Chapter 1 - Death’s cold grip…

1xxx Dxxx 'Txx Dxxxxxxx

January 12th, 2060

[Los Angeles, California - Riverside]

….. Bang, Banggg, Bangggg Banggggg……

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Gruglppp... *coughing blood*

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Aahhhh, Death's cold grip, finally ripping my soul from this piece of shit world I call life!

As I lay on the freezing concrete of winter's hell, bleeding out from numerous bullet holes, I for once realize how wonderfully beautiful the chilly winter night sky is beyond the clouds of this cruel world. As death begins to embrace me for my eternal sleep, I begin to recall my life before I was knocking on death's door.

(Flashback)

My life started out much like any other persons. Child to loving parents that had fed me, clothed me, and above all loved me. 2 months after my 9th birthday my parents had left me with a babysitter to go and enjoy a night out in the city. Hours later I had found out that my parents were involved in a car accident that took their lives. I at first did not believe anyone and waited for my parents to walk through the door of our home, the home which had memories and the warmth of my parents.

Finally accepting they had left this world, I fell into a dark deep depression. I felt numb, no emotion what's oh ever just, just…, just darkness, like a huge dark monstrous shadow that had covered me from soul to heart. Not long after, I was taken into child protective services, where I waited to be taken by a relative. But that never happened, not sure why, so I was placed in foster care.

Foster care, if it had to be summed up in one word it would be Bullshit. From my experience in foster care, it felt like a breeding ground for uncared for children that would later become blemishes on society. Most children in this system were mad and upset at the world, for removing them from their (often destructive) parents. Then there were some children like myself, who could not survive this type of negativity for too long, before having to conform in order to survive in this system. Conforming often meant me breaking rules or in most cases breaking noses, in order to prove I'm not an easy target.Because of the constant vigilantes I developed, I was seen as a badass, a thug and a delinquent.

Because of my demeanor, I was targeted in school as a person to fight. In truth I loathed fighting and violence of any kind, why you ask? Well because I liked to be presentable, clean, and fresh. Fighting required you to beat the shit out of each other, ruining your face or being covered in blood and in some cases both. But I did it, not for fame or for attention, but for my pride that someone had insulted. Other than that school was easy and fun at times, the teachers knew of my reputation but ignored it mainly spouting out some nonsense that I was a genius.

Also because of the reputation I developed in school and in my community, I was selected amongst others to join a gang. I was promised money, women, and protection. It's actually hilarious because joining the “gang” caused more violence and problems than it did protect me. By the age of 14 I was in full swing stealing and making drug runs for my gang. 3 years after joining I was order by an “OG” (original gangster - a man who had put in work and survived till the age of 18 on the streets) to execute a fellow gang member who was a street level “Shot Caller”. What I had been told was, he was skimming 5% off all the money he had come into contact with.

I was thinking and I realized the mother fucker was pocketing around 10,000 grand a week. That means he was also stealing from my cut, because it was based on how much money we brought in. Knowing this, I went into the next room. I pulled back on the pillowcase that was covering the man's face, while he was tied to a wooden chair, and looked into the eye’s of my soon to be victim. I slowly raised the gun and placed the muzzle to his head. I watched as I saw the man weep for mercy, he looked into my eyes and saw…. no mercy, just his death…..

That was the first man I had ever killed, did he deserve it? Maybe, maybe not. After killing him I felt haunted by what I had done. Eventually I came to terms with it saying to myself “I am bound to die someday soon, so fuck it, I'll answer for my sins later.”. After the execution, I was promoted to my victim's position of Shot Caller, I was 16 years old.

2 years went by. I was busy extending our network to the next closest city, of course with my lieutenant’s permission, promoting drugs and grand theft auto. With all this in play I was pulling in 750,000 grand a year for the gang, it wasn't long after that I was promoted to a lieutenant by the gang’s general, I was now consider an “OG” reaching the age of 19.

By the time I turned 21 I was a member making well over 1 million dollars for our gang, with close to 5,000 soldiers working the streets for myself. I was essentially at the top of the gang sitting next to the general or commander if you will. I was one of four lieutenants, but I was the only one working an entire city myself.

It was great, but because of my sudden appearance in the gang and due to how young I was in comparison to the other lieutenants, I was treated like a child and looked at with jealousy and greed. Somewhere deep inside myself I knew my life was so going to come to an end soon, either due to my own comrades greed or a rival gang’s revenge, as I had ended my first victim's life I would soon follow.

(End Flashback)

(16 hours before)

Like any other day I had breakfast and went out for a jog around my neighborhood. I came home took a shower and proceeded to leave.

I drove my car to my base of operations on the outskirts of my city. All I did was sit in my “office” and look over the documents with the financial data recorded on it making sure there had not been any discrepancies. To my relief there were none, I had a couple meetings with my shot callers on the state of our turf and if there had been any problems with the local police.

After the meetings ended it was getting late so I closed up shop and payed my “employees “. My guards were just starting, so I chatted with the lead guard and checked if they may need a raise in pay. The lead guard gleefully accepted so I payed them a little more than usual.

On my way home I felt a shiver run down my spine, I honestly thought nothing of it but in hindsight it may have been a warning for the impending danger. I drove through my oh so familiar street which was rather more quiet than usual. Because of my natural vigilantes I drove past my house and proceeded to double back.

Going through my street again I saw that in majority of the houses the lights were off, which I found rather odd and the lack of cars on the street also add to the weird vibe I felt. I decided against going home and decided I should eat out tonight. After finishing dinner and relieving my anxiety, I drove home. This time I saw a couple cars on the street parked and a few more houses with lights on which relieved me. I finally decided to drive up into my driveway and exit my car.

As I exited my car, 5 men dressed in black baggy jeans and matching black hoodies with black bandanas covering their faces rushed me from across the street. I realized too late that these men were all carrying high powered AKs, before I had time to reach behind my back to grab my Glock 19. They opened fire riddling my car and myself with bullets.

….. Bang, Banggg, Bangggg Banggggg……

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Gruglppp... *coughing blood*

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As they ran off to their getaway cars I remember them laughing calling me a “bitch ass punk”. I recognized one of the voices, it was none other than our General Juan Guzman. Hearing the screeches of rubber meeting the street, they sped off down my street leaving me to die. As I lie there on the freezing concrete, I think as to why my own gang killed me was it because of greed, jealousy, revenge, a misunderstanding, or just for power. I don't know but what's done is done I knew I would die someday soon, so I'm ready to meet my maker and accept my punishment for all my wrongs I committed in life.

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Gruglppp... *coughing blood*

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Aaahhhh, Death's cold grip…

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