Insanity x2 (A Trevor Philips Story)

1: Los Santos [revised]

A fresh start.

That's exactly what I needed. Las Venturas seemed like the city of broken innocence. I looked to my left, where my right hand man, Carlos Reyes, sat at his chair. He was looking right back at me. His teardrop tattoos made him look more menacing as he kept his gaze locked on me, his shaved head revealing the faint outline of more tattoos up his neck and around his ears in a type of tribal expression. He gave me a curt nod before standing up, and grabbing a clipboard with my "TO DO" list scribbled on it. I glanced at the clipboard, and as I did, I got a small glimpse of at his arms for a moment, and my attention focused when I saw his new tattoo. I sat there, admiring the new tattoo of a woman he had gotten on his left arm. I appreciated beautiful artwork, even if it was slightly obscene and objectifying to some.

He was a nice man. Well, nice to me, at least. He was ruthless to those who wronged him, but in this business, you had to be. You had to show people who was boss, and that was a good trait for the CEO's assistant of Reaper Industries.

He was a man of power, yet he was not as bold when he spoke to me, which I didn't understand. I wasn't sure if he secretly loved me, or just feared me. I had known him for several years, but still, I did not know much about him. All I knew is that he had a child named Rosa, the mother of the child was no longer involved with Carlos, and they never spoke. They only interacted whenever they hand off their kid, but she didn't like his involvement in Rosa's life. She had believed Carlos to be a bad father figure and role model, and I couldn't quite blame her.

Criminals were not meant to be parents.

That's all I really knew, though. Other than that, he was just a loyal assistant who followed me everywhere I went, and clung on every syllable I uttered.

I examined my clipboard, clicking my tongue as I thought.

"Where do I have the most consumers?" I questioned, examining the clipboard a second time over. I knew the answer, I just wanted confirmation before I rushed to conclusions.

"Los Santos," Carlos spoke. "A lot of people like your product there."

I nodded silently, thinking to myself. "Los Santos. . . Describe it to me."

"A lot of people live there, miss. There are lots of famous people and also lots of arrogant, self-entitled people. But it's beautiful. Lots of large, nice mansions. A lot of Vagos around that area, but also a lot of Ballas."

I sighed. "Well, cocaine is a rich man's drug, that's for sure. Even though I hate the rich, I think that's where I'll move to."

"What's wrong with Las Venturas?" Carlos questioned. I laughed. He should have been able to guess at least one of my reasons.

"Well, for one, ever since those damn Ballas murdered my aunt and uncle, I've felt haunted by this building. It's a constant reminder that their gone, and this place doesn't feel like my own. It doesn't feel like mine. . . I need my own place to do business, instead of spook myself every time I come into work, I need to feel accomplished." I shifted in my seat. The seat let out a long groan, and I rolled my eyes. This chair had reached its expiration long ago, I just felt like it wasn't my decision to replace it, but my aunt and uncle's. I couldn't throw out a single possession of theirs out of respect for them.

I worked in their office, which was the top floor of an abandoned warehouse. It was a nice, quiet little spot, as it was secluded from the rest of the city, but it was not particularly hidden. The room had a creaky, wooden floor that looked like it had seen better days, as it was a faded color. The walls had peeling, green flowers on a faded, cream white color. The lamp needed a changed bulb, and kept flickering, but every time I remembered to change the bulb, I had to leave the office to go check on inventory or talk to a client. I asked Carlos to do it, but he was also busy, maybe even busier than me, which was okay. I didn't mind.