Alliance

[Pootis]

[Logan White]

 

Alliance wasn’t like other biker clubs. Their motto wasn’t “Ride and Rule”—it was “Ride and Reason.” Known for talking their way out of disputes, 
they’d carved a reputation for diplomacy in a world that thrived on chaos. But their peacekeeping mission was put to the test when a rival club, 
The Church, began poaching their members and being disrespectful.

At first, the Alliance stuck to their principles, trying to settle things with words. They sent emissaries to talk it out, 
only to have them mocked and sent back. The Church didn’t just test the Alliance’s patience—they shattered it.

One night, Ed Timpson Alliances CEO called a meeting. 
“We don’t start fights,” he said, his voice steady, “but we damn well finish them.”

The club rode out looking for the member that had defected and abandoned all loyalty to his brothers and sister in Alliance.
Once they captured him, they branded him with the letter A, executed him and delivered his dead body to the door step of the church.

After hearing nothing since the events of the previous day Alliance wanted to send another message that the 'beef' had still not been settled. The next evening, Alliance roared into The Churchs territory. It wasn’t a bloodbath, but it was swift and decisive. 
Alliance tagged every wall possible making sure The Church knew they had been there and serving as a warning that more was to come. 
They left no doubt: Alliance were talkers, yes, but only because they knew their fists could do the rest.

The following day, The Churchs leader visited Alliance HQ to discuss the fued. 
“This has to stop,” she said, her tone laced with desperation and exhaustion. “We were wrong, we're sorry, Let’s call a truce.”

Ed stared her down for a long moment, listed his terms and then extended a hand. “Don’t mistake peace for weakness again,” he warned.

She nodded, and the war ended as quickly as it began. Alliance proved they were more than just talkers—they were warriors who chose peace because they’d already mastered war.

[MrNeillio]

The Annual Lifeinvader Christmas Market was the talk of the city, a buzzing event that brought together local businesses, community members, and holiday enthusiasts at one location. This year, Mosley’s Autoshop had snagged an invite. For most businesses, it was an opportunity to spread holiday cheer and make some extra cash. For us, it was also a carefully calculated move to bolster the reputation of Alliance’s legal front.

After brainstorming ideas for our stall, we landed on something we knew would turn heads: a motorcycle helmet lucky dip. For a modest fee, customers would reach into a festively decorated box and pull out a random helmet. The thrill of randomness was irresistible to visitors.

The team took turns running the booth. While one of us handled the crowds, the others explored the market, supporting local vendors and soaking in the holiday spirit. There was a certain charm to wandering between the stalls.

But it wasn’t all just business and networking. The market had a way of bringing out the best in everyone. Even we, a group not often known for sentimental gestures, found ourselves caught up in the Christmas spirit.

As the evening wore on, the raffle tickets we sold alongside the helmets proved to be another big draw. The top prize? A custom tune-up at Mosley’s Autoshop, wrapped in a festive bow. People loved it, and we loved the chance to remind the community we were more than just a garage.

By the time the market closed, our stall was almost empty of helmets, our raffle tickets had sold well and we had met dozens of new faces. Sure, the lucky dip had been a brilliant move, but the real win was how the event brought us closer to the community. It was a reminder that even in our world of calculated moves and careful facades, there was space for genuine connections.

As the last string of lights flickered off and the market wound down, we packed up our stall, feeling a rare sense of satisfaction. The event had been a success—not just for the autoshop or Alliance, but for the community we were becoming a part of.

Edited December 22, 2024 by MrNeillio

[MrNeillio]

 

Whilst the festive season had wrapped its icy grip around the city, and the air was thick with the scent of snow and burning wood. Alliance had kept their distance during the holidays, retreating into the shadows to avoid the heavy hand of law enforcement that had been out in full force. 

The weather, too, had not been on our side. The usual roar of fast motorcycles was replaced by the quiet hum of off-road bikes, our wheels slipping and sliding on the frozen streets. There was no thrill in it, no rush. Just a need to stay low and out of sight.

The holiday season was a time for family, for a rare moment of peace in a life that was anything but. Most of our members spent their days with loved ones, others found solace in solitude. Yet, through it all, the pull of the streets and the thrill of the chase never quite faded. No one wanted to spend Christmas in a cold cell, no matter how much the temptation to hit the streets burned deep down.

As the snow began to fall in heavy sheets, Alliance's headquarters at Mosely’s became more of a ghost town than a bustling hub. Members were scattered across the city or tucked away in quiet corners of the world, awaiting the thaw that would bring them back to the grind.

With  the new year arriving, a decision has been made. The First Sunday was coming, and it was time to regroup. The cold weather might have kept us off the streets, but it hadn't dampened the fire in our bellies. Our bikes would roar again, the engines would hum with the promise of danger, and the hunt would resume.

On the First Sunday of the year, Alliance will return to Mosely’s to discuss the future. There would be no more time for silence. The snow has melted, the streets are clear, and its time to hit the road once again. The plan is simple and clear: get back to what we do best. Chopping cars. Robbing stores. Building bridges with other groups in the city, because in Los Santos, alliances weren’t just built on trust—they were built on mutual gain.

[MrNeillio]

The new year brought a fresh charge of energy as Alliance returned to their roots — finding and dismantling vehicles, turning machines into money with skill and precision. The lull of the holiday season, where quiet streets and time with family had taken priority, was over. Engines growled back to life, and the thrill of the hunt coursed through every member as they gathered at Mosely’s, their trusted stronghold.

 

The streets, once treacherous with ice and snow, had cleared, inviting speed and danger back into the mix. Alliance had felt the itch during the holiday break, and now, they dove into the rush of scouting and boosting with renewed fervor. The roar of their bikes echoed through the city as they scanned for marks — vehicles that promised high returns. The hunt was alive again, a pulse racing through the veins of the group.

 

But survival in Los Santos demanded more than just raw skill. It required diplomacy. In a world of shifting loyalties and endless power plays, connections were as critical as carburetors. Maintaining strong ties with other organizations was a matter of respect and necessity. Meetings need to be planned, exchanges prepared — each step aimed at securing our place in the delicate ecosystem of the city’s criminal underworld. Trust was a weapon, and Alliance wielded it carefully.

[Logan White]

 

The day of reckoning had arrived - The trial of Dave Ward for murder. 

It had been six long months since he was charged, and in this jurisdiction, accused individuals serve their time before they ever set foot in a courtroom. Months of waiting and uncertainty had led to this moment. The atmosphere outside the courthouse was tense with anticipation as friends and enemies alike gathered to witness the proceedings.

Originally, Dave wasn’t alone in his predicament. He had been charged alongside club leader Ed Timpson. The arrest had sent shockwaves through their ranks, but luck, or perhaps fate, had intervened on Ed’s behalf. A lack of concrete evidence and a glaring failure in record-keeping led to the dismissal of Ed’s charges before trial. Now, it was Dave’s fight alone, and all of Alliance stood by, ready to support their brother as best they could.

Inside the courtroom, tension buzzed like static in the air. The rows of seats filled with familiar faces, loyal members of Alliance and their allies, all gathered in solidarity. Across the aisle sat the prosecution’s supporters—law enforcement, informants, and those who had reason to see Dave brought down. Confidence filled the hearts of Alliance; the case had holes, the witnesses were unreliable, and it seemed as if the prosecution’s foundation was crumbling.

As arguments were exchanged and the battle of wits raged on, the scales began to tilt. Alliance had hope—a spark that justice might prevail. But hope is a fickle thing. A sharp objection from the prosecution caught Dave’s lawyer off guard. It was a technical point, subtle but decisive, and it disrupted the flow of defense that had been carefully constructed. From that moment on, the case began to unravel like a frayed rope under strain.

The prosecution seized its momentum, hammering point after point. The weight of evidence—circumstantial though it was—combined with the courtroom theatrics began to sway the jury. What had once seemed a solid defense now appeared fragile.

The final moments came with a sobering thud. The judge’s decision echoed through the courtroom: Guilty. Disappointment weighed heavily on the hearts of those in attendance. Alliance members stood in stoic silence, their eyes burning with frustration as they processed the blow. Justice had not been served. Instead, corruption and manipulation had won the day.

[lLizzyl]

 

Finally a sport was coming to Los Santos and Alliance was the one to start it!

It all started when Scarlett Pine had a fun event idea that would bring the whole city together. An idea that has never been done before. She presented it to the group as football, Los Santos style.

After weeks of planning, Scarlett was eager to test out her idea. During a quiet night in the city, Scarlett Pine and Ed Timpson set out to find anyone willing to try out the game. Ed called a few people who he thought would love the idea. They had planned to meet as soon as possible. After Ed told Scarlett that he got people together, she quickly changed into her uniform, grabbed the briefcase, and met with Ed.

After explaining the game, the group was ready to test it out. With their willing participants in tow, Scarlett and Ed made their way to the football pitch. The group split into two teams, playing the original plan. After a few games, the group threw around ideas, improving on the previous plan. The final product was created but it needed a new name. The group chose the best one, Duffleball.

With all the excitement from the games, Scarlett knew she had a solid plan to actually make her idea work!

Scarlett and Ed continued working on the event plan, creating a rulebook and sign ups. The official league name to follow, the Allied Duffleball Association.

[MrNeillio]

this week

[JDogg0417]

 

[JDogg0417]

[JDogg0417]

[MrNeillio]

 

Just as the last shutter was about to come down at Mosleys, a couple of individuals rolled up, their engines humming low and steady. The Cartel. Without hesitation, the door was locked, and the two of us stepped back inside. We knew better than to turn them away.

 

They wasted no time getting to the point. For months, they had been watching, taking note of how business was run. Alliance had kept its head down, working the garages, moving parts, keeping the money flowing. But ambition had always been bigger than just fixing cars and chopping vehicles. They knew that. And now, they were offering the opportunity to step into something bigger.

The drug game had always been a closed circuit, hard to break into without the right connections. That was no longer a problem. A direct line had been secured - ingredients, shipments, and a contact at the docks who would ensure everything moved smoothly. With this, the doors weren’t just opening; they were being kicked wide open.

But that wasn’t the only offer on the table. Tool chests, supplied directly to the shop, and flipped for profit. For mechanics like us, this was more than just a business deal - it was an investment in the future.

With a firm handshake, the agreement was sealed. There was no need for excess talk when actions would soon speak louder. As the Cartel pulled away, the weight of the moment settled in. The focus had shifted.

No longer was the goal just about chopping cars and making cash through the garage. Now, it was about the docks. Control them, and control everything that passed through the city’s veins. This was the next move. And it was time to make it happen.

 

 

Edited March 20, 2025 by MrNeillio

[crystianaxo]

 

 

The Restructure and the Run

Since acquiring new product for import, Alliance had kept a low profile. The streets had grown quieter, and it was clear a restructure was needed. A meeting was called—an internal reset to refine the crew, tighten the ranks, and prepare for the next chapter.

Ed, carrying the weight of past alliances and old loyalties, saw an opportunity to bring in a familiar face. Jessica Edwards was no stranger to leadership — once a Warlord of The Lost Motorcycle Club, she had fought beside Ed when he served as Treasurer. Their connection wasn’t just business; Jessica was the partner of Ed’s brother, Jed — the ex-Vice President of Lost MC. Ties to that life ran deep, but this wasn’t about the past. This was about Alliance’s future.

Ed spoke with Buster and Gabe, and the decision was made — Jessica would step into High Command as HR Manager, handling recruitment and maintaining order within the crew. At the same time, another familiar face had resurfaced. Alfie Sunshine, once an integral part of Alliance, had since been spotted working for Weazel News. His media influence and strategic thinking made him the perfect candidate to reshape the group’s public image and mask its darker dealings. He was given the role of PR Director.

It wasn’t long before the first test of leadership arrived.

Midway through their first meeting together, a frantic radio call cut through the usual chatter. Anthony Flesland — one of their own mechanics — was pulled over while riding a borrowed Faggio. The problem? He was heavily intoxicated, and his slurred words over the radio painted a grim picture. Ed and Jessica exchanged a glance — there was no hesitation. They called for his location, grabbed the keys, and made their move.

Arriving at the traffic stop, the scene was exactly what they expected — Anthony, cornered, looking like he was moments away from bracelets and a ride downtown. No time for discussion. The trunk popped open, and without hesitation, Anthony scrambled inside. The car peeled away from the scene, but flashing red and blue lit up the night almost instantly. A helicopter’s distant hum grew louder. The easy escape Ed had planned was turning into something far messier.

The police presence was overwhelming — five cruisers and an airborne unit in pursuit. Ed, gripping the wheel, called for a bike drop over the radio. The response was immediate. Alfie and Sorcha — one of Alfies close friends and a potential new recruit — left two bikes outside Mosley’s Autoshop, strategically placed for a quick getaway. The plan shifted. Anthony’s name was already known, his fate sealed. The new priority? Ensure Ed and Jessica made it out clean.

Approaching Mosley’s, they braced for the switch. The vehicle screeched to a stop, and the doors flew open. Ed made it to his bike in a single, fluid motion, tearing off into the city streets. But Jessica wasn’t as lucky. A sudden shove knocked her to the pavement as she exited. She fought to regain her footing, but before she could escape, the crack of a taser cut through the air. The charge hit, and the chase was over for her.

Now, Ed was the only one left. He weaved through city streets, ducking into alleys, cutting through traffic. The chopper hovered above, relentless in its pursuit. But patience and precision won over brute force. He slipped through the cracks of Los Santos, eventually losing the tail.

Far from the chaos, he ditched his clothes and took the long ride up north. Stab City was his next stop — a place where he could regroup. With a nod, a couple of old friends offered him a ride home.

Later, the truth about Anthony’s situation surfaced — he had only been facing a simple citation. No jail time. No felony charges. Nothing that warranted a full-scale rescue. The realisation set in.

That man was a damn drama queen.

But in the end, it didn’t matter. Alliance had proven one thing that night.

They looked after their own.

[raganrogaine]

Since the recent duffleball event, news has spread throughout the city, gaining attention from people all around. Lester conway called upon ed timpson for a business proposition. Alfie and Ed were escorted into Lester’s office. Upon our arrival, he gave us a short tour of his office and his strange belongings. Once we sat down, he mentioned that he plans to host an internal duffleball tournament for gov and needed our input and advice to ensure it goes smoothly. The meeting concluded with an event time and date being set. April 6th at 9 pm. Our next task was to try and locate some entertainment for a potential haltime show. Lester offered us compensation for our time, but Ed chose to decline. We wanted to do it, and we'd be there regardless.

Edited March 25, 2025 by dennismartin
I suck its my first time

[MrNeillio]

 

The bridge had been nothing more than a rumor for years - whispers of construction, delays, politics, and setbacks. But now, after endless speculation, the impossible was real. A steel and concrete lifeline stretched from Los Santos to Cayo Perico, a place that had once felt like a distant world, reachable only by boat or air.

When word of the bridge’s opening spread, the call went out to all members and we met at Mosleys Autoshop. 

Together, we rode out, a pack of roaring machines slicing through the streets, weaving through traffic until we reached the edge of the city. And then, there it was—the mouth of the bridge, stretching impossibly far into the ocean, the horizon swallowed by steel and asphalt.

The lineup formed. Tires revved, the engines screaming in anticipation. A Girlie stood by, ready to signal the start. The air grew tense. Fingers tightened on grips. Eyes locked forward.

And then—

The wave of a hand.

Throttle twisted. Tires burned. The sound of engines erupted, echoing against the steel beams overhead. The pack launched forward, tearing down the bridge in a blur of speed. The wind howled, the city fading behind them as nothing but open road and untamed velocity remained.

Each rider pushed their machine to its limit, testing both speed and control, feeling every vibration, every shift, every ounce of power beneath them. The bridge was longer than expected, almost surreal, stretching endlessly over the ocean. Racing down its length felt like flying—just two wheels, raw speed, and the endless blue on either side.

By the time the bikes reached the other side, the air was thick with adrenaline, exhaust fumes, and the undeniable thrill of something new.

This bridge wasn’t just a road.

It was access.

It was opportunity.

And one day, it just might be something more.

[MrNeillio]

The gauntlet returns

The gauntlet is a well kept secret within the members of Alliance. It is the ultimate test of street motorcycle prowess. With the recent resurgence in membership, it was time to send everyone through the gauntlet once again. The gauntlet consists of everyone lining up at the top of a hill in an undisclosed location, sending it full speed with no brakes, and whoever either breaks or gets injured is not worthy of their place in this club. 
We lined up for our usual rideout, 5 command members and 1 mechanic, and set out ot this location. We all lined up, spun our wheels and let off like a drag race. As we sped through the streets, the locals took notice of us speeding through the streets like a blink of lighting. Upon completion, we continued to ride around the city. 
We get to the area before legion parking and buster ends up getting ran over by someone on a faggio we were antagonizing. After buster got ran over, the man on the faggio stole buster’s drag and a chase ensued. The man wasn’t able to control the sheer speed and might of the bike and ended up crashing. We all stood around him and watched the life slip from his eyes

[MrNeillio]

Returning To roots

The hum of the enginse filled the silent night, a steady rhythm of Motorcycles and Truck engines filled Moselys parking. The old-timers stood before the new recruits, restless, their eyes sharp and wide, hungry for the action they had only heard stories about.

As the training and planning took place the old timers fell silent, remembering. The early days, the tight-knit group that ran things, the adrenaline of a successful heist, the camaraderie. The newer generations had forgotten the art of the getaway, the subtlety, the quiet elegance of slipping into the shadows after a job well done. But that was about to change.

They pulled up to the bank—an old, brick building that hadn’t been touched by modern renovations. It was the perfect target, one that looked like it hadn’t seen a real heist in decades. The new generation could learn something from this.

Inside the bank, the crew moved with precision everyone taking the roles with dedication and heart. The vault opened, and the money was there—stacked in neat piles, ready to be taken. But the real magic came next.

Within moments, they were back on there bikes, the money secured. The old guard had shown the new blood that there was more to this life than just the thrill of the heist. It was about precision, finesse, and the quiet art of getting away. It wasn’t about the money—it was about the return to roots, the legacy that had once been the Alliance.

The Alliance wasn’t just a gang. It was a family. And tonight, they’d proven that even as generations changed, the heart of the Alliance remained the same.

 

[JDogg0417]

 Trade Upon Event.

4 weeks of planning. Alliance and Lost work together to bring to the city something never seen before. A street fair and legal motor bike racing. 
The idea was to see the need and want of a legal sport bike League and if a good turn out came from the event a race league would be started with alliance and lost. 
The funding all came from alliance legal business front. and any profit that came from the event would go towards a bigger location for trade upon. This would allow for trade upon to continue to build its way to being a criminal hang out and hub within the city. 
Thanks to the amazing support from the city. The dream become a reality and construction has begin in trade upon new home. With its new found location the possibility's are truly endless.  and the next chapter and step has began.

[MrNeillio]

This WEEK

[MrNeillio]

The Chase

The night started with a plan—a simple one. Hit a few stores, get what we could, and disappear before the cops even had time to show up. But things don’t always go as planned. Some of our Alliance crew got caught, beat down, and hauled off to DOC. It left a bitter taste, and something needed to be done about it.

Not revenge exactly—more like a message.

Ed, Denver, and Gradwick weren’t the types to sit around and sulk. Instead of laying low, they lit a fire. That night, we ditched our signature bikes and climbed into Gradwick’s Jugular. Sleek, dark, fast. This time, Gradwick was behind the wheel, and that alone made it dangerous.

Ripping through the streets of Los Santos, we passed Legion at full speed. A patrol unit clocked us instantly—but there was no slowing down. One siren became two. Two became six. Then came the roar overhead—AIR-1 was up.

The city turned hostile in seconds. Every street corner lit up red and blue, every back alley closed in. But Gradwick knew these roads like they were etched into his veins. He threw the Jugular into turns that didn’t seem possible, hugging walls, dodging traffic, pushing the engine to its screaming limit.

We dipped down by the pier and managed to lose visual—at least for a moment. The radios must’ve lit up, because not long after, AIR-1 locked back in.

The chase was on again.

A police bike tried to close the gap—tight, aggressive. But one sudden feint from Gradwick and the cop overcommitted, launching himself clean off the bike and tumbling across the street like a ragdoll.

The win was short-lived.

A sharp turn into a narrow alley, too fast, too tight—metal screamed against concrete as the Jugular clipped a dumpster and spun out, engine coughing its last breath.

It was time to run.

Doors flung open. Denver bolted right. Ed darted left. Gradwick went straight into the dark. No words, just instinct.

The next time they’d see each other wasn’t on the streets. It was behind fences, inside jumpsuits, with DOC guards watching every move.

But the message was sent.

You can cage the crew…
But you’ll never tame the Alliance.

[MrNeillio]

[crystianaxo]

 

 

 

Chris, jess, ed and gabe sat outside of mosley’s on a quiet monday night, distant police sirens echoing through the city streets. there was a slight breeze in the air with a heavy overcast looming over their heads, a low rumble of thunder emerged from the depths of the clouds as a light trickle of rain began to fall.

 

though the weather was a perfect match for the overall morale of the group, they headed inside and got comfortable on the sofas. for the past couple of weeks, life at mosley’s felt less than it used to. some people moved on to other groups, other people left the city, some people simply went missing. chris, jess, ed and gabe all felt demotivated - their attempts to keep things lively seemed to keep falling short, despite their best efforts.

“i have an idea.” jess piped up, prompting the other three to look in her direction. “why don’t we rebrand alliance?”

jess rambled on, explaining her idea in detail as the rest of them eagerly listened. a shared look of excitement slowly spread across their faces as they exchanged glances while listening. her plan was simple - why not expand on what they have and what they love... and make it better?

They have the autobody shop, they have experience racing through the streets of Los Santos on their bikes, whether it be in competition with each other or evading from the police. Why not bring their cars out of the garages, fix them up at Mosley’s and try their hand at the racing scene?

Heading out to grab their cars that had been collecting dust in garages for months on end, they returned one by one, putting their vehicles onto the lift and using their skillset to work on them. A few performance mods, new tires and under glow were added to each car with excitement, motivation and passion. They could hardly wait to take their cars out for their first race together.

 

Lowering the last vehicle off of the lift, the group rushed into their respective cars, the blue under glow and headlights illuminating the parking lot of Mosley’s. Their engines roared as the excitement amped up, energetic chatter and eagerness clogging the radio.

 

“Follow me.” Jess said, pulling onto the street and speeding off to El Burro Boulevard - a well known racing track. She figured starting off simple and easy was a good place to start.

 

They lined their cars up side by side, music blasting out of the lowered windows. Engines revved as jess honked once, twice and then a third time, signaling the start of the race. tires screeched and smoke filled the air as they sped off, rounding the first corner with ease.

 

Five races later, with Chris winning the majority and Anakin spending most of his time in a tree, they all returned back to Mosley’s to call it a night. Anakin worked on buffing out the scratches in his car as they all stood around talking. it was obvious that everyone was in better spirits.

 

Alliance was embarking on a journey to better itself. Change is scary, but everyone felt determined, excited and motivated to make it work.

 

 

Edited May 8, 2025 by crystianaxo
edit

[MrNeillio]

Structure:

Overdrive, Clutch, Gridmaster, Bankshot, Shotcaller, Wheelman, Wrench, Skidmark.

 

Overdrive:
The ultimate authority, crew founder, makes high-level decisions, resolves disputes, oversees all crew activities.

Clutch:
Acts as the leader's right hand. Takes over in absence, helps coordinate events and crew strategy.

Gridmaster:
Handles recruitment, evaluates new talent, manages crew roster, organizes qualifying events.

Bankshot:
Manages crew funds, parts inventory, and buy-ins for races. Keeps track of earnings and expenses.

Shotcaller:
Trusted, skilled racers who help lead runs, support recruits, and rep the crew with pride.

Wheelman:
Main crew members. Participate in races, missions, and rep the tag. Eligible to climb the ranks.

Wrench:
New to the crew. Undergoing evaluation. Expected to learn the code, earn trust, and prove skill.

Skidmark:
Very recent addition, not yet trusted with race details or crew secrets. May be invited or earned through jobs.

 

[crystianaxo]

The days following the rebranding, several members of Alliance participated in competitions between one another, racing through the streets of Los Santos. Often times, catching the attention of law enforcement. Alliance decided to use this as an opportunity to get better and work on their evasion skills. 

 

as people approached Alliance with an interest in being part of their new adventures, High Command would invite them on races through the city. They used this as a chance to measure the newcomer’s abilities when it came to their driving skills, callouts and more.

 

Especially when it came to police presence and evading.

The higher ranking members listened to the callouts and observed as the heat increased, more and more cruisers tailing multiple other members of Alliance. Air-1 and spikes began getting deployed, causing tires to be popped.

Vehicles began sliding and crashing, eventually causing Denver to stall out on Los Santos Freeway.

Denver called for help on the radio as he ran from his smoking vehicle, dodging the police officers. The rest of Alliance rushed to the scene in an attempt to rescue denver.

Chris and Ed pulled up with their doors open, hoping Denver would be able to jump in. Every attempt Denver made to get into a car was met with an instant shock, sending him back to the ground. Eventually, Denver was too exhausted from the repeated efforts and was thrown into the back of a cruiser.

During the Chaos, Chris had gotten detained and was in the process of being arrested. During his detainment, he became injured and Alliance made a plan. They would pick him up from the hospital. They all rushed off, causing a distraction with most of the police as Ed swooped into Pillbox, swiftly picking

Chris up, and speeding off towards Legion. Air-1 loomed overhead, watching their every move as they sped through the city.

Luckily, with Ed’s driving Skills and knowledge of the city, he managed to get away from not only the cruisers but also AIR-1.

Stopping off to get Chris out of his cuffs, Jess was taking her turn keeping the cops busy. She raced her Jugular through the city as she waited for Everyone to be ready and group up.

With Chris out of his cuffs, they rest of the cars joined in on Jess’ chase, cutting off police cars as they bolted through them to catch up to Jess.

Weaving in and out of traffic, engines roaring as Alliance raced through the streets in a constant game of cat and mouse with the police.

Unfortunately, an unexpected spinout caused Jess to abruptly change her path with no time to relay the information, causing Ed and Jess to collide head-on. The engine of Jess’ car stalled out and she leaped from her car, sprinting towards Ed and Chris.

Despite her best efforts, Jess was tazed and apprehended before she could get into the car. As she was pinned down, held at gun point and cuffed, she watched as Chris and Ed sped off with the police tailing them.

[MrNeillio]

 

It was a warm, sunny afternoon in Los Santos, and the Alliance crew was getting ready to head down to the Garbage Track. Everyone was scattered across the city, grabbing their cars from garages and lockups, ready to chase lap times and talk shit over who was fastest.

Plans paused. Engines roared to life. One by one, the crew responded, converging on from all over the place. The guy was already running on foot, but he didn’t get far.

Gabriel tracked him through callouts, and before long, the crew cornered him outside the Vanilla Unicorn.

Then a call came through.

“Some guy’s messing with our stuff outside Mosley’s. Looks like he’s trying to strip something.”

That was all it took.

Chris Pine held the culprit at gunpoint.

“Get in the trunk.”

The scumbag didn’t argue.

They drove him down to the docks — quiet, empty, familiar. One of their contacts was based there, someone who kept eyes open and lips sealed.

Onboard a rusted old ship, they tried to get answers but the guy had nothing.

Then a blacked-out car showed up nearby. No movement. Just watching. That sealed it. Chris gave the look. A couple of them stayed behind while the rest kept eyes on the road.

One shot. Clean. Done.

With that out of the way, they headed to the Garbage Track. Denver, Lina, and Vahan finally got their laps in.

Vahan topped the board, but no one really cared about times anymore. It wasn’t about racing today.It was about loyalty — and making sure no one forgets what Alliance stands for.