Saints Row

Strap It On
"When the dead don't stay dead. It's time for a new playa to strap it on."

- Strap It On

Chapter I: Normality Is For Pussies
"Next." That was the last thing he heard before being sucker punched by a Third Street Saint in the ear, popping his right ear drum and knocking his ass to the floor. "Come on, Aaron, get your ass up!" A female Saint yelled. He heard the Saints cheering and encouraging the violence, spewing phrases: "Kick his ass, Bryce", "Bitch-ass can't fight for nothin', puss", and "Fucking care bear". Aaron managed to flip off the Saints before being punch in the face; Bryce stood over him striking blows against his bruised mug. The downed initiate knew if he didn't get a single punch in he'd always be disregarded as a pussy member of the Saints and probably kicked out cause of it, if not flat-out killed. His grandmother always told him to turn the other cheek but if he did that, why the fuck would he be joining a gang in the first place? With that mind the young man balled his fist and unleashed a heavy blow at the masseseter muscle of Bryce's jaw; forcing the larger man off of him giving the opportunity to return the favor of fucking up his face. Aaron threw a barrage of punches, aimed at chest, face and stomach. By the time he finished Bryce was unconscious and the room had gone silent, one Saint clapped and the others soon followed suit as Aaron stood over Bryce's body, victorious. The one Saint that supported him walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, then touched his bruised face; she was shorter than him, light brown eyes, sun-tanned skin and a kind smile. His face stung by her contact but the warmth of her touch made the pain bearable. "Welcome to the Third Street Saints." She said in voice that made every hair on his body stand on end. She moved her hand and turned to walk away, she was halfway up the stairs before Aaron called her. "What your name?" "Faridah." The other Saints dispersed and went about their business, she continued up the stairs without looking back, and around the corner passed the office with the stripper pole on the balcony. Aaron sat down on the couch, kicked his feet up on Bryce's body, lit a cigarette and leaned back, relaxed. The glowing sign overhead read "Purgatory" and he mirthfully scoffed. "My old life was purgatory, the Saints are my ascension to a brighter future," he took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled the smoke, "and maybe a better life, hopefully full of guns, women, and money. And not necessarily in that particular order." He looked down at Bryce when he groaned, Aaron leaned and dumped ashes on his white shirt, he leaned back when a Saint walked toward him. He flashed a bright smile. "He's not gonna appreciate that when he wakes up." Aaron scoffed again. "Motherfucka can blow me." He squeezed by Bryce and sat on coffee table across. "Name's Olivier, by the way." "Aaron." "The Boss's your cousin, right?" He exhale more smoke with a slight grimace. "Yep."