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Offline Ross

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Education Will Never Give Us Wisdom
« on: July 31, 2011, 04:40:33 PM »
“Everybody, on the floor, we don’t want to resort to violence!”  Ted Thompson played the wildcard, waving his MP5A3 around as he and his stickup crew consisting of himself, Kirby Olsen and Damon West, held up Leighson’s Bank in Bullworth Town.  After the school shut down, the town fell apart, people moved away or just waited to rot and die.  Businesses closed down and an education meant nothing if you couldn’t earn a legitimate living for yourself.  The dregs of the school alumni capitalized on this and are now bleeding this town dry before jetting off to Vice City to live out their final days before some young upstart overthrows their entire organization.

Kirby and Damon were on crowd control, Kirby wielding an AK-47 while Damon held an MP5k-PDW.  Around the back, Dan Wilson sat in the driver’s seat of a blue Washington, armed with a MAC 10 for personal protection.  Ted led the stickup crew, as always, he managed to get in with Derby before he took over the old school grounds and turned it into a hub for his organization.  He housed his thugs in the old school dorms, used the Shop workshop to store his vehicles.

Back in the bank, Ted continued making threats but the Banks Manager wouldn’t give in.
“D, demonstrate the ideal of force to these idiots.”  Ted nodded towards a Bank Guard, who was standing against a wall, his pistol on the ground.
“West, if you blast me I will kick your sorry ass in the afterlife!”  The Guard threatened.
“Seth Kolbe.”  Damon said, a satanic grin appearing on his face.  Damon remembered the racial discrimination he had suffered during his last year at Bullworth.  “Motherfucker, I’m gonna make you pay.”  Damon started to pummel Seth and beat him mercilessly until he was on the floor, bleeding to death.  Most of the Prefects went on to better things, Karl Branting joined the Marines, Max MacTavish was part of an elusive Private Military Company and Edward Seymour II was now a Politician in Liberty City, promising to clean up the streets.  Ironically now quarter filled by the students his used to punish.

“This is the Bullworth Fast Response Unit, come out and drop your weapons, putting your hands behind your head!”   Police Sergeant Pete Kolwalski ordered through the bullhorn, M16A2 by his side.  Petey had finally grew some balls and was leading the Bullworth Fast Response Unit at the tender age of 19.  How anyone as fragile as him and as young as he is, is leading the equal to a SWAT Team baffles everyone, but with Norton Williams at his side, how can anyone argue?

“You ready for this boys, we bust out the front and we get our asses to Dan, he’s taking us to the meeting point.”  Ted explained the remainder of the plan, not accounting for the large contingent of armed officers awaiting outside.
“I’ll go first seeing as I’ve got the biggest piece.”  Kirby got cocky and kicked the banks front doors, sprayed the entirety of his 30 round magazine at the waiting police.  Two Police Ranchers were parked across the East and West Road’s and an FRU Enforcer covered the North.  A volley of shots were fired but they failed to take down Kirby.  “Give me some covering fire, I’ve got the Froo!”  He shouted, concealing himself at the cornerstone of the steps.  Damon and Ted fired their MP5’s at the police who returned fire with 9mm handguns and shotguns.  Once they were supressed, Damon and Ted turned their attention to the FRU Unit, Norton Williams was taking pot-shots but wasn’t hitting them.
“Norton my man, stand down!”  Damon paused for a minute, not wanting to have to wound another racial abuse sufferer.  Damon watched Norton drop to the floor with his rifle and sat at the front end of the Enforcer.  “Good man.”
“Come on, on me.”  Ted ordered Damon and Kirby to follow him around behind the bank, where Dan Wilson sat in the getaway Admiral.
“I thought you’d gone down, thank fuck you’re alive.”  Dan said happily as they loaded up their duffels bags: one per person with $333,000, totalling at just under One Million Dollars.  Obviously Derby would be taking two duffel bags, leaving them to split the remainder, but it sure was worth it.  Dan set his foot on the accelerator and headed out into the open, but was cut short by a burst of gunfire.
“Damn you Norton!”  Damon shouted as Dan’s head hit the steering wheel and they went full speed into the gas station building.  Norton was long gone but one FRU Agent stood with his M4A1 at the ready, aiming at them.
“Get out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head!”  He ordered.
“Fuck this.”  Kirby got out from behind Dan and fired his AK wildly, while the Agent returned fire with three accurate shots to Kirby’s chest, dropping him.  Damon and Ted both gunned the Agent down and hopped out.
“Only two of us and three bags…ditch one and tell Derby we lost Kirby in the street.”  Said Ted.
“There’s two dirt bikes, follow me…we’ll take this shit cross country.”  Damon chuckled, slinging his duffel bag and mounting the Sanchez, followed by Ted.

Damon spun around the wall and across the road, heading down around near the dam.  He crossed the dam and saw to his left that police set up a firing squad across the bridge.
“No other choice.”  He revved the bike and took a left, making it under the bridge without getting caught by a stray bullet.  Ted just made it but a Police Rancher joined them down the dirt track, the passenger firing a Remington 870 at them.  Before reaching the beach, Ted took some buckshot to the back, knocking him off the Sanchez.  Damon stopped his bike and dismounted, firing his submachine gun at the officers windscreen, killing them both.  Ted was dead as a Dillinger so Damon left him and took the duffel bag, hiding it up as a stash between some rocks, intending to pick it up later.

Damon carried along the dirt path and walked up along the boardwalk where he was met behind the Boxing Gym by Otto Tyler working as one of Derby’s thugs.
“Throw the cash in the back…all of it.”  Otto told Damon.
“Been a problem, I’m the only one left, the rest of the cash is with the bodies, police took them down.”  Damon explained.
“You better not be fucking with me or Derby, I swear to God I will personally cut your throat if you are West.”  Otto set off with the rest of the cash, not even offering Damon a ride.
“Thanks for the offer, asshole!”  Damon shouted to the departing Otto.  Damon then headed back to his stash and took the bag along with the Sanchez and rode it to Bullworth Airport, a place he never knew existed until he started working for Derby.
« Last Edit: August 06, 2011, 07:09:05 PM by NoneShallPass »

Offline Ross

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Re: Education Will Never Give Us Wisdom
« Reply #1 on: August 12, 2011, 03:27:03 PM »
Chapter One
Damon felt the effects of his actions the next day; it reminded him of being back on the football team.  He touched down in Liberty City, Francis International Airport in Dukes to be precise.  He waved down a beaten up black Esperanto taxi and was greeted by a rude driver of some descent, Damon struggled to put a name to the accent.
“Where to?  And make this quick, I’ve only got half a tank left and my wife is being a bitch!”  The driver snapped.
“Uh…”  Damon fumbled in his pocket for a card.  “You know the Projects on Wardite Street?”
“So that’s your game, huh?  You’re lucky I’m not undercover, what you got, a package of brown taped to the chest?  A few rubbers with coke in them?”  The driver asked as he pulled off.
“Nah man, I’m seeing my cousin, you might know him, Damian Wyles, got damn confusing at family reunions and shit.”  Damon laughed to himself.
“Uncle D?  Yeah, I know of him.”
“Uncle…I think you misunderstood me, he’s my cousin.”  Damon tried to explain.
“They are all cousins up there, nephews, uncles, one big happy genocide-driven family.”
“Whatever you say.”  Damon sat back and watched the Bohan streets drift by him.

The cab eventually reached the Projects and the driver pulled up directly outside.
“Thanks my man.”  Damon threw the cabbie $200, realizing he had cash to burn.
Gazing up at the tower blocks, Damon stepped forth and approached two thugs, one in a blue jacket,
the other decked out in blue and orange, with a silver chain, the medallion reading “DIP”.
“What you doing tourist?”  The less gaudy dressed one said.
“I’m looking for Damian Wyles.”  Damon replied.
“Son, you better not be a Fed, if you are, I suggest you back yo ass up outta here before you get beatdown.”  ‘DIP’ stepped up toward Damon.
“Relax man, he’s my cousin.”  Damon tried to explain.
“Man, every motherfucker up in here claims they cousins with Uncle D, now step bro!”  The thug shouted at Damon, who turned to walk away.
“What’s the problem?”  A beanie wearing thug stepped into the altercation.
“That cat claiming you cousins and shit, I was about to pop a cap in his bitch ass!”
“Yo Frankie, time out, go wait for me at the courts, you too DIP, I’ll get this sorted.”  The beanie clad man said.  “Yo, tourist, get over here.”
Damon walked back and recognized his cousin beneath the beanie.
“Damian, it’s me, Damon.”
“Damon?  Ahhh, shit, Lil D, how it happen man?”  Damian shook hands with Damon and exchanged a hug.
“Good, ‘cept I nearly got my ass kicked within an hour of being here.”  Damon joked.
“Yeah, what’s in the bag man?”
“This?  You got a spot?  I gotta show you something!”
“We gotta get you outta them threads man, only the Mexican cats up here are wearing lettermans.”
Damon looked down at his old varsity jacket.
“I guess you right.”  Damon followed his cousin towards the first Project complex and up the stairs.

“This be the crib, sorry bout the mess.”  Damian led Damon in and sat on the armchair, ripped a bong and relaxed.  “What’s in the bag man?”
Damon unzipped the bag to reveal $300,000.  “Three hundred thousand US Dollars.”  Damon smiled, he had the other $30,000 with him after spending little over $3,000 on getting to Liberty City.
Damian nearly jumped out of his seat in shock.
“Damn man, we gotta keep this shit safe!”  Damian had always wondered what big money looked like.
“I know, that’s why I was thinking, can we keep this shit here, and can I stay here for a while?”
“Of course you can, you fam, remember?  First room on the left, that’s yours.  We’re gonna rip up the floorboards and stash that money there too.”  Damian jumped up and headed into Damon’s room, the walls clad in porno posters, the dank mattress in the corner of the room.
“Lift up that mattress, we’ll make a false floor and keep it under there.”  Said Damian.

After twenty minutes, the money was safely stashed away, and the two of them were drinking beers in Damian’s living room.
“Yo, Damon, while were up here, can you call me D?  Everyone else knows me as Uncle D, but seeing as you’re fam, just stick with D yeah?  I’ll always known you as Lil D, and so will the boys.”
“Alright D, who were them fuckers who tried to get me to step off?”
“The dumb fucker was Frankie W, the flashy one was DIP, both soldiers in the gang I run with.”
“Oh yeah, you the leader?”
“Not quite, me and Jordan Brooks co-run these projects, I’m the man on the front lines, his LT, while he sets up deals, that’s how he got the name ‘Daddy of The Heights’, he runs shit up here.”
“Do I get to meet the rest of the crew?”
“In good time…speaking of which, how would you like to be one of us?  Start out working corners, see where shit heads you?”
“I need work, not as if my hands ain’t used to being dirty.”
“Oh yeah?  What you get up to in Bullworth?  I hear that place fell to shit.”
“Damn man, I was part of a stickup crew, our last job fucked up.”
“How come D?”
“With some of the old school boys, ended up shooting it out with the cops.”
“Aw yeah?  Kill any fucker?”
“Just a few pigs.  I think.”
“I mean someone significant?”
“I don’t know man, I dropped them pigs but they will probably be discharged with a medal and a nice gunshot wound.”
“You ever killed a man?”
“Not that I know of, it’s all a bit hazy with the adrenalin pumping, I laid the beatdown on a security guard, he used to give me shit back at school, brother this, brother that.  Motherfucker was a prefect back then, I couldn’t do shit about it.  I took my chance on him.”
“Oh yeah?  What you do to him?”  Damian sat forward, looking intrigued.
“We were holding up a bank, and he was working, the staff weren’t complying, so we had to show some force, I laid into this motherfucker ‘til he couldn’t stand.”
“He have a piece?”
“Yeah, a thirty-eight.”
“The poor man’s machete, know what I would’ve done?”
“Nah, what’s that?”
“Sent that motherfucker out into the wild, telling him to fire on the cops.  38’s bounce off damn windscreens, he’s not gonna score a hit and 5-0 would take him down.”  Damian started to show his malicious side and began telling stories about holding up liquor stores, cutting people up for not paying up and a whole plethora of tales.  After a few hours of casual drinking and smoking, Damon went into his dank room and settled down his first night in Liberty City.
« Last Edit: August 12, 2011, 03:29:37 PM by NoneShallPass »

Offline Ross

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Re: Education Will Never Give Us Wisdom
« Reply #2 on: August 16, 2011, 05:45:56 PM »
Chapter Two
“Yo D!  What you want for breakfast man?”  Damian hollered into Damon’s room, Damon replying with a monotonous grunt.  “Bacon it is.”
Damian returned to Damon’s room, where Damon had woken up and was sitting on the mattress in only boxer shorts.
“Eat up homie, you got a long day ahead of you.”
Damon eat up his breakfast and threw some jeans and a light blue polo shirt on.
“D, put this on.”  Damian threw Damon an orange Hinterland body warmer.  “Rep yo set.  Got a strap hidden up?”
“Had to leave all my guns back in Bullworth, can’t smuggle that shit on the plane.”
“A’ight, it’s your lucky day.”  Damian yanked over a broken chest of drawers and revealed a Glock 17 with ten fully loaded magazines sitting in the drawer.  “Always keep a piece.  A man with a piece, his mind is at peace.  Man will always have a piece as long as he’s got a beef.  That shit between you and DIP?  All that take is a few out of place words and BAM, I’m burying my little cousin.  Streets if rough, but you got protection.  A simple nine, this’ll put holes in a motherfucker, I’ve got my forty five right here.”  Damian opened his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster.  “Tuck it into your waist, just don’t fucking fire it, I don’t want Lil D to end up meaning Lil Dick, you get me?”
Damon chuckled and nodded, loading up a magazine into the Glock and wedging it between his jeans and then lodging two magazines in each of his back pockets.

Outside, Damian linked up with two of his crew, a hustler named The Steal and the same thug Damon confronted previously, Frank “Frankie W” Washington.
“Sup Uncle.”  They both greeted Damian with a gang affiliated handshake.
“Sup tourist.”  Frankie laughed and gave Damon a nudge on the shoulder.
“Lil D, you already know Frankie, this is The Steal, he can haggle his way into anything, and talk his way back out of it.”  Damian introduced Damon to Samuel “The Steal” Wakefield, looking shifty as anything.
“Where we heading?”  Frankie W asked.
“Down the courts, we got some pushing to do.”  Damian led them up the concrete steps where they were joined by two more gang members, Marlon “Lips” Bridges and Henry “Nor’wood’s Finest” Lucas.  “Lips, Henry, this is my cousin Lil D.  He’s rolling with us, gonna work a corner for a bit.”
The two thugs nodded and continued down towards the courts where the remaining prominent members, Jayvon “Taxman” Simson, the gangs moneyman and Daniel Isaac “DIP” Peterson, the same person who Damon had an altercation with previously.
“What’s that tourist motherfucker doing here?”  DIP stepped up, pointing at Damon.
“Yo DIP, calm yo’self, this be Lil D.  D, you already know DIP, this is Taxman, he keeps our street dealers in line.”  Damian motioned towards Jayvon, who stood in his camo jacket, looking solid.
“Speaking of which, I’m gonna cut loose, got some shit to deal wit’.”  Jayvon left the courts and headed to his red Hellfury chopper.
“Something funky about that brother, get me?”  Henry sparked up a cigarette.
“Remember Big Dwayne?  He’s messing around with that cat’s girl.”  Marlon harked back to the nineties when Dwayne Forge ran Northwood, he was now incarcerated under drugs charges.
“Damn, he’s fucked once Big Dwayne comes back out.”  Lips interjected.
“If he ever does.”  Damian left the conversation at an obscure end.  “We all headed out to our spots?  Remember boys, money in money out.  Lil D, I’m pairing you with Frankie W, he’ll show you how we do shit up in here.  I’ll be at my crib if ya’ll need anything.  Holla at you boys later.”  Damian departed and left Damon with gangsters he hardly knew.  Everyone else left for their corners and alleys to provide Uptown’s junkie population with a steady flow of crack and heroin.  Frankie W, the most recently promoted member, stood in his white kicks, blue jeans, black bomber jacket and orange undershirt.

“Follow me bro.”  Frankie beckoned Damon over to his side of the courts.  Damon headed over, checking that he had his piece with him.
“Where we heading?”  Damon and Frankie shook hands.
“I got a spot in an alley, near the construction shit.  You’re my stash boy, a buyer comes up with the money and however many they want, you grab that shit.”
“Alright, I got it Frankie.”  Damon said, Frankie leading him out of the courts and across the road.  Frankie crossed the road as if he owned the streets, forcing a taxi to stop.  They strolled down the alley, took a right down the connecting alley and came to the opening, the other side of the construction site and set up shop.
“D, we keep the shit in the nearest sandbag, you ready?”  Frankie double-checked and left Damon with the crack vials, across the street at the old playground, Marlon Bridges was running a heroin op with some local young ‘uns, most of them ages sixteen or over, a junkie would go to Marlon, who then gets one of his boys to pick up from the stash, cash on entry, and bring it back.

Twenty five minutes passed and the first customer arrived, handing Frankie the cash.
“Yo D, two.”  Frankie demanded, Damon reached into the bag and took out two crack vials and handed them over.  “Go easy, that’s good shit.”  Frankie finished off the sale.  “He’ll be back.”

Over the next two hours, Damon and Frankie sold seventeen crack vials and soon were going to need a re-up.
“Is this what you do, all day?”  Damon asked Frankie.
“Nah man, sometimes I go to pickups or cop a day off to chill, nah mean?”  With moments of Frankie finishing his sentence, there was a loud squeal from a set of tyres, and a heavy red 1960’s DeClasse Sabre floored it around the corner from beneath the El Train and spun around the old playground, the passenger opening fire on Marlon and his juniors with a Micro Uzi.  They came to a stop and the passenger reloading them resumed firing, as Marlon had concealed himself.  The driver got out and began firing a cut down Mossberg 500 pump action.  Frankie jumped up into a demolished doorframe and out onto the stoop and Damon jumped the fence, landing on a generator.  He landed and drew his Glock and fired on the car, joining Frankie who fired his Browning Hi Power.
“I’m dry man, shit!”  Frankie expended the last round in his magazine and fumbled for a spare, Damon noticed the attackers entering their car and so he carried on firing, the last round winging the driver in the shoulder.  They both reloaded and carried on popping off shots at the muscle car until it sped off up Xenotime Street.

Offline Evolution

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Re: Education Will Never Give Us Wisdom
« Reply #3 on: October 13, 2012, 04:15:58 AM »
Wow... Definite nicro-bump, but that was a good read. :P

R.I.P. Ross.

Offline Rfl4222

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Re: Education Will Never Give Us Wisdom
« Reply #4 on: October 13, 2012, 02:44:25 PM »
Wow... Definite nicro-bump, but that was a good read. :P

R.I.P. Ross.

What happened to him?

Offline c00ld0c26

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Re: Education Will Never Give Us Wisdom
« Reply #5 on: October 13, 2012, 04:34:58 PM »
LOL this is GTA bully edition HAHA awesome!