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Sleepyhead (Michael Lane)


CocainePVP

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Here lies Michael "Sleepy" Lane, who isn't dead quite just yet.
Mar. 6, 1998 - XXX. X, XXXX

 

The Birth of a Disaster (like most disasters, accidental)

    Michael's life began much like most of the kids who go on to become degenerates. Born out of wedlock into a broken home; he was blessed with a PTSD-riddled alcoholic mother, and a racist, sociopathic, meth-consumed father, livin' it up in a small town called Chicago. His mother came from the Bolton side of the family, and Susan (Susie for short) was proud of it. She often told a young Michael stories of her brother, Uncle Slip, who used to always protect her as little kids. Upon reflection, Mike thinks part of his mother had always wished Slip would come and save her from her 'boyfriend'. 

    Jonathan Lane had never wanted kids. In fact, the only reason he stuck around was because he could never afford a good divorce lawyer; and was probably convinced he'd lose the house. When Michael started on the way out to him and Susan, Jon couldn't be bothered to leave his poker game to take her to the hospital. Instead, the neighbor; Mrs. Crowley (an ex-nurse) delivered the somewhat sickly and pale young boy to his mother. When Jon got home, about 34 hours later, he had completely forgotten his woman had gone into labor, and even the baby in front of his eyes failed to produce a reaction past a sullen "congratulations."
 

   Mike grew up listening to his father's racist rhetoric, and in the 5th grade he was placed in correctional school, for punching a black student and calling her several racial slurs. The boy's father treated it like a coming of age for Mike, who finally showed promise as a son in Jon's eyes. From then on, Jon took notice of Mike, and even once brought him home his very own pack of beer; after being suspended from the correctional school after yet another incident with a black student.

 

    It was his way of impressing his father, who didn't give a rat's ass about school and grades. As far as his father was concerned, Michael Lane would be raised a good, white boy. And, so it was. His mother lost more and more sway over Mike as he went into high school. After telling his father he'd be flying straight to get that diploma, (which Jon always regretted never achieving himself,) Mike was enrolled in a public high school, Las Casas Occupational High School. The kid got into drugs, and by sophomore year had alienated all but a few close friends, who were just as racist. 


CASH Money, and Larger Losses.
   Mike's friends were what you could call a 'bad influence'. The tendency of latch-key teenagers is to get into many things they really shouldn't be into. Like, cocaine. As his father continued to skip from job to job, his mother worked day and night shifts at a laundromat and fast food shop. It hurt the kid to see his mom working so hard, so he approached his close friend, Ruble, about getting his hands on some white; to start dealing. Ruble's brothers all had ties to the Chicago Area Skin Heads, or CASH. Ruble decided to help Mike out, and introduced him to some of the people who would turn Mike on a path he'd never turn back from. 


   Mike made good money dealing CASH's coke and herb. It was enough money for him to lie to his mother that he was a delivery driver at Burger Shot, and convince her to let him start paying some of the bills. Mike, who had been doing terribly in school, finally decided to drop out and get his GED. Shortly after things started looking up for the Lanes, Jon disappeared. He never packed any clothes, and didn't leave any notes. His joint bank account with Susan was still in order, and there was no indication of an affair or abandonment. Susan was shattered. No matter the evidence, she believed that Jon had betrayed her; and that she was invaluable. She went headfirst into the trench that is depression; and the alcoholism made it worse.

   On January 21st, Susan Lane died after colliding into a cement column; while driving intoxicated. And that, friends, was the beginning of the end.

 


sleepymomcrash.png

 

 

   With an empty house, and now orphaned, Mike turned to another friend, Sabyan 'Creep' Vargas. The pair had frequently talked about moving in with each other; and recently Creep had gotten kicked out of his step-dad's house. After hearing the news, Creep told him about the plans he'd made. In about a month, they were going to move out to Las Venturas, where Creep had a cousin. His cousin could get them a good place to stay, and hell, it's the City of Sin. Without a second thought, Mike agreed. After three weeks of drinking, cocaine, and squandering a good half of his cash; Mike and Creep drove out to Las Venturas, in a janky old van with no AC. It wasn't his finest moment, but the lights when they arrived said it all.

 

 

Las Venturas, Robada, 2013. : GTAV

 

 

    The police lights, I mean. Red and blue came up flashing behind them, as they pulled down the highway. A state trooper removed them all from the car, and after putting one of their companions into another cruiser for warrants; cuffed Mike and Creep for possession of a stolen vehicle, and suspected Grand Theft Auto. With no money, and nobody to defend him; Mike was advised by a public defender to plead no contest, and face a short stint in County rather than potential years in the big bad penitentiary.

Blood in, Blood out. 

   When he was taken into intake; Mike got the rundown of the politics in Blackfield County Jail. Things were semi-peaceful at the moment, but the Jail had just come off lockdown two weeks ago; after a trio of black inmates were caught after murdering a white inmate on the field. The Deputies had managed to arrange a ceasefire between the two groups, or so they believed. The real check in came once he was in his pod. One of the guys from the woodpile checked his papers, and then pulled him aside.

 

   The dude was a skin, Scratch from Rockwood. He told Mike what he'd already heard in intake, but explained that the ceasefire wasn't to be respected. The man with the keys, Bar from the Brand, had sent word down that they'd be making a move sometime this week, working with surenos to get revenge on the blacks. Even if he was new, Scratch said he'd need to get in on the action. Two days later, at yard, the whistle was heard, and the whites and surenos charged the blacks. Mike stuck with Scratch, and when a black inmate pinned Mike down; Scratch took a sharpened toothbrush out of his waistband.

   It was a blur, and then a spray of red. Mike's hands and face were covered red, and Scratch pushed the inmate off of him. A few seconds later, a warning shot was heard as guards stormed the yard, beating and pepper spraying inmates into submission as riflemen watched from the towers. During the ensuing lockdown; Mike was brought in to a room with his lawyer, and several suits. They showed him a video, of him participating in the riot, and then, as the suits put it, 'being an accessory to murder'. His lawyer, obviously frustrated, advised Mike to plead guilty; and in return she'd help negotiate down the charges. On top of his Misdemeanor Grand Theft charge, which left him with a year, he was slapped with another 6 months for Assault on an inmate. When he was returned, he was taken not to his pod, but to SHU. His new cell mate, Stinger, congratulated him. Word was, Mike had proved himself loyal to the program. Stinger was pretty good with stick and poke, and gave him his first tattoo, an unfilled swastika on his right chest. When he was done, Stinger showed him the result of his work. As Mike looked, his new brother said, "Blood in, Blood out."

 

 

sleepynewtat.png?width=1122&height=677

 


Rise of the Slime Lord

   On his release, April 5th of 2019, Mike was told by one of the guys from the woodpile to get in contact with the Blackfield Death Dogs, a street skin gang who had ties to Aryan Warriors in the county jail. Mike's sense of freedom didn't last long. He had been markedly changed after his time in county, and saw the normal society as boxed in. He ran tight with the BDD, and eventually; he made good friends, that he could call brothers. Flinch was one of those brothers. Flinch had been brought in for about a month, but had yet to be validated. And although Mike had been brought in inside; he wasn't a part of Blackfield yet. Some of the older homies had taken the gang out drinking at the local bar, and a slightly older black man came in; likely a tourist. Despite the many racist signs and imagery in the bar, the man came up to order a drink. He was berated, and then beaten. The big homies, Rash and Cane, told Mike and Flinch to drag him out back. They did. They were told to beat him, and they did. Then, they were told to stab him. They did.

 

 

Sleepywetwork.png
 


  In late 2019, Mike had been brought in and was recognized as an associate of Blackfield DD. Him and Flinch had a rough season, after a shipment they and several other gang members had pooled cash in got stung. They decided to hit a lick, on a small 24/7 out in Rockshore East. They went in, guns up, and got a decent take. No sooner had the bag of cash reached their hands, that the shopkeeper reached for a gun of his own. They put him down, and ran outside. Less than a mile out, they heard sirens. Flinch ran off toward a drainage ditch; and Mike followed. They slid into the ditch, and Mike stumbled. He fell back-first into the pool of runoff at the bottom, and wound up covered in foul smelling slime. He and Flinch hid there for a good two hours, before making a call for pickup. When Rash and his brother showed up to get them, Rash started joking that his new name for Mike was Slimey. It stuck.

Skinhead Cannibalization

  Not a month had passed since he and Flinch had hit the 24/7, when Slimey got a call while doing lines with his now ex-girlfriend. Flinch had been picked up by 12. He got caught up with his gun, and about two ounces of coke, plus a scale and baggies. On top of those charges, they traced the firearm back to the murder at the 24/7 alongside camera evidence. Just like that, Mike's closest, his only friend, even; was headed behind bars, probably for life.


  Slimey didn't click with the rest of Blackfield, after that. And, to add to that; a huge bust had gone down a week after, taking Rash, Cane, and the Shotcaller; Van, out of the picture. With the weakened state of their gang, and their leaders behind bars for life; pressure came from the Rockshore East Wood crew; who ran under Aryan Warriors as well, for DD to merge with them. Deals were struck, but Slimey didn't make it to any of them. He had come to terms with the fact that he wanted out; and he wasn't gonna pay the blood price for it either, not for some 'homies' who barely gave a fuck about him.

   And so, after the cannibalization of the Blackfield Death Dogs skins by the Rockshore East Peckerwoods, Mike left the name Slimey in Venturas, and made for San Andreas. After some time in Blaine, he caught word about something he'd almost forgotten, a link to another version of himself; long since dead.

 

The Outlaws MC was in Los Santos. Michael hadn't seen or spoken to his Uncle Slip in years, but maybe, just maybe he could be around, or there might be someone who could point Mike in the right direction. It was worth a shot, at least.




   

   

Edited by CocainePVP
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Ft. @KarMagick and Co. Thanks for the RP ?

Edited by CocainePVP
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