jorben jackson

+1 Agree entirely with Demonmit1 couldnt have said it better myself. Its crazy that in my timezone I have to walk from DOC to the city to do anything because there is ONE singular taxi AFK salary farming.

Autobiography of Donnie Whitman Age: 88 Born: Yukon Territory, Canada Name’s Donnie Whitman. Born way up in the frosty guts of the Yukon Territory back in 1937. Back then, winters were colder, people were tougher, and nobody cried over politics because we were too busy surviving wolves, frostbite, and outhouses that froze shut in January. I ain't much of a talker, but if you’re reading this, you’re probably curious how a frozen-blooded bastard like me made it from the snow-covered pines to the streets of Los Santos. So here’s the short version... and the truth, no fluff. The Wars That Shaped Me I enlisted myself in the Navy before I was even of age twice. First time was World War II. I was too young, lied on the paperwork, but they needed bodies, and I could hold a rifle and keep my mouth shut. Second time, it was Vietnam. By then, I was older, meaner, and had less to lose. That’s where I met Robert McCabe and Joey Weiner two damn good men. Robert was a field medic who patched up more souls than most priests. He saved my hide after shrapnel damn near gutted me. I owe him my life. Joey? That guy’s a wild card. Smart, reckless, and always talking about how war was just a chessboard for the powerful. We laughed a lot back then, in between dodging bullets. Home... or What Was Left of It After Nam, I figured I’d head back north. Try and build something. Had a wife. Thought we’d grow old together. She had other plans. One day, I come back from picking up some parts in Whitehorse and she’s gone. No note, no call. Just gone. Took the ferry to the UK to “escape the libtards,” or some nonsense like that. Guess even the mountains couldn’t keep politics out of a marriage. Old Friends & Dirty Streets Back in the Yukon, I met up with Jeffery Stein again. We go way back, used to get into scraps behind the old general store as kids. Jeffery never grew out of trouble though. Real slick with words, too slick if you ask me. Always sniffing around places he shouldn’t, especially young girls, which is why I kept my distance. I don’t like rats or creeps. Still, we shared history, and history has a way of keeping people linked even when they shouldn’t be. When the North got too damn lonely, Jeff and I packed up and headed south. Way south to Los Santos. Don’t ask me why. Maybe we were chasing the heat. Maybe we were chasing something we lost in the jungle. Reunited and It Feels... Complicated Wouldn’t you believe it first damn week in LS, we run into Robert and Joey again. Felt like the universe had unfinished business. The boys were already knee-deep in their usual mischief running schemes, stirring up locals, probably drinking too much and sleeping too little. And me? I’m just along for the ride now. My war days are over, but trouble still finds me. You can take the boy out of the Yukon, the soldier out of the war, but you can’t take the fire out of an old dog’s chest. I’ve outlived damn near everyone I ever loved, and yet somehow, here I am ripping through the streets of Los Santos with ghosts I never buried. Final Thoughts I don’t know how many days I got left. But I’ll tell you this: I ain't dying quiet in a bed with tubes in me. If I go, I go loud, I go laughing, and I go knowing I lived the kind of life no coward could understand. And if you ever run into Joey, Robert, or even Jeffery... tell 'em Donnie's still got one good fight left in him. — Donnie Whitman Los Santos, 2025

--LONG LOST BROTHERS-- Growing up, I never knew my mother. I don’t even know her name. My father was nothing more than a ghost, drifting in and out of my life so inconsistently that I barely remember his face. I spent most of my childhood bouncing from one temporary home to another, fending for myself in ways a kid never should have to. As I grew older, I learned the streets better than I learned my own name. The choices I made led me straight into the arms of the law, and eventually, to a cell in Los Santos Correctional Facility. That’s where I found myself locked up with Cooper Chapel. But unlike most of the inmates in that place, I already knew Cooper. We were both part of an underground organization called The Shadows. I had worked with him before, trusted him in ways you trust someone in the life we lived. But we had never talked much about our pasts, never gone beyond the surface. We were brothers in the organization, but as far as I knew, that was where the connection ended. One night, after weeks of serving our time together, Cooper let something slip that changed everything. He told me his last name wasn’t really Chapel. It was originally Jackson. That single admission sent my mind into a whirlwind. Could it be? Could I have had a brother this entire time and never known? I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but deep down, I felt something shift. A possibility I had never dared to consider before. Months later, after we both finished our sentences, we met up at Pillbox Hospital in Los Santos to take a DNA test. I tried to play it cool, but my hands were shaking when they took my blood sample. We waited, trying not to think about the what-ifs. Then, the results came back: positive. Cooper and I weren’t just related—we were full-blooded brothers. And I was the older one by five years. The revelation hit us both hard. All those years, we had been out in the world alone, not knowing that we had each other. We had grown up separately, facing struggles neither of us should have had to endure, all because of decisions that had been made before we even had a say in them. The next question became: what the hell happened to our family? Cooper and I made a pact that day. We were going to dig into our past and find out the truth—who our mother was, why our father disappeared, and what really happened that split us apart before we even had a chance to know each other. Our journey to uncover our history is just beginning, and we don’t know what we’re going to find. But one thing is certain: we found each other. And for the first time in my life, I’m not alone.

--BACKSTORY-- I never expected to find purpose in an organization like The Shadows. My life, up until that moment, had been a collection of disappointments, survival instincts, and an endless search for belonging. My name is Jorben Jackson, but my friends call me JJ. This is the story of how I found my path in a world that had abandoned me. Growing up in North Yankton, I never knew my mother. I don’t even know her name. My father was nothing more than a ghost, drifting in and out of my life so inconsistently that I barely remember his face. I spent most of my childhood bouncing from one temporary home to another, fending for myself in ways a kid never should have to. I was a good-for-nothing kid, lost in a cold and unforgiving place, scraping by however I could. When university time came around, I knew I needed a change. I flew to Toronto and enrolled in a locksmith engineering program. I wasn’t the brightest in my class, but I made it through, graduating at class average. After that, I wanted a fresh start in a warmer place, so I moved to Los Santos. That’s where I met Darrel and Mutunga—two guys who would become more than just friends; they were family. One night, everything changed. Darrel, Mutunga, and I decided to cook drugs out in Sandy, north of the city. That’s where we met Theo and Frankie. At first, I was skeptical. I didn’t trust anyone outside our circle, and I thought they were there to rob or hurt us. But I was wrong. They were different—smart, calculated, and, most of all, genuine. Instead of turning on us, they invited me to join The Shadows. For me, The Shadows weren’t just some criminal outfit. They were a way to fight back against the system—a system that had failed me since childhood, that had put me on the streets and separated me from my family. I had always been searching for something, and now, I had found it. Being a part of The Shadows changed everything. It gave me resources, a purpose, and most importantly, people I could count on. The organization became my new family, one that accepted me for who I was and gave me the means to carve out my own destiny in a city that chews people up and spits them out. Now, at 30 years old, I look back at the path that brought me here. From a lost kid in North Yankton to a locksmith graduate in Toronto, to a street-hardened survivor in Los Santos—I have lived through more than most. And yet, my journey is far from over. The system turned its back on me, but with The Shadows, I finally have the power to push back. This is my story. And it’s only just beginning.