canonized. || saints row.

i. kid from the streets.

( chapter one. )

❝ it's a sicilian message. it means luca brasi sleeps with the fishes. ❞

2006.

saint's row district, stilwater, michigan, united states.

♱

     "watches! i've got watches, here! yo, hey honey, this shit'll run ya six hunnid' dollars in the store! ah... whatever, man, watches!"

     the trenches of stilwater never knew a moment of silence. every corner of the city cluttered with fiends seeking their thrill in the shape of drugs, or sex, or murder. stilwater was where you would find solace among other monsters appearing to be men. whether it be a pimp or a crook, the city was setup for them. this city was born for them. king's beat up chucks hit the cracked pavement of the long abandoned district of saint's row. the cigarette packed with marijuana rather than tobacco rested between her fingers as she brought it to her lips, hand shielding the flame of her lighter as she breathed in the smoke. cheap earbuds rested in her ears, her mp3 player covered in sharpie doodles playing her r&b playlist as she leaned against the brick wall of the corner store she just bought her special loosie off of. her father knew the owner from back in the day when they'd come from the old country— italy, whenever her 'cousin' matthew worked, she'd pick up a pack of hand-packed weed cigarettes for cheap. family discount, always coming in clutch.

     what's love by fat joe played in her ears as she smoked, allowing her thoughts to run rampantly in her mind. the weed helped the thumping headache she had greatly. her father, cipriano, had been staying with her at her cheap apartment in the projects. his visits were known to be long and exhausting, with him too drunk to even take a shower and being passed out in her lazy-boy that was destined to be burned the minute he left. her days were spent walking throughout the city collecting her money from customers, sometimes stopping by the park to zone out to her music— anything to keep her from having to go home to deal with the train wreck that calls himself her father. she ran a hand through her brown hair before pulling it up into a ponytail, flicking the butt of the cigarette onto the floor and stepping on it to put the weak flame out. she pulled an earbud out as yellow and blue flashed across her vision, overhearing a yellow donning vice king shout, "man, fuck the rollerz! levar, you gonna let those bitches disrespect us...?" then the sound of a spray paint can being shaken then sprayed, as levar covered the westsize rollerz' known tag on the brick wall. off to the side, blue clad men with baseball bats approached while their backs had been turned, watching as levar painted over with thick golden yellow paint, the vice kings' tag. an argument ensued, only grunts and screams and *thwacks!* from the bat beating skulls in to a pulp. of course tonight of all fucking nights, she would wind up right in the middle of a turf war. she did her best to stay out of their direct field of view, shoving her headphones into her pocket with her mp3 player.

     a red car pulled up to the road and a man donning bright red clothing pointed his gun at both rival gang members -- "hector says, buenas noches." her mind was racing as he began unloading his clip, as fire shot from the westsize rollerz. she crouched down as best as she could, her hands over her head pathetically trying to shield herself from the firing bullets. she had a piece on her of course, but it was a shitty old pistol that definitely needed some upgrading, nothing in comparison to this rapid fire machine gun looking shit this carnales member was firing. the car drove off as the rollerz shot at the wheels, causing it to spin and crash into the building that had started it all with the tag on this turf. having lunged to run away at the wrong time, she had gotten thrown down as the car spun, its engine lighting a flame shortly thereafter. her head hit the ground and her vision grew spotty quickly from the impact, had her adrenaline not been pumping as much as it was, she would have passed out.

    the brunette laid on the floor, groans slipping from her lips as she put a hand to her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as she pathetically tried regaining her composure. more bullets were fired as the man from the westsize rollerz shot the squirming carnales member. from behind him, the surviving vice king shot him from behind with his pistol. her vision was blurry and her ears rang from the shots firing back to back -- this was the most gunfire she had heard, surprisingly, for a woman who grew up in stilwater. her vision finally focused itself as she looked up, the barrel of a gun pointed down right between her eyes. he shook his head, "wrong time, wrong place, bitch."