-Vagrant-

X = Current Military Time Y = Current 12 Hour Clock Time If X is greater than 12 Then: X - 12 = Y (PM) If X is less than 12 then: X = Y (AM) If X is equal to 12 then: X = Y (PM)

Username: Guest35158 Comment: This is what's wrong with this damn country. Bad cops need to be reprimanded and held to account. But you know what doesn't make the news? The three deputies we lost in south side last night. The fifteen year old kid from Forum who Deputies kept alive, administering aid after more gang on gang crime in the area. These guys and gals are running towards the bullets, the fire, more often than not, and these fuck ups we're seeing on TV? A very small percentage of the people who actually make up our LEO officers. Most of them are good people, that got in this job wanting to do the right thing, and wanting to help people. The problem with this country, aren't the people of Davis, nor the Deputies and LEOs working in Southside. The real enemy is the fucking MEDIA that shows one small glimpse of a much bigger picture to pit us all against each other. The fuel and the fire starts with them and they ought to be ashamed.

Yo Isaiah, Get this shit. I was in a pursuit today, ran outta fuel, ... guy circles back around and swerves to avoid my hoop and crashes. So we caught a guy today, because I forgot to fill up my tank this mornin. A hoop by the way is what we call our radio cars. I dont have a fuckin clue why. But yeah. I'm a cop now. Who woulda thunk, right? I know you prolly rollin in your grave right now. Ha, if you was still alive, you'd be callin' me an Uncle Tom Nigga just like Jerome. Or maybe you happy I got out of the hood and found somethin else. Guess I won't really know till I get to where you are. Moms married a cop shortly after you passed. Detective with the LSPD, he's retired now. I used to think he was a punkass, but he's a good dude. And prolly who I am today I got to thank him for. Despite all the grief I gave him. I just wish he came into our lives when you were still around. Maybe he coulda talked some sense into you too. Maybe he coulda gotten you out the game. I killed a guy last night. He was a cop. Its not the first one, but its been sittin with me weird. Haven't gotten much sleep last night. He tried swingin a hammer on one of our guys. So I know I prolly saved a life. But this one didn't feel good. None of them do. This though? It's twistin in my gut like a knife ever since. He had a family I guess, kids. I dunno. It feels different. And I can't seem to shake it off me. Tonight I got a big ass chewing by command. Suspect falls off the back of a bike, his friend keeps driving. I end up dropping with the passenger, because we're already like 5 deep in the pursuit and I'm at the back. So we get this guy on his knees, and he says "ya'll weird ass fuck niggas"... so, you know I say, "What ass fucks aren't weird?" Kinda pokin' fun not realizin' command is around me. Guess we had some big shot Assistant Sheriff Commissioner or some shit out on the scene. Ray Valdez lit me the fuck up. He's one of the Davis LTs. A good dude actually, but... it just grinds my gears man. Like the fact that we dealin with the city's worst every fuckin day. We gettin shot at every fuckin day. We're losin' a deputy every fuckin week. And every time I'm gettin lit up by command its because of some stupid shit like me crackin' a joke to make light of a tense situation. Like they think I don't take my job seriously? Yet when the bullets are flyin' I'm focusin the fuck up. I've saved two of our guys in a bind. And I aint out seekin glory for it. But these cake eaters can't lighten the fuck up. They lead from the back of the line. And don't have a sense of humor. Or maybe they're just so wrapped up in their next political move, that its all about PR for them. Like the Senators, and Congress, they just want to make a move for next election, meanwhile I just want to make it home alive every night, and see to it that my people makin it home too. Which makes me wonder what kind of police work they've done in their careers. I ain't changin myself for them. My sense of humor got me through Iraq. It got me through Afghanistan. And its gotten me through some of the hardest nights I've had on the job since I've been here. They can fuck off with their political correct horseshit. When Mr. Commissioner holds his fellow Academy grad's brains in his own lap, he can tell me to lose my sense of humor. When he's running towards the fire, and not pushing pencils on a desk with a nice view, he can tell me to lose my sense of humor. At the rate I'm goin brotha, I've been shot at more here in Los Santos than anywhere I've been overseas. But fuck em. Ill wake up tomorrow, put this shit behind me, and go back out on the beat like I do every other day. They'll probably try to drag my career through the mud, and so be it if they do. My people know I got their back. They know when the bullets start flyin' no one gonna come to their side faster than I will. Guess in the end, as a soldier I was fightin' to get home and survive, and watch the backs of my brothers and sisters. Just never thought in a million years that I'd be living the same existence as a civilian. Bet I'll get my forth reprimand for this. Pretty sure I'm just a poster child for these punk ass politician police of what not to be. But the truth is, I get shit done. The real work. The place where it matters, I run to the fire, and I back my people up. Meanwhile, they eatin' cake with Senators and callin me the fuck up. Guess the system still does have an edge against us Davis niggas. I love ya Isaiah. I still think about ya everyday. I still miss ya. And brotha, I need you right now.

I took a life today. It's not the first life I’ve taken, but it's definitely been the hardest. We used to talk hard as kids, about blastin’ gats like the OGs of the hood, and ridin and dyin together. Never really knowin what that meant, or how hard that would take a toll on us. Overseas, my enemies were far away from me. I fired my rifle… and if I hit them, most the time I didn’t even know it, because they were several hundred feet from my position. Killing was easy then. Because you didn’t have to see the brutal after math of your decision to pull the trigger. It was easier to desensitize yourself then, because they didn’t have faces. Didn’t look like you. All you needed to know was they were probably about to blow up some of ya’ boys. I never felt good about killing. But I didn’t feel bad about it either. Killing, the act of, and the indescribable feeling it leaves you with can’t be described as anything other than ‘weird’. There’s just something unsettling, that doesn’t quite sit right. Something that leaves your soul uncomfortable. Tonight, wasn’t like the others. This one I’ll never forget. Tonight, I detained a homeless man who was identified as a former Detective. A man I would later learn had a wife and children, that he lost after an ugly divorce. A guy who was a great cop once. And slowly drifted into something destitute, and unrecognizable from the way he walked tall before this. He was one of us. Seeing him in this state made me wonder. Could I end up like him? Could I burn out, or get fucked over so hard that I break? And fall apart? He was in a fight with his fellow homeless friends. And… I made a decision which I had thought at the time was the humane one. I let him go. Offered to get him a meal. He declined. And off they went to go do what homeless people do. In that moment, I walked away proud of myself. Confident as I could ever be that I did a good deed. Maybe virtue signaling to myself, that I’m a good cop. That I’m capable. That I might be able to save this city somehow, by just doing one good deed for the people that need it. I kept a homeless cop from going behind bars. I tried to get him a meal. I’m a good fucking guy. And as fate had it, I found myself called into a pursuit later the same evening. After a long chase, the suspects bailed their vehicle. We followed him across the canals to the homeless tents set up beneath the freeway. There he was. The “Detective” I saved. He had a hammer in his hand. I had a deep sinking feeling in my stomach. I realized the guy I just let go hours ago, was raising new hell for me. I was thinking, Bishop, you fucked up yet again. Wait till you get chewed out from command on this one. But I never imagined at all things were going to go the way they went. Sergeant Perez moved on him. I covered from behind. We saw the hammer. We told him to drop it. We begged him to drop it. He was one of us once. Why couldn’t he just drop it? Why did you do this shit to me? Why did you do this to one of your own? He lifted the hammer up. I squeezed the trigger back. I put him down. Whatever he once was? Whatever he was now?... it didn’t matter. In an instant I had turned him to nothing more than rotting meat. A man with a family. A man who once served honorably. A man that probably worked with most of my fellow co-workers at some point in their careers. The only thing I can say to any of it, is if I had just done my job the first time. IF I put him in County, he would still be alive. His friend would still be alive. I once thought this job would be a breeze for me. And I’ve struggled coming into it. I’ve had growing pains. But never did I feel like maybe I’m not cut out for it. At least not until tonight. I can’t stop thinking about him. His estranged kids that probably don’t know he’s dead. The life he once had. I can’t stop seeing his face… what it once looked like, and what I turned it into when I tore it apart with my Glock. I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t fucking do this.

Bishop looks down at what was nothing more than an old worn-out composition notebook. The kind you’d buy on a back in school sale at the end of August. He read the title, done in the style of graffiti tag art. He smiled then reminiscing how good his brother’s art was. He had a real talent. He could have gone somewhere with it maybe, if he wasn’t chasin’ fame in the game. “Diary of a Gangsta” it read. He and his brothers came up with the idea when they were little, maybe no more than ten years old. They’d write what was on their mind, try to make bars out of it, raps, songs, whatever. Sometimes his older brother would just draw in it. And Bishop flipped through the pages of his childhood with a warm smile. Not many things he looked back on fondly as a kid. But this was a happy place for him. If even it was stupid childish nonsense. He read some of the songs that he used to write when he was having a bad day. Or trying to impress some girl. Or just the diary dumps his brothers put in there about what was going on in their lives. Isaiah’s new girl. His first kiss. First love. And then Jeremiah’s hit list. All the ‘thugs’ that needed ta get stomped. Elijah laughed out loud to himself when he read it over, thinking about just how stupid he and his brothers were as kids. But that laughter didn’t last long. Tonight, Elijah found himself at the empty pages that he and his brothers never filled. Drowning in the thoughts of what brought him to these pages in the first place. He had something to say. But no one to listen to him say it. No one he wanted to share it with. So, just as a kid, here he was. A pencil in his hand, old tattered notebook paper, and the awkward painful silence that lasted several minutes as he tried to find a place to start. But the graphite began to extoll itself upon the paper. Slowly and surely the words came out. I took a life today. It's not the first life I’ve taken, but it's definitely been the hardest. We used to talk hard as kids, about blastin’ gats like the OGs of the hood, and ridin and dyin together. Never really knowin what that meant, or how hard that would take a toll on us. Overseas, my enemies were far away from me. I fired my rifle… and if I hit them, most the time I didn’t even know it, because they were several hundred feet from my position. Killing was easy then. Because you didn’t have to see the brutal after math of your decision to pull the trigger. It was easier to desensitize yourself then, because they didn’t have faces. Didn’t look like you. All you needed to know was they were probably about to blow up some of ya’ boys. I never felt good about killing. But I didn’t feel bad about it either. Killing, the act of, and the indescribable feeling it leaves you with can’t be described as anything other than ‘weird’. There’s just something unsettling, that doesn’t quite sit right. Something that leaves your soul uncomfortable. Tonight, wasn’t like the others. This one I’ll never forget. Tonight, I detained a homeless man who was identified as a former Detective. A man I would later learn had a wife and children, that he lost after an ugly divorce. A guy who was a great cop once. And slowly drifted into something destitute, and unrecognizable from the way he walked tall before this. He was one of us. Seeing him in this state made me wonder. Could I end up like him? Could I burn out, or get fucked over so hard that I break? And fall apart? He was in a fight with his fellow homeless friends. And… I made a decision which I had thought at the time was the humane one. I let him go. Offered to get him a meal. He declined. And off they went to go do what homeless people do. In that moment, I walked away proud of myself. Confident as I could ever be that I did a good deed. Maybe virtue signaling to myself, that I’m a good cop. That I’m capable. That I might be able to save this city somehow, by just doing one good deed for the people that need it. I kept a homeless cop from going behind bars. I tried to get him a meal. I’m a good fucking guy. And as fate had it, I found myself called into a pursuit later the same evening. After a long chase, the suspects bailed their vehicle. We followed him across the canals to the homeless tents set up beneath the freeway. There he was. The “Detective” I saved. He had a hammer in his hand. I had a deep sinking feeling in my stomach. I realized the guy I just let go hours ago, was causing a ruckus. I was thinking, Bishop, you fucked up yet again. Wait till you get chewed out from command on this one. But I never imagined at all things were going to go the way they went. Sergeant Perez moved on him. I covered from behind. We saw the hammer. We told him to drop it. We begged him to drop it. He was one of us once. Why couldn’t he just drop it? Why did you do this shit to me? Why did you do this to one of your own? He lifted the hammer up. I squeezed the trigger back. I put him down. Whatever he once was? Whatever he was now?... it didn’t matter. In an instant I had turned him to nothing more than rotting meat. A man with a family. A man who once served honorably. A man that probably worked with most of my fellow co-workers at some point in their careers. The only thing I can say to any of it, is if I had just done my job the first time. IF I put him in County, he would still be alive. His friend would still be alive. I once thought this job would be a breeze for me. And I’ve struggled coming into it. I’ve had growing pains. But never did I feel like maybe I’m not cut out for it. At least not until tonight. I can’t stop thinking about him. His estranged kids that probably don’t know he’s dead. The life he once had. I can’t stop seeing his face… what it once looked like, and what I turned it into when I tore it apart with my Glock. I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t fucking do this.

Introduction Hardest part of writing any story is not knowing where to begin… But if you want the whole picture, we'll start with my old man. Tyrone Bishop. Everyone on the streets called him Aces, because the guy had what some might call dumb luck. He was smarter than your average street cat, even went to college for a year. Sure, he dropped out, but that's beside the point. Most kids where I come from are lucky if they graduate High School. He knew something about the art of the deal. He knew what a good investment was, versus a poor one. He knew what gangs were going to take the streets, and sometimes he'd pit them against each other just to get ahead in his own ambitions. He knew people. He knew what they wanted, how to get what they wanted, and ultimately how to leverage them to get the things HE wanted. He was a master manipulator. I guess you could say my old man was so good at fucking other people over that eventually he had all of Southside after him wanting to get a piece of Ol' Tyrone. Long story short, Tyrone was gunned down in the front yard when I was seven years old. Finally made a bet he couldn't cash out on. And that was a memory that I'll never be able to get out of my head. I ran to the basement like he always said, staying low on the ground like moms taught me just as we heard the weekly fireworks show begin. This was Davis, so at this point in my life this was just a reflex. About as normal to me, as it is for good folk to go to church on Sunday. It was routine. And after ten minutes of things going quiet, I ran upstairs to hear my moms screaming. I ran outside, and the previously undefeated Tyrone Bishop was splayed out on our front yard, turned to Swiss cheese. Wasn't the first body I had ever seen. Usually, though, they had a tarp over them, and a police permitter between us. This was the first one I had seen up close. And it still haunts me. I still remember everything about that moment, to this day. The nasty meticulous details of what it looked like to see my old man's disfigured face, and his brain matter leaking out beneath him. I think if anything it spoke to me of my mortality. You see your parents as these hero figures. Or maybe, you see them as villains. Tyrone, I saw as a little bit of both. No matter the case, I always thought Tyrone was untouchable. He got away with so much shit for the longest time. He had all of Grove at his back. People that respected him and protected him. But sure enough, he bled just like everyone else. And I learned in that moment, at seven years old, I felt it at my very core... that I was going to die young. I stopped thinking about comic books, and action figures, and playing in the park like a normal kid. From that moment on, I spent every day looking over my shoulder. Waiting for the next young blood with a gun to send lead my way and end me. Everyone thinks they're the one that's going to avoid trouble. Especially if they haven't found it yet. But I've learned growing up in Grove that if you don't go looking for trouble, trouble will still come looking for you. It's a tale as old as time. The cops didn't come to help us growing up. They were the enemy. White girl goes missing from a nice neighborhood and the Amber alerts go up, and you see it all over the news. Black girl goes missing in Grove, or is found dead in a street alley? You'll never hear about it. Hell, most times, you'll be waiting hours just to see a cruiser roll up. We didn't believe in law and order, because we've never tasted it a day in our life. We looked to gang life to be protected. To have people that had our backs and took care of each other. People wonder what it is that is attracting the kids to the violence, and how this self-perpetuating cycle all starts? It starts with who you can trust. And if history had taught us anything, the White Man didn't give two shits about the hood nigga. For anyone reading this, you likely know, or will soon learn on these very pages that I made a career out of law enforcement. So, am I an Uncle Tom that got brainwashed by the system? Am I a sellout who betrayed my people? Did I renounce old truths to live a new lie? Maybe my truth is different from your truth. Or maybe, my experiences have opened up my mind to new understandings. The Journey has been a wild one. And if you want to know what changed, continue reading. Maybe you will learn a thing or two. Maybe you will teach me a thing or two. But the important part is that we are all having the conversation.

That you Amber?

As an LEO roleplayer, I sometimes get overwhelmed by the fact that we're only about 20 people online at most at times, trying to manage 5 shootouts going on at the same time, several crime scenes, trying to manage scenarios where large fights break out and keep the flow of RP going while dealing with all this chaos. And then I think about the fact that we have maybe 15 people managing all the people on the server, every dispute, argument, cluster fuck scenario that goes out of hand, on top of all the trolls just coming in to dick around and not actually roleplay --- it puts in perspective just how much the Admins have to put up with, and when you consider they're probably not getting paid? Also probably trying to squeeze in a little bit of time here and there to just enjoy the game -- really makes you think twice about talking them down on the long wait times. Listen, best course of action is to put a report on the forum, and just go with the flow of RP and the turn of events. You get DM'ed? So be it. Roleplay it out. Document your evidence. Put it in a post here on the forum. And sooner or later, that will get a resolution. We all just need to be patient and have realistic expectations on the extreme demand that is being carried on the shoulders of our admins.

Detailed Description Presently there are only a few GTA:World interfaces that allow GUI scaling (Phone Interface, LEO Radar, etc.). As a result, many wide screen users still encounter issues viewing interfaces such as the Inventory System, Notes (NOTES ESPECIALLY), Shop Menus, and all of the other new fancy interfaces. A lovely quality of life feature that will help all widescreen users is the ability to zoom out of these interfaces, or scale them down to fit the screen. Relevant Commands/Items /uiscale [50-100] (changes interface size to zoom out to half the size, etc.) How will it benefit the server? This will close the gap in user experience with players that are using wide screen peripherals and hardware.

This is actually a fantastic suggestion. Even highlight isn't a perfect system, because if there is someone talking to you that you don't have highlight on, they easily get lost in the way. Automatically sending highlighted text to the player that is the target of /lowto solves this problem. Honestly, I don't get why people are sayings its unnecessary, it literally is solving a problem that currently exists, without causing any additional problems of its own.

I'm not a pdo! But if I was, you'd be safe you fucking ginger cunt! I support this. 🙂

I hear you, but I would almost rather players deal with those hurdles than the lack of meaningful hurdles currently imposed. At least if we're jailing 10 assholes for committing murder from the same gang, it's more believable than 1 asshole coming back for murder 10 separate times. Even better. Adopt the RICO act, where gang leadership can be held accountable for the crimes of their underlings as exists in the real world. Not only would crime drop drastically, hopefully gang recruitment standards would rise in the process. But this is a song sung by many a choir since the days of ancient LS-RP in SAMP... This is to say that there is no perfect system... but maybe a greater extension on prison bids is a start in the right direction for violent crime. Or maybe barring a character account from creating a character in the same faction until the other account that is imprisoned has been inactive for more than 60 or 90 days. Just some thoughts.

RDR2MP is vaporware at this point.... But if it ever did release I'd be there. I've already had a blast in the voice RP server there at Wild West RP on RedM, but if it had GTAWs text rp and quality, features I'd be in it in a heart beat. And I think the size works well here. The sparseness of the frontier works in favor of the vastness, and rp would naturally be more centralized to social hubs and city life, whereas your more lawless or homesteaders and frontiersman life would risk the dangers of the open frontier.

I've always personally felt that violent crime should result in prison sentences to match the crime. A murder charge should basically be a CK --- with the benefit of getting to play your character in the prison system for the rest of the characters life unless you choose to create a new character. And stage breakouts or parole board as the only way to make it out. I know it's not a popular opinion, but without real risk involved there just isn't anything keeping people from realistically fearing engagements and making criminal roleplay less menial stupidity and more well thought out and organized crime. Just my two cents.