gun loosened slightly as the softness in her eyes returned, if only for a brief moment. Whatever tears were spilling down her cheeks were lost quickly in the rain as she cried out "W-why didn't you just go home...why did you come here!? Why didn't you just believe I was dead! You could have saved yourself! You could have LIVED!" Reina stared at her for a long moment, tears in equal measure running and getting lost down her cheeks as the rain roared around them. "Because..." she said, reaching a hand out towards her "You're my sister...and I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me." She chanced a glance at her ambulance before looking backing at her and muttering "Nothing more than that anyway..." "Don't," Rhea shouted, the hold on her gun tightening. "I am not your sister anymore...Rhea Moraine is dead." "That's not true..." Reina replied, shaking her head. She took a step forward, still reaching out towards her sister as she said "You're as every bit of alive as you've ever been Rhea, you're-" Her words were cut short. Lightning seared across the sky as a massive thunderclap exploded above them, shaking the ground and covering the area in a blinding flash of light. Reina blinked, looking towards her gun and at the smoke she could swear she saw whisping out of the front of the barrel. She looked down upon herself, at the rapidly blooming flower of blood spreading out across her white uniform. She took a staggering step back, her hands shaking as she cradled them around the gunshot that had been afflicted upon her. Her gaze lifted back up to Rhea, the woman looking like she was...sobbing. Her gun was shaking, her legs carrying her backwards as Reina's own staggered her form towards the cliff. "Rh-" Reina choked out, her vision blurring "Rhea..." Her foot hit nothing. The ground left her as she felt the wind whipping around her, and in an instant she felt ice. Water swirled around her as she crashed into the dark surface of the ocean below, her blood swirling around her as she started to sink. Her hair floated around her, her eyes staring up at the surface as it slowly started to drift away. Voices reached her, voices she recognized, and some she didn't. Viper's voice reached her...so did Huth's. Cooper's, Michelson's...her friends. She slowly reached up towards the surface, wanting to cry out to them as her vision caught sight of a silvery necklace floating away from her, the snake-like charm staring back at her as she felt her vision starting to blacken. Just before she fell asleep, she felt something hard and rough grasp her by middle and her shoulder, and nothing followed shortly after. I'm not sure where it went wrong... "We're losing her!!" I'm not sure I understand why...how how... "Charge to 300!" Maybe...maybe it's better that way. "CLEAR!!!" Maybe...but in the end even I know that I can't just walk aw- A blinding flash of white light seared its way over her vision as pain ricochet through her body, her cry echoing through time and space as all went white...and went dark just as quickly. "We got her...ho-ly shit we got her...keep pressure on that and get an OR prepped, stat!" She felt her body being squeezed, her vision blurred and crackling with light as a muffled and far away voice tried to reach her. Her name was being called...questions. What did they look like, could she hear them, what happened...? But the only voice that rang out clear as day...was that redhead's. That silly little redhead, the one she missed the most, the one she wished was there...but there was no one. There was no one. Absolutely, no one. Maybe...maybe it's better that way. Maybe...but in the end, even I know that I can't just walk away. ...I can't walk away. My sister is dead. I need to know why.

~Some time ago~ "And moving from the left it's Davidson, followed by Montigue and Corlene in a close third, Johnson bringing up the rear tries to swipe by Corlene but is blocked off by the neck and neck maneuvers of her and Montigue. Jameson through Sanchez are bringing up the rear and it lo- WHOA!!!! And out of nowhere its the sisters flying up from the back of the pack! Looks like that shady stunt by Sanchez didn't down our lovely ladies afterall! They're still in it!!!!" The crowd in the stands roared. The groups of people lining the various parts of the long, winding track roared. The rider Jameson roared. "God DAMMIT Sanchez you told me you nailed that fiery bitch!" Jameson swore, swerving his motorcycle around a sharp turn along the road, following the curve along to the straight away and popping the clutch into the next gear. Beside him, Sanchez rumbled up from a few feet behind, looking in his left rear view. Sure enough, two bikes of a rosy red shade were quickly closing the gap between them. In their saddles rested a woman each, each with a name unique to them. The bike on the left roared ahead of its companion, in its saddle a woman with a mane of hair that billowed around her shoulders, whapping about violently in the wind. Strands of silver flowed elegantly through a head of raven locks, piercing through the bangs at their front were a pair of eyes blazing with emerald fury. A narrow-eyed look of determination, rage, and willpower pressed against her face, her lips curling into a snarl as she passed into the slipstream of Sanchez's bike, quickly moving up towards him. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!!!!" Sanchez cried out, feeling the woman barreling up on his right. "And here she comes, eager for a little vengeance! It's RED!!!!!!" the announcer cried out as Red soared to the right and hurled her bike back left, crashing it into Sanchez's. The two reached out with an arm each at one another, scuffling and swatting where they could. Red stabbed Sanchez with a quick jab of her fist, catching him straight in the nose. He cried out, gasping and shouting as his vision blurred with tears and blood, his front wheel starting to shake violently from him trying to get control back over on his bike. Red gently moved her bike to the right, her eyes boring into Jameson's as Sanchez took a dive. His bike fell out from under him, the man crashing into the pavement. The woman still behind the pack swerved out of the way to avoid the flipping bike that sailed past her. She took a look over her shoulder, watching the carnage spill out onto the asphalt. When she turned back around, she saw that Red had already collided with Jameson, and was sending him veering to the left, right off of the road and into one of the ditches off the track. She shook her had, sighing as she pulled back on the throttle and pushed forward into the throng of racers still ahead as the afternoon sun continued to bear down on them. "And it looks like The Wildfire is catching back up, aiming to put herself in as a contender for first! Red follows up closely behind, and the battle is on!!!!" ~Some time later~ The two sisters hugged each other, patting one another's backs as they each held a stack of split cash between them. "Not bad for a day's work," Red said with a chuckle, flipping through the bills. "This'll pay for a new throttle maybe, starting to wear mine out." They shared a light laugh, the other sister going silent for a second before starting to turn away and leave. "Hey," Red called after her, a look of concern passing over her face "It's not like I had any choice out there...it was us or them." The sister turned around, her tanned skin and midnight-colored mane flowing around her shoulders like a cascading sea of darkness, her emerald eyes glinting in the sunlight. "You never have to make that choice Rhea," She breathed, eyes narrowing "No matter what, we don't ever have to cross that line to win. I never do, and you took first because of it, and it was your turn this time anyway." Rhea, or 'Red', shook her head and sighed "That's bullshit and you know it. They tried to -KILL- us out there, I did what I had to do to keep us alive!" Her sister sighed, shaking her head, pointing a finger at her and growling after a moment "This blood needs to stop Rhea...this isn't us, it never was and it never should be, EVER. Call me when you've figured that shit out." She started to turn away, taking a couple of steps before her sister shouted after her. "Reina!" Red called, her sister stopping after a moment and looking over her shoulder. There was a long pause between them before Rhea sighed and shrugged "I love you...ok? Call -me- when you get home." Reina gave her a long look before she eventually nodded and proceeded to her car, leaving Rhea alone on her doorstep. Rhea sighed, turning to walk into the door until her foot bumped into something below. Chancing a look downward, Rhea found a box resting on her welcome mat. Curious, she plucked up the box and turned it over in her hand. On the underside of the box was written in black sharpie the words: "Hello Rhea. It's time to get back to work." Gulping, she popped open the top of the box and opened the flaps, tears starting to well in her eyes as she stared at a pair of fiery eyes of a fox mask staring back up at her. "You can't run." "You can't run." "Why are you running?"