The Vagabond

Chapter 1

Los Santos was a bustling and busy city during the day, with a stream of people flooding the sidewalks and an ocean of cars in the streets. However, the opposite can be said for Los Santos at night. Once the sun hides behind the mountains, that's when things take a turn. The sensible people know better than to venture out into the streets at night. The not so sensible people, however, don't heed the warnings that are whispered amongst the residents. For those who are brave enough to step into the darkness of the city, usually are met with a grim fate of either being mugged or stabbed to death.

He's seen it many times before, time and time again. Body after body piled up in dumpsters. Drugs strewn out in allies. Prostitutes littered the corners of sidewalks. Men eagerly stalking dark areas with knife ready to pierce any unlucky sucker they lay their eyes on. Sometimes muggers will even try to rob each other. It's rather funny. The excitement of the large town at night was enough to keep the insane happy for the rest of their life.

Or so he thought. It actually got quite boring after awhile, after five years of the same thing over and over. He's seen it all by this point, and he never thought that was possible. Sure, taking on a persona of a crazed man in a skull mask and joining a gang SEEMED fun at the time, but now it's just repetitive and quite frankly annoying. After all, there are so many rules they have to follow, and there's one thing the skull mask sporting man hated: rules. Well, rules and yellow cars. Those things are hideous.

Another night crept up quicker than he had anticipated it, and soon the man known as James Ryan Haywood changed into The Vagabond. Or just Vagabond for short. Once he and his crew are all dressed up in their attire and all have their masks covering their face, they go out of their way to do everything and anything in order to make their gang money and spread the word of their organization on the down low in order to recruit new members.

Their crew is fairly small, only becoming a thing a few years prior, so only a handful of people are actually active. Ryan would have to wager around 100 people or slightly more. It was a close-knit crew and well kept, despite all the dirty activities they pull off almost every night. They were slowly becoming one of the most feared gangs in the city. That was mostly due to Ryan himself.

The Vagabond was known to be ruthless, skilled, cunning, manipulative, psychopathic in every sense. Ryan himself didn't see where all those assessments were coming from, but he assumed it was good for his reputation; his "job" required that from him either way. But after awhile, he started to become bored and ran out of creative ways to make people beg for their lives. He really only joined because, well, he was already doing what he's doing now before the crew was formed, so he figured why not do it full time with other people who enjoy the same things he does?

But there Ryan was, once again, as Vagabond, standing along side his masked crew members and ready to take on another night. He silently noted a few of the masks he saw, recognizing some of his friends. He only knew them by mask, not by face or their real name. Each member had their own personal mask and code name. There are many rules you have to follow to be in this gang, but two main ones were, 1. Never reveal your name, and 2. Never, EVER, remove your mask under any circumstances.

It was because of this rule that no one was able to maintain a real friendship within the gang, for they couldn't even show their faces to each other. It was too dangerous, and if anyone were to betray them, they could easily rat out the entire gang all at once. So the strict rule was set in place.

Ryan made his way through the quiet and dimly lit streets of Los Santos, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket while his eyes gazed around for any sign of life. There weren't any, either because the weather was slowly turning icy, or because by now most people had a sense of mind not to go out just to get killed. Letting out a muffled sigh behind his mask, the man shook his head in frustration. It's not like he would really do anything to whoever he saw out in the night anyway. Not only was he not particularly in the mood to slit someone's throat and take their money, but he also couldn't think of any creative way to do it. So therefore, he would rather just walk the sidewalk in silence and peace.