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The Vercetti Gang

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Well, needless to say, I wasnt very happy when The Vercetti Gang got deleted. Plus, I've been writing a bit more and if I'm gonna post it here, it would make sense to post all the stuff I had written up to this point, too. So, without further ado, here is 'The Vercetti Gang' as it was the day the forums closed. Part 8 coming soon.


It was 9am in the morning, and the Malibu had just opened its doors. The bar was swiftly filling up with hookers, gang members, and drug addicts, some of them a combination of the three. Two large bouncers stood at either side of the door, giving everyone who came in a mean look. A white Infernus swerved around the bend, skidding to a halt right outside the club. Out stepped a tall man with black hair and tanned skin, wearing a blue shirt and baggy jeans.

“Good evening Mr. Vercetti,” the bouncers mumbled as the man walked through the door. Vercetti didn’t even look at them. The bouncers frowned. They didn’t like how this arrogant, stuck up would-be gangster had just marched in, thrown money on the table and demanded the place be sold to him. Their pay had been cut and their work doubled, but they knew that if they said a word about it, Vercetti would lose his temper. And when Tommy Vercetti lost his temper, bullets flew.

As Vercetti’s chauffeur drove off in his white Infernus, a man walked around the corner and through the Malibu’s open doors. He walked up to the bar and took a stool.

“Morning, Jim,” he said to the bartender. Jim glanced up and smiled.

“Morning Steve,” he replied. “Coke?”

“Please.” Jim poured out some Coca Cola from the machine. “How’s business?” Steve added.

“Worse than ever,” mumbled Jim as he put some ice in Steve’s drink. “The boss is going insane. The tiniest little mistake, and he goes berserk. He screamed at a customer for dancing badly!” He passed Steve his Coke. Steve looked up, and noticed that, on the first floor lounge, Vercetti was staring over the bar, unblinking. It reminded Steve of something out of a gangster movie.

“Why do you think he’s so angry?” He asked Jim. Jim shrugged.

“Dunno. Rumour is that someone betrayed him… or… something.” He leaned forward and whispered to Jim words that were almost lost under the banging of the loud music. “You didn’t here it from me, but I’ve heard that he’s a gangster!”


Tommy Vercetti got out of his car to find a muscular man with a worried look on his face awaiting him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

Steve reclined his deck chair and sipped his drink. He flicked over the page of his dirty magazine and gave a loud belch. The sun beat down relentlessly, and the only sound was the occasional rumble of a passing car, and the distant moan of police sirens. All in all, it was an ordinary Saturday. He sipped his drink again.

Suddenly a white Infernus sped past, doing at least twice the speed limit, and leaving a long trail of white smoke behind it. Steve glanced up just in time to see a face through the windows. He had only got a glimpse, but that face was unmistakable. Tommy Vercetti. Steve blinked. He could have sworn that the sound of police sirens was getting nearer.

He heard a gunshot, less than 100 metres away from him. The sound made him jump out his skin, and before he knew what he was doing, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. And not in the way he expected to go, either. Something, some sense of adventure, overcame all thought and reason, and he ran down the road, in the same direction that the Infernus had gone. Towards the gunfire.


Tommy had been lucky. If the traffic light outside Starfish Island had been green he would have driven straight into the ambush. As it happened, the light was red and it was when the car stopped that Tommy noticed a dark skinned man in a purple shirt disappearing behind a corner. He was still far away from Sunshine Autos, but the Haitians would know he was coming. And they would know that he would pass the Ice cream factory on his way there…

The lights flicked green and Tommy’s driver, Kevin, put his foot down. Tommy gave a yell and reached over, pulling the steering wheel sharply left. The car swerved and smashed into the car behind it, and at that exact same moment, a bullet was fired from a silenced gun, aimed at Tommy. But now the driver’s side was facing the Haitian, and the bullet hit Kevin in the shoulder.

Tommy unstrapped his seatbelt and dived into the back seat, drawing his gun as he did so. The car was still swerving, and Tommy could not see the man who had fired. Ignoring Kevin’s groans of pains, Tommy reached forward and opened the driver’s door. Kevin’s bloody body slumped out and lay sprawled across the road, twitching and groaning. Another bullet was fired, this one not so silent. As the car grinded to a halt, Tommy saw another Haitian, this one standing on the roof of the Ice-cream factory holding an M60. Tommy gasped, and in an instant raised his gun, opened the door and threw himself outwards, unloading the pistol as he did so.

Twenty high-calibre bullets smashed into the car, exploding it in an instant. Tommy was thrown ten metres by the explosion, landing in the middle of the northbound carriageway, bloodied and battered.

Steve heard the explosion and turned the corner just in time to see a man in a purple shirt scream, stumble and fall from the roof of the ice cream factory, blood all over him. A large rifle fell seconds later, landing on the man’s chest, spraying even more blood. Another man lay metres away from him, also covered in blood. Steve took a few moments to take this all in, but when he did, his heart stopped beating. He was looking at two dead people.


Tommy woke up. Luckily, his unconsciousness had lasted but a few seconds, and although his head felt like all the hangover’s he’d ever had put together, his body still had the strength to go on. More luck. He was having a lucky streak, and it was sure to stop very suddenly, very soon. But by the time he had thought this he was already in a freshly-stolen Admiral and speeding to Sunshine Auto’s. He didn’t get very far at all, and he soon wished that he’d worn his seatbelt.

Steve had seen him. He had seen one of the men that he thought was dead spring to his feet and hijack a car, in front of his very own eyes. And that man was Tommy Vercetti. He watched the Admiral speed off, not sure what to feel. But he felt shocked when he saw Tommy’s joyride end very quickly and abruptly as a police car came from a road junction and swerved in front of Tommy’s car, flattening its bonnet and sending it into a wild spin. Steve began to run. A cop jumped out of the police car, gun drawn. Steve ran even harder. The Admiral’s tyre’s screeched as Tommy yanked on the handbrake, but it was no use. The car hit the kerb of the pavement and went up onto the grass, rolling sideways. It finally began to slow down, and rolled its way to the very edge of the island. It stopped over the edge. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, but too soon, for the car was overbalanced, and slowly began to lean before it went crashing down in an explosion of seawater. Steve jumped.

Tommy opened his mouth to scream, but he had no energy to do it. He slumped over against the remnants of the driver’s door as water seeped in through every crevice. He couldn’t move his arm for the pain, and the airbag was restricting his breathing, but none of that mattered to him anymore. As the water slowly rose past is neck, he gave a long, slow exhale. A man appeared in the driver’s window. Tommy tried to gasp, but all he got was a mouthful of water. The water rose above his nose. The man tugged at the door, but to no avail. Tommy stared at him, feeling dazed and weak. The saltwater hurt his eyes. The man signalled to the lock on the inside of the door. Tommy snapped back to his senses. He tried to lift is arm, but a jolt of excruciating pain gave him other thoughts. He pushed himself upwards, pushing his nose up into the small pocket of air that remained. Choking, he swivelled his body around and managed to pull the lock up with his good arm. But the man in the window was gone! However, he appeared there again in a few seconds, having gone to get some air. Ironically, as he had gone to get more air, Tommy had just ran out of his.

Steve pulled the door open and Tommy Vercetti’s limp form slumped out of the wreckage and fell into his arms. He kicked upwards; pushing himself towards the bit of land that he assumed was West Island. He then realised that the police would be there and turned around, towards the other mass of land. Starfish Island. He was very deep down, his ears were bursting, and by the time he had reached the surface, he was mere metres away from Starfish Island. Tommy Vercetti somehow found the energy to breathe in.

Sergeant James Reed stared at the bubbling water. He didn’t notice two figures pop their heads up at the other end of the bridge. An ambulance was on its way, but James had no hope. The suspect was undoubtedly dead, and the man who had jumped into the water after him had yet to immerge.


Steve sat in the back seat of the Admiral, twiddling his thumbs, His head felt like the world’s worst hangover, and he had a huge bruise that went all the way down his arm.

His memory was hazy. He had dragged Vercetti ashore, into the garden of one of Starfish’s mansions. Several muscled men had seen him and rushed over as he had lost consciousness. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the sofa in a hotel flat (which he later found out to belong to Vercetti himself) and a short Italian man who said his name was Luigi was sitting on a chair reading a dirty magazine. Luigi had dragged him off with barely a word and was taking him somewhere, presumably to see Vercetti.

Luigi started to grumble.

“It is not fair. I always get a crap job. Always babysitting or standing guard. Never fun stuff.”


“Never mind.”

They turned a corner. Luigi glanced at Steve in the rear-view mirror.

“But I must warn you. You have seen a lot. Mr. Vercetti is not going to let you walk away with all that information. I suggest that you do as he will say, and do not anger him. Okay?”

“Er… sure.”

“Look, we are here now.”

Steve looked up. They were going across the bridge to Starfish Island. Luigi turned left as soon as they crossed the bridge, down the drive of the biggest house on the island – the mansion where Steve had dragged Vercetti ashore. So Vercetti must live here, he thought. That explained a lot.


Tommy Vercetti was feeling very pleased with himself. Another day, another… employee. Steve Thompson had not seemed entirely willing, but when offered the choice of joining the gang or being killed, he did not hesitate. And now Steve was in a Comet with three other men, on his way to get back at the Haitians. His initiation test. Tommy would have gone himself, but his ordeal the day before had left him in no state to fight, or even drive. His right arm was fractured in two places and his torso was severely bruised. Those Haitians would pay.

Steve felt the weight of the gun in his hand. He owned a gun, of course he owned a gun, this was Vice City, but that was only for sport. He liked to think of himself as a good shot; he was a member of the shooting club in the Rifle Range in Ammunation, and was one of the best marksmen there, but he had never considered that one day-

“We’re here.” The tall man in the driver’s seat interrupted Steve’s train of thought. Steve peered out of the window. They were parked outside a remote building next to a trailer park.

“This is it?”

“Yep.” The driver seemed very unconcerned.

“Er…” said a very nervous Steve, “where exactly are we? And why are we here?”

“We’re in a trailer park,” said the other passenger. Wow, that was helpful. “And you’re here to do exactly what we say.” Steve had never known a man so rude. But if he was gonna have this job, he knew he would have to get used to it. The other passenger got out of the car. Steve reached for his door handle but the driver signalled otherwise. The third man opened up the boot and took out a small parcel. Steve didn’t ask what it was but he knew. It was a bomb.

“Get out.” Steve got out. “Follow me, keep your guard up.” Steve suddenly realised that he had left his gun in the car. The driver rolled his eyes condescendingly as Steve reached through the open window for his weapon. The other man had taken a backpack, put the parcel in it, and was casually walking towards the trailer park. Steve burst forward to catch up with him and the man glared at him.

“Act casual, you frolicking idiot!” he hissed. “We are in Little Haiti. Haitian Turf. If they get the tiniest breath of who we are and why we’re here, they’ll kill us without a thought, so you just watch it, okay?”

Steve looked at the floor. He then glanced at the man’s backpack.

“Where?” he asked. The man knew what he meant. He indicated one of the mobile homes.

“And put that gun away, dumbarse.”

Steve hastily shoved the gun in his pocket. It created a huge bulge and anyone who saw it would know what it was, but he didn’t want to piss off this man any more than he had to.

They were a few metres away from the mobile home now. Steve noticed that a black man standing on the street corner was looking at them suspiciously. Steve’s partner had other worries and casually sat down against the back wall of the mobile home. He took his backpack off and rummaged through it, pretending to look for something. He then signalled for Steve to sit down next to him.

“Okay,” he said. “I am going to casually stand up and walk off, leaving the backpack behind. You are to follow me a few seconds later, also acting casual. You catch up with me, then when I say now, we run back to the car,. The second we start running, I’m gonna blow it up. Okay?”

“Okay…” Steve was beginning to wonder what exactly his role in this mission was. But by the time he had thought this, the man was five metres away from him. He stood up and dashed forward to catch up with him. They carried on walking,

“When I say now..,”

“That’s guy’s looking at us…”


“He’s seen the backpack…”

“NOW!” The man burst forward with the speed of an Olympic runner. The bomb went off.

Steve had expected a huge roar, a large mushroom cloud, But in reality the explosion was but a few metres high. However the flames covered the entire mobile home and Steve had no doubts that whoever was in there was dead meat.

“Run, you frolicking idiot!” Steve suddenly realised that he had remained rooted to the spot since the command ‘now!’ He dashed forward to the car as gunfire erupted all around. The car seemed miles away. He glanced around as he ran; it seemed that every man in the area was a Haitian with a gun. The car seemed no closer that it had been before, but he was actually mere metres away from it. The door was wide open. Bullets were flying. He dived through the open door and the next thing he knew the car was driving down the main road with several Voodoos in hot pursuit.


Steve suddenly realised his purpose on this mission. He did his window down and leant out, gun in hand. His team-mate had done the same, and so had the Haitians. He raised his gun and took aim. The car swerved round a bend and he lost his target. He could see four Haitian cars, each one with a gunner, one with two. His team-mate fired. So did Steve. Both shots flew wide, and the Haitians returned the fire, having the same luck. Steve could hear police sirens.

“Aim for their tyres!”

Aim? There was no time to aim. In the time it took you to aim the car would have taken several turns and you would have to aim again. All you had to do was empty your cartridge and hope that a shot found it’s target. One of the Haitians had a machine gun. Steve emptied his gun in that direction, missing completely. He dived back into the car, and reloaded.

Sergeant James Reed sped out onto the main road, his partner was leaning out the window, gun in hand. Men with spike strips had been deployed further down the road and a helicopter was on its way.

Steve shot and missed again as the Haitians opened fire. Bullets flew past, some hit the Comet but barely scratched the paintwork. Steve didn’t have time to wonder why and fired again, this time shattering a Voodoo’s windscreen. He fired again, bursting the tire, and again, hitting the wing mirror, and – the car swerved and he lost his target, but the damage had been significant. The driver tried to shield himself from the wind and lost all control of the car, spinning wildly and crashing into a tree. The men jumped out and began to run as the engine caught fire. Two cop cars stopped and four cops got out, chasing after them. Steve smiled. He had taken out one Voodoo and two cop cars.

“Look out!”

Steve heard a loud bang, only it wasn’t a gunshot. He thought nothing of it and fired again, but then he saw the cause of the bang. They had just driven over a spike strip.

“Turn onto Prawn Island!” yelled Steve’s team-mate. Steve continued to fire, but frustration hampered his aim, and then the car turned onto a bridge and he briefly lost sight of the Voodoos.

“Stop the car!”

Steve turned around. Stop the car? What madness was this? But he had no time to think because the driver slammed on the handbrake in the middle of Prawn Island, just as three Voodoos turned onto the bridge and a police helicopter came into sight from behind a tall building. Steve and his two companions burst out of the car and dashed towards a ruined building in a corner of the island as the Haitians rammed the Comet. Then the Haitians realised their mistake and they too bailed out and began to run. Three police cars sped up.

Reed smirked. What were they thinking? They were isolated and trapped on the smallest island in Vice. Incompetent fools. He would be making a lot of arrests that day.

Inside the ruined building, Steve slumped against a wall. He was doomed. His first mission, and he was going to spend the night in a cell.

“Stand up, you idiot!” hissed his partner. The Haitians are gonna follow us here and we-“ a shot was fired and he stopped and fell, never to speak again. The back of his shirt was stained red. The driver started to fire as Haitians burst into the house in a desperate last stand. Steve fired, splattering a Haitian against the wall. He could hear helicopter blades. The cops.

“To the roof!” yelled the driver. “The roof!” and he began to run. The roof? In full view of the Police helicopter? But he would rather have been arrested than shot by an angry Haitian, so he dashed upstairs to meet the helicopter.

But it wasn’t a police helicopter. It was the same helicopter Steve had seen in Vercetti’s back garden, hovering mere metres off the ground. The driver was already in it and Steve didn’t need to be told what to do. The driver leant out of the chopper holding a huge machine gun, and fired at the Police chopper. There was a huge explosion and Steve jumped into the helicopter as it took off.

“Oh, great,” muttered Steve, peering down. “They’re gonna note the reg on that Comet and trace it back to us.”

“Oh, really?” muttered the driver. He lifted up what looked like a remote control and pressed a button. The Comet went sky high, engulfing all the Voodoos cop-cars and cops around it in flames.

As they approached the Vercetti Estate, Steve turned to the driver.

“Y’ know,” he said. “It occurs to me that I don’t know your name.”

“What, me? I’m Joey.”

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Wow, :wtf: You wrote that? Do you mind if I use that on my website? If you want to see it first I can give you the link through pm. I don't want to show the link because the site isn't done. So... umh... Can I?

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Wow, :wtf: You wrote that? Do you mind if I use that on my website? If you want to see it first I can give you the link through pm. I don't want to show the link because the site isn't done. So... umh... Can I?

Okay, sure, send me the link. I dont mind you using it as long as you give me credit for it.

And now, for the first time in about two months, I will actually post a new part of the story. w00t.


The gang war erupted that day with all the dark force of the apocalypse, after a slow but steady build up over months. The Haitians had made an attempt on Vercetti’s life, and the Vercetti gang had killed Auntie Poulet. And now neither side was showing any mercy.

Car bombs exploded. Bullets were fired. Men were assassinated. Helicopters patrolled the skies. Heavily modified cars weaved in and out of Vice City’s streets, spraying death from hidden machine guns. Elaborate and clever plans were spun up to distract police presence. Shops were robbed. Buildings were attacked. Dozens of Policemen got caught in the crossfire. And Steve, the man who had been involved in the assassination of Auntie Poulet, the man who had saved Vercetti from certain death despite all the odds, was – completely ignored by his superiors and left behind, while other, less experienced gang members went out and raked in the rewards. In fact, after a month went passed and he had not been given a single job, he considered complaining to Vercetti. Only the thought of Vercetti’s constant grumpiness and intolerance persuaded him otherwise. And when he did get a job, it was the complete opposite of what he expected.

He was at the shooting range with Joey, who had become his good friend since that first job. Joey had been with Vercetti for half a year, and was now an entire division above Steve, but they still hung out.

As Steve fired the last bullet in the magazine through the head of the cardboard figure, Joey’s cell phone erupted in a frenzy of monotonous beeping. Steve reloaded as Joey answered the call.

The call was so short that Steve had only fired two shots before it was over.

“Steve,” said Joey, “can you give me a lift?”

They had taken Steve’s car to get to the shooting range, as Joey’s had yet to recover from the last mission he had taken it on.

Much to Steve’s annoyance, the place Joey needed to get to was Kaufman cabs, where, Joey claimed, he would receive a mission. Steve began to wonder if Vercetti even knew that he existed.

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I never realised that Poulet was in that trailer they blew up,

Damn! I forget to mention that in part 6!

Well, the next part will come out

a) once I've figured out what'll happen.

B) when I can be bothered have the time to write it. I only write this when I've got nothing else to do, and I often forget that I have it up until I see the topic again. But, anyway, I'll probably have the next part up in two weeks, maybe one. I hardly ever write it.

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Okay: Joey was chosen for no particular reason.

Luigi was chosen because Mario and Luigi are Italian, and I was trying to think of an Italian-sounding name.

This is set a few months after VC ended, 15 years before GTA3, therefore not many GTA charecters will be showing up. 8Ball has probably just left primary school at this point, so is not likely to show up. Phil may have been in both of them, but remember, he was about 40-50 in GTA3.

And now:



Joey never said a word of what his mission was. He never even brought the subject up; he merely asked to be taken home and didn’t say a word throughout the entire journey. Steve didn’t find out what the mission was until two days later, and even then, he was still unsure of what its purpose was.

He was sitting in a deckchair outside his house, sipping his drink whilst reading the paper. The sun beat down relentlessly, illuminating Vice City’s darkest corners. There was barely a cloud in sight. When suddenly, just like that fateful day two months before, he heard the roar of engines and a white Infernus shot past – Vercetti’s trademark. And, just like that first time, although he only saw the driver for the tiniest moment, he recognised him instantly. Joey. He leapt to his feet in surprise and wonder, but before he had taken two steps, his cell phone was ringing. Hesitantly, he answered. The message was short, but precise:

“Get to the Vercetti Estate.”

A job. At last, he was getting a mission, and no amount of curiosity about whatever Joey was doing would stop that. In ten seconds, he was in his Admiral and speeding towards Starfish Island. He heard the police cars before he saw them. Moments after hearing the sirens, he heard the gunfire. Moments after that, he was through Starfish’s gates, and then he felt the gunfire.

Fifty yards away, an incredible fire fight was raging. The front hall of Vercetti’s mansion was swarming with Haitians; a crack team sent in with only one purpose; the fall of Vercetti. It had started merely ten minutes ago, and took Vercetti so much by surprise that several of his men were dead before he had realised what was going on. It began like this:

Sifting through the mass of papers that had built up on his desk over the past few weeks, Vercetti let out another loud groan. He was losing everything; he was losing money, he was losing employees, he was losing his reputation in both the criminal underground and the legal world. And, more seriously, he was losing the gang war. Even with the huge mission he had planned two days before was unlikely to turn things around, even though it would help enormously. For a minute, all the stress became too much for him and he rose to his feet, turned around, and pressed his face sadly against the window. It was all becoming too much for him. He gazed longingly at Vice City, with its scenery ranging from towering skyscrapers, to beautiful little cottages, to murky, muddy trailer parks. A single, solitary plane swooped through the air, its engine emitting a low buzzing that he could hear from his window. The crystal-clear water splashed up and down, boats swaying gently with the tide. How he longed for all of it to be his! But that dream was becoming less and less of a reality. He closed his eyes, and mournfully sighed.

Three seconds later his eyes were open again, with a look of surprise and worry as he noticed the sound of the plane’s engine getting louder and louder. He looked up: It was flying straight towards his house! He gasped and stared, and the plane got closer, and closer, and before he knew what was happening he was running, running out of his office, bounding down the stairs three steps at a time, and his men round the back were starting to panic too. And the plane flew level a mere five feet off the ground, and just before it crashed straight into Vercetti’s office, its doors opened, and a man jumped out of either one, both of them cushioning their fall by rolling on impact. Then the plane went through the wall, and its fuel tanks ignited, engulfing half of the entire mansion in flames. Then, three Voodoos appeared out of nowhere, and one drove straight into the gates of the mansion, knocking them down as if they were a cardboard cut-out. More Voodoos appeared, men jumped out, then bullets started to fly. The battle was underway.

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Okay, some corrections:

In the first paragraph of Part 6, it should read: Steve was in a car with twoother men.

In Part 8, it should say after three months had passed, because I've just realised I broke Vercetti's arm earlier on in the story, and I dont feel like incorparating that into the rest of the battle. I suppose three months is a fairly reasonable time for a fracture to heal. I've never broken any bones before myself...

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Wahaha! Bow down before my story writing wrath!

Well, I've started giving my chapters names, even though I'll probably run out of ideas and start giving them names like 'The Gunfight of Doom and Haitian revenge' in five chapters. Oh well. Part 10.

Part 10: Flamewar.

The explosion sent out a pressure wave, and just as Vercetti reached the ground floor, he was thrown off his feet, and landed in a heap just half a metre short of the door. There was gunfire outside, and the sound of tires screeching.

“Boss!” came a cry. Vercetti rose to his feet, using the wall for support. He looked up at the young man offering him a Colt Python. Vercetti snatched the gun out of his hand, but his brain hadn’t quite caught up with his body, which limped over to the window, and saw the five brown cars. Four were skidding about on his front garden, spraying bullets from hidden machine guns at dazed, surprised men, some of which were unarmed. The fifth car was overturned, and crawling out of it were two men, each with a machine gun in their hands, and a pistol and lots of ammunition clipped to their belts. Things clicked inside Tommy’s head. Time stood still as he rasped a single word:


Then his world sped up again, and he was bellowing orders. He and Lance had done the same thing before, on the exact same house. He knew how it was done.

“Lock the front door! You three, get to the hedge maze! You, out back! You three, stay here and guard the hall! You-“ but there was no-one left to order, except Phil, one of his leading advisors. “Phil,” he said, “go and call every one you can, and tell them to get their asses over here quick.”

“But boss,” replied Phil, “It’s only ten men.”

“Twelve, if you count the one’s from the plane. And there cant be more than, what, twenty of us?” Vercetti checked his gun, and made to reload it, but he had no ammo. “Phil, give me some mags.” Phil pulled three clips out of his pocket, and pressed them into the palm of Vercetti’s hand. “Do you think the Haitians would send just any twelve men?” Vercetti called as Phil dashed into another room. “These are the best of the best, Phil, and I’m not taking any chances!” Vercetti rushed up the stairs, jumped over the flames, and rushed into the stairway.

Joey had heard the explosion, although only faintly, and he did not know what it was. He had more important things to worry about, though. Tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, he stared at the door, willing his team-mates to hurry up.

Officer James Reed leapt into his squad car, and one by one a sea of sirens lit up throughout the area. Five squad cars and a fire truck turned out onto the street and began their dash towards Starfish Island.

When he was low down enough, Vercetti jumped over the banisters and kicked the door open, dashing into his armoury. He grabbed his PSG1 off the wall, several magazines for it, and a few grenades. There was no time to put on a belt or anything to carry them all, so shoved them into his pockets and burst back into the stairway. As he passed the next floor up, he heard voices, and peered down. Two Haitians were standing at the bottom of the stairway. Evidently, the men in the hedge maze had failed. As he passed the second floor, he reached deep into his pockets and pulled out a grenade, pulled out the pin, and dropped it over the banister, then continued bounding up the stairs, and as he reached the roof he heard the explosion from below. There was no time to stop and check that the men had been eliminated, but he was confident that they had been, so dashed out onto the roof, and peered over the front wall, preparing his sniper rifle.

About thirty seconds before, Steve had arrived in his Admiral. Two of Vercetti’s men were engaged in a firefight in the hedge maze, and both sides had yet to get a proper view of their enemy. They were dashing around, shooting through the hedges, sticking together to make sure they did not shoot each other. One man heard a voice – he fired! The bullet hurtled through the hedge, narrowly missing its target. It carried on, through another hedge – then another, and then it had reached the outer wall of the mansion, and it flew past the trees and hit Steve’s tyre. Steve was stunned: this was a fire fight; people were firing real bullets out of real guns. Bullets that could kill a man. The full reality of the situation began to dawn on him.

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Anyone other than Nick Kang have any comments?

Part 11: Wasted

Only four men remained in the front garden, and three of them were Haitians. Tommy watched helplessly as one of his men was mercilessly ripped to shreds by the high-calibre bullets of the Haitians. He crouched, took a deep breath, aimed, fired! The recoil was too great and the shot flew wide. The Haitians looked around, shocked and worried. Tommy breathed slowly, and took more careful aim this time: a Haitian was thrown backwards by the force of his bullet. But the other two had seen him, and he ducked behind the wall, not a moment too soon, for bullets cracked past where his head had been just moments before, and didn’t stop coming. ###### down on that side of the building, he crawled over to the other, reloading as he did so. Peering over the wall, he saw nothing but rubble and fire. He clenched his fist at the site of the back wall of his precious house, reduced to nothing but a pile of metal and stone. And now he had another, very real worry: police sirens were drawing closer, and this time, there was no denying what had happened: the wreckage of a plane was burning on his patio, and his walls were stained red with blood.

Gunfire from inside told him, though, that the fight was far from over. But there were two men in his front yard, and he was confident that he could take care of them. He moved back to the front wall, and took aim again: the Haitians had given up on him, and probably thought he was dead. They clearly were not expecting him to fire again.

Steve stopped at the gates: two angry looking men were there, and he had no weapon. He felt fairly certain that they were working against Vercetti, and he didn’t want to take any risks. How would he get past them? But his question was answered before it had fully formed in his head: two shots were fired in quick succession, and both men fell dead. Extremely worried and nervous, he crept towards the building, keeping his head down, and glancing around all the time.

All of the fighting had moved to the main hallway; out of sight from Vercetti’s rifle. He was completely exhausted, and in no fit state to go down and help his men. He collapsed against a wall, and almost lost consciousness. The sound of the sirens snapped him back into reality. They were extremely close now. He had thirty seconds, maximum.

Phil pressed himself against the wall, silently praying to a god he had never believed in to spare him from the Haitians. There could not be more than two of Vercetti’s men left in the hall, against four of the Haitian’s best warriors. And the police sirens were so close, and he had only managed to call three people for reinforcements… he fumbled through the file he had grabbed from Vercetti’s desk. Two shots rang out, then the gunfire stopped. Phil had no illusions as to who had won. With quivering hands, he punched eleven numbers into his mobile phone.

The sole survivor of the battle, whilst reloading his gun, saw a flicker of movement through one of the doors upstairs. Slowly, and silently, he crept towards the door.

The phone rang eighteen times, and with each ring, Phil’s heart beat faster and faster. Eventually he got the answerphone, and cursed silently before dialing the next number.

The Haitian was disappointed. It wasn’t Vercetti.

This time Phil only had to wait for three rings of the phone. A gruff sounding man answered.

“Yes,” whispered Phil, “Thank god… Get to the Vercetti Est-“

“Where’s Vercetti?” came a voice. Phil dropped the phone. His heart stopped beating at the sight of the colt python pressed expectantly against his temple.

“Where’s Vercetti?” said the man.

“I… I don’t know,” stammered Phil.

“Sure you don’t. Where’s Vercetti?” repeated the man.

“I’m telling you, I don’t-“, then the man shot him.

Vercetti heard the final shot. The rotor blades started to spin, and he fumbled with the controls as if it would somehow make him take off faster. His heart raced as various indicators rose quickly. He felt as if they were measuring how likely he was to be caught by the police. After what seemed like an eternity, a red light flashed, and he reached for the joystick.

“Not so fast.” A black man wearing a purple and white suit was standing next to him, a fully loaded Colt Python in his hand. Vercetti almost cried.

“Take your hands off the joystick,” said the man. Vercetti had no choice but to oblige. Ideas bounced about his mind, each of them as useless as the one before. This was no spy thriller. He didn’t have the perfect gadget to help his escape. He didn’t have a gun-toting sidekick rushing to his rescue. His enemy was not going to let him stall for time. He closed his eyes and waited for the shot.

The shot came almost instantly. Two seconds passed. Vercetti opened his eyes in surprise, after realising that he was not dead. The Haitian stood before him, a look of agony and shock on his face. After a brief moment, the man fell to his knees, then slumped down on the floor. Tommy saw the back of his shirt was stained red. And, standing a few metres behind the corpse, holding a Colt .45 in trembling hands, his eyes wide open with terror and disbelief, was Steve Johnson, the man who had already saved his life once before.

There was no time for congratulations. There was scarcely even any time to talk. Vercetti just signalled for Steve to join him in his Maverick, and, as the first of the police cars pulled into his front garden, sirens blazing, the helicopter took off, and within a minute had disappeared out of sight from all of the police.

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Oh dear, I think I've dug myself a hole here. I'm sure I'll be able to write my way out of it, though.

Part 12: Supermod.

Sergeant James Reed surveyed the wreckage. Men in white coats rushed around him, collecting all the evidence: and there was a lot of evidence to collect. Men in blue covered the isle in yellow tape, and what little spectators there had been were being hustled away. Those who actually lived in Starfish, however, stared, amazed, from their windows, and there was little the police could do about that.

A loud, horrible hissing broke Reed’s train of thought, as firemen tried their best to extinguish the overpowering flames. And an officer with a clipboard was standing eagerly at his shoulder.

“Hello, officer,” he snarled. “What have you got?”

“Sir. This house belongs to a Mr. Ricardo Diaz. In the past three years, he’s been on trial twice for drug-related charges, but he was found innocent both times. His business includes-”

“I know Mr. Diaz,” snapped Reed. Who hadn’t heard of Diaz, probably Vice City’s richest man? “Anything else? How about that helicopter?”

“Yes, a blue Maverick. It took off from the roof, moments before the forces arrived.”

It took Reed less than half-a-second to make the logical connection.

“Obviously,” he said, “whoever was in that heli’ was trying to escape. From us. And, anything from forensics?”

“Well, it’s too early at this stage, really. But from what the men were wearing, we can distinguish who was on what side.”

“How d’you mean?”

“Well, twelve of the bodies are black men, all wearing a distinct purple-and-white outfit. We could probably also find out more from the types of bullet used.”

“That’s not important to me. I want to find out who the men where.”

“Once again, it’s too early, sir.”

Reed cursed, and dismissed the officer. He stared down at the scribblings in his notepad. They made little sense, and gave him no lead. He ripped off the page, and threw it into the smouldering fire, before going to interview the head of forensics.

The Maverick wobbled precariously, its engine sputtering as it frantically tried to suck in what little fuel remained. As two semi-frozen figures were pulled up into the waiting Speeder, the final ounce of oil caught light, and the Maverick gave up the fight and started to fall. It crashed into the water with an alarming speed, but the Speeder, and the two men it had just rescued, was already long gone.

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