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The story of Berry.


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 Marcus "Berry" Sanchez.

                               

Childhood

Born in a peaceful and a humble family in the southside of Montebello, California, Marcus was raised well and always was the white crow in the flock. In kindergarten he was rather ruthless and started to show his character slowly. When a boy took his toy cars without permission, he punched him in the scalp for it. He was locked in a bathroom to think about his actions and later sent to the director. In the sports class he was bullied for being chubby - he hurled a basketball in the bullies face and gave him a nose bleed! His mother pulled a joke on him for that - next evening she took him out to the forest and threatened to leave him there if he won't start behaving. Ofcourse, it was just a joke, she wouldn't - but somehow he had to learn his lesson. He promised he will, and that evening has been in his mind for a long, long time. Early childhood he was one little hothead indeed. He was interested in pretty much the most basic of boys stuff - cars, sports, action movies and shows, and toy weapons. Running around acting soldiers in the backyard. Riding bikes with his buddies. 

Though he did show his good side! Parents noticed, that he was quick learner. He learned English at age 7, being born in a Mexican family though.

School

Ofcourse, as all kids - school. He started out at the age of 7, like everyone does. His grades were good, it kinda came naturally to him. In around 7th grade his grades worsened, but not too much - that's due to hating school. He was being bullied. Beat up "just because". Called names and what not. He really didn't want to go to school. He found passion in skateboarding and gym, where nobody was judging or bullying him because... That's how those communities go. He loved to do sports because he became fit! He hated being the little dumpling who is hated for his meats...

Living in a peaceful neighborhood he never saw violence, or anything like that, too. Father was a director in a clothes company and his mother was just being home - cleaning the house, making food, shopping. Father bringed in enough wealth to keep food on the table, have a car for the family and pretty much just made sure the family lives a good life. 

 

As years passed, Marcus graduated middle school and had gottem himself plenty of hobbies - drawing, skateboarding, gym and a passion for rock and roll and metal music - he even played a guitar on his own, a Yamaha strat that he got for his 18th birthday.

 

Going in adulthood and... studying.

 

At the age of 19, early 2010, he secured his first job - a bartending gig in a local bar. He started to earn his first money, still living at his parents house. Slowly and steadily he saved up just enough to acquire himself a drivers license and he bought himself his first ride - a 2006 HD Softail Classic. One of his old friends gave a good deal on it. Playing his guitar, riding a hog and working - he sensed he is becoming established. He also went and applied for psycholoy studies in 2nd State University - he got accepted! Moving out from his parents place and to the dorms to start studies, he felt accomplishment. 

One year in studies, his hobbies attracted a new crowd of friends - a few Mexican fellow students, from whom two were representing a local set - Voodoo's. A Mexican street set. He got close with them. Parties, chicks, drugs and rock and roll. Enjoying student life and still working at the bar, he thought all is going well! Being loyal and straight forward to his friends, slowly they spread the word to the bigger homies who were hosting block parties and leading people around. Soon enough, he got introduced to them and quickly found a new flock of friends! He proved to be loyal and with a brain in the right place... They accepted him, let him hang, get to know others around the block. He felt accepted and absolutely loved it.

 

  Last year of studies and a turn.

 

At the age of 23, he graduated the university.

He did not have a job anymore. He was distanced from his parents. He slowly became a "gangster" and a street rat with just a good education and somewhat smart brain on his shoulders. Years had passed by, he had earned major respect from the set and became a made member. Slinged drugs in the dorms, parties, clubs. An unflappable and loyal homie, doing what he was told to do and shutting his mouth when needed. Going in fights with his homies. Brawls. All what streets offer was known for him. Rocking his Harley and renting a flat together with one of his homies, he was living just well enough to get himself by. He had gotten him a few tattoos that represent the set - a small flame with a doll inside it, burning, and 4554 over his left arm, beatifully engulfed in a flame. He was making good money from slinging psychadelics and weed around the city still, keeping contacts with daily customers and getting new ones.

 

Some time had passed, and he had gotten himself a weapon from the bigger homies-  something he was though, afraid to use or even carry. But he still did so. A solid Colt .45, beatiful with an extended barrell. 

He knew, deep down - where is guns, there is violence. His mind started to slowly tell him that it's time for a turn. But he couldn't. He was deep. Having drugs all over him, leading smaller homies into dealing and being a well known member, he didn't have much choice.

Quite to his luck... Or not. In July 2015, a police operation had been in the works for awhile that came to an end with fifteen members arrested and taken out from their homes in breaches - drug charges, weapons, assaults and more -  a full rap sheet of charges for Sancho's homies. 

He was out of town for a week, going for a long ride on his chopper called "Metal ass" - a long, thousand mile trip on bikes. He received a phone call from his friend Angelo, the one with who he rented together with. Cops had striken their way inside and found the drugs, a full shakedown. Two ounces of weed, one already bagged up in 1g baggies, over 30 tabs of LSD and a few Xanax pill bottles. As the rented apartment was on his name, he realised he is fucked. Not even wanting to come back to the city, he was just riding around the state, visiting Venturas and other places until he came down to Los Santos to stay there for a few days. Planning out his next moves and what to do. 

 

Few days later, July 13th, he woke up and got dressed in his motel room. Packing heat and his bayonet, he made his way for yet another paranoid day. He was called by his friend Angelo once more, saying that the cops are after him and at the time he was hopping fences and making a run for it. The call cut off and he didn't hear from him since. Quite paranoid and puzzled, he went to ride out to the desert on his bike. Visiting a local bar there, he got himself shitfaced to try and snap out from the cruel reality that's hitting him.

He didn't even get a chance to get a job with his diploma, as it was just a few months after graduation. His plans were ruined, his future stained, and he was being searched by the authorities. He spent a night in the desert, sleeping down in an abandoned barn. Next morning he made up his mind and manned up - face whatever he had to face. He stashed the bike in the barns corner, covering it with tarp and placing planks and barrels around it. He hid his belowed ride and called a taxi to the city. From there he got himself new clothes and rented a car, which he used to get back to Monty. 

 

Next day, arriving in Monty, not even twenty minutes had passed when he was intercepted by an unmarked cruiser over speeding. He played it off just fine, but the peace officer found out his status in the system - Wanted. Possibly armed. 

A felony stop from there was conducted as two more units arrived along a K9 unit.

Marcus, in his luck, was smart enough to leave his baggie of bud and his weapon in his bikes saddlebags back in Blaine.

He was detained and during the week sentenced to 5 years with no parole - Possesion of drugs with intent to distribute; Possesion of an unlicensed assault weapon; Conspiracy to drug trafficking, as he had traveled the state for the last week and a half.

 

His parents abandoned him. They came down to visit him before he was taken to the gutter. "You're not our son anymore. This all your fault. You are just yet another failed man with no future". His parents said with tears in their eyes. He tried to say sorry and apologize, but they were not to forgive him. His father was looked at as a dirty man since that day, as the company he led heard about it. They knew, what his son had done. 

He had lost it all in a week. Future. Career. Friends. Family.

"Mama, i'm coming home, I know I'm not what you wished me to be" he said as his last words to his parents before he was taken away.

 

Prison.

Days passed. Weeks passed. Marcus was in a whole different world now. Prison. The real gutter of the world. He was taken under a wing of a hispanic prison gang, as they found out he had been a member of a street set and he told them about what had happened. They knew he can be trusted, as his affiliation tattoos showed dedication and loyalty to a gang. A family. But he still had to prove himself. A task was given for Marcus. He received a shank, a sharpened plastic shard wrapped around with stickers. And was ordered to stab down a peckerwood in the showers for stirring trouble between the two gangs and being the biggest racist turd all around, as three of his gang members would stand guard outside and wait for it to go down.

 

Showering down, Marcus had pressed the small shank inside his soap bar. He scratched it out, his hands shaking. He quickly knew who his target was  - that rather small built skinhead with a Swastika on his lower back.

Walking up to him from behind, he tapped on his shoulder... As he turned, he pushed the shank in the mans throat, cutting it up. Hands shaking, heart racing. He stood there in shock of what he had done. His homies rushed inside and grabbed him out, shouting "It's time to go ese, move, MOVE".

After that, days became blurry. He felt disgusted. But he kept going. He felt quite safe thanks to his prison gang. He spent his time reading in his cell, drawing.

Some time had passed, he was eating breakfast with his gang. They discussed and talked about all kinds of things. Marcus bringed up that he used to be a bartender and knows his way around alcohol, so one of the guys snapped his fingers - "Pruno. Ya' kno'?". He shaked his head. 

After breakfast, two of his guys offered him berries and juice, along a bag and other things. They said "Less' do it big dog, we makin' drinks". He chuckled and went with them to learn how to make prison wine. Being adequate with the process, he got good with it yet he never consumed much of it. His homies liked and enjoyed his pruno and gave him a nickname "Berry".

 

Years passed. Marcus was doing what he was. Working out. Making wine. Reading and whatever not, to make time pass faster. He wanted out. He crawed freedom. He needed to be free.

 

 2020. Summer.

 

Summer of 2020 came. Marcus was finally released from the prison. All he had on himself was a pair of old clothes that he had, his name and a goal. To be free. To be whatever he can.

Homeless. Broken. All alone, he wandered Montebello. 

 

As lucky as one can be, he bought a loterry ticket, a scratch one! Which earned him 1000$. He was quite happy with it, it wasnt much, but he could get himself at least some new clothes and food for awhile. 

He looked over his old Voodoo set tattoos and released a sigh... He went and lazered them off for 500$. He wanted to leave all that behind. No more was he who he used to be. He erased what he could. 

 Some time later, he remembered that he had his bike stashed in Los Santos as he watched a group of bikers pass him while he was hanging at a skatepark, having some lunch and skating. For the rest of the 500$, he bought clothes, a bag and some food and went for a transit journey to Los Santos. 

 

From there. The adventure began. With 200 dollars on him, he just sighed and imagined what instead he could have been now.

He had sacrificed it all.

But he was just strong enough to keep going.

 

He went down to the barn in a rented car, and to his surprise. The bike was still there. Weed withered. His gun rusty. His bike, too. Barn about to collapse. He digged it all outside and took his bike out to an abandoned scrapyard, where he also set up his "camp" - he lives and reigns and conquers the world there... Well. His world is just the scrapyard.

 

With one goal in his mind.

With freedom, finally.

He began his new life, all the way from zero. 

To hero? He thinks... maybe one day.

 

One beatiful day... Maybe.

 

Edited by Mister Barrowsky
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July 2020. 

  As July is coming to an end, Marcus has been out for the last three weeks. In this time, he has fixed his old Harley up to somewhat good condition - at least he is able to ride. Acquired a shitbox of a car that he can live in and bought himself some clothes. Gotten himself a few friends around and luckily gotten hired in a store as a clerk. Earning just enough to feed himself and buy the necessary stuff, he is pushing towards the good side, slowly and steadily. He has picked up brewing - using his skills he learned in prison from pruno making and reading a book about craft alcohol, he's getting the hang of it. Though he has nobody to sell it to, he just enjoys doing something more than just being a homeless, begging for change.

Living a simple life and keeping himself somewhat clean and postured up, he still has a long way to go towards his goals.

                              

 

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