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Police Artist drawing from mugging incident- Volgograd 23/06/2011 Kirill Sorokin and his family are from Volgograd, one of Russia’s most important industrial powerhouses. Growing up on the outer edges of the city poverty was rife, the men working long hard days in factories and chemical plants while the stayed women at home taking care of the children. Kirill and his younger brother Slava did not have the best upbringing, ever cast in their oldest Sister Natasha’s shadow. Kirill and Slava where forced into labour at a young age doing mediocre jobs in the plant factories, crawling into small spaces, attaching small bolts, their child hands being put to good use. Natasha however received better treatment, being the family’s ticket to a higher class. In school Natasha excelled, outshining the rest of the pupils, receiving great commendations from teachers, and students alike. Her parents put all their spare money into Natasha’s health and education, feeding her more food than her brothers, buying her new books leaving Kirill and Slava with hand me downs, and worn clothes. This reality carried on into Kirill’s mid-teens where he began to forge his own path along with his younger brother, sick of his parents neglection, rather than following his Sister up the ladders of greatness, he stepped down the stairs into the criminal underworld. He began creeping the streets at night mugging and robbing helpless tourists, with his partner in crime Slava. During his time, he made some close friends in the underworld, not just associates friends for life, Yuliy Safaryan and Fyodor Arseneyev. Yuliy was the duo’s close friend and means of escape, Yuliy was a corrupt cab driver, extorting tourists by overcharging, and pickpocketing, he helped the duo by picking them up a few streets away after the incident. This continued for some years, the duo delving deeper and deeper into the void of crime. They progressed from street muggins to grand theft auto. However, their small criminal world was flipped upside down. By the time, the duo was in their twenties, the unlawful brothers were experienced in their craft, what was once a side job, was now a profession. The duo was stalking a well-dressed middle-aged couple, they clearly had some money, the perfect target, Kirill and Slava waited till the couple reached a dark spot, then they attacked. They done the same thing each time, Kirill would do the talking, Slava would stand behind them ready to strike if necessary. Unfortunately, the man had company, before Kirill could even finish his first sentence, there was a thundering boom, too stunned to speak all he could see was Slava’s shocked face, and a thin line of blood dripping down from the small hole in his head. His brother collapsed to the floor; all Kirill could do is watch as the well-dressed man nodded his head to two burly fellows dressed in black behind him. Kirill ran like a coward, chased by the two men he used his knowledge of the streets to his advantage evading death, leaving his poor younger brother behind. Upon returning home he told his parents everything, they blamed him for his brother’s death, they told him it was all his fault, he should never have gotten into crime. Kirill pleaded for their forgiveness and their mercy, but he was shunned, they disowned him. They did not call the police for they did not want to ruin their precious daughters’ reputation, in fact they wanted nothing to do with Kirill or Slava at all anymore. Guilt ridden, Kirill stopped his crimes, he went back to labour work, landing a job in a chemical plant, he tried his best to live a regular life, constantly reminded of his actions, having friends helped distract him, but in the end, he was still alone, he needed to leave this city, start a fresh, leave behind what once was. Now Kirill is 28 years old, it has been 7 years since the incident. Seeing online that there was an influx of people going to America looking for work, he began saving what money he could, starving himself some nights for that little bit of extra money. He applied for a working visa in America putting down that he has experience in plant production and factory work. After a lot of fees and meetings in the US Embassy in Volgograd his working Visa was accepted, this was it, his escape, his fresh start, his chance at living a life far from his guilt, and far from crime. He packed little what possessions he had, resigned from is job, said his farewells to Yuily and Fyodor and left Russia, ready to start his new life. He does not know just how deluded he is... Kirill's Plane Ticket

Narration: I never thought my life would end up like this. (shots heard in the background) Me: (thinking) Shit, running low on bullets *shouts* "We can work this out, ill get your money!" Man: "You're fucking dead, you hear me dead!" Narration: On the run. I've always been able to stay outta trouble..keep my head down. It started about two weeks ago, the first time I robbed a man. Don't get me wrong I'm the furthest thing from a cold-blooded killer, but I had to survive, Save the people I love. See we never had it like that....and these streets were cold. If you wanted to eat, you had to hustle. I grew up with this dude Gastor and he put me on to his cousin, Dude name Rashaud. He told me he could help me with a come up, all I had to do was pick up and drop off duffle bags on the weekends. There were only ever three rules, Never open the bag, never be late and never ask questions. He told me he would pay me two grand for every drop. Seemed easy enough....right? Little did I know the next two weeks of my life would lead me here. Me: *Shouts* "Come on man, I thought we were boys, I always had your back, Gastor please man, tell em I can get the money." Gastor: *Shouts* "It's you or me homie, I'm sorry man but you gotta die, Rashaud don't play that brody" Narration: I guess you're wondering how a "simple" little delivery job can lead to my ass dodging bullets, and why I even got myself working with these fools...well as a wise man once said, Let me take yall back man as I do so well. Narration: I'm 21 and my moms in the hospital with stage two cancer, I know harsh as fuck...but its reality. I'd do anything to save her, I worked two jobs, slept for five hours a day, and saved every penny I could. Narration: It wasn't getting me anywhere...So I had to find another way. Me: (Thinking) I gotta make a run for better cover, find a way outta here. (Shots echo across the ally, tires screech as a car comes to a sudden stop) Girl: *Shouts* "Jay, Get in" Narration: See me and Gastor still kept in touch after high school, we would hang on my days off, grab a beer or two and talk shit. He was never the smartest but he had money and money is what I needed. High school drop out driving an Audi, I mean he has to be doing something right.....right? Me: "What's up brody, what you getting into today?" Gastor: "You know same old shit, fucking ya bitch, getting rich." Me: *Laughs* "I hear you, man...I'm tryna get like you." Gastor:*Laughs* "you know how we do...Eh barkeep let me get a Henny...eh you want something, Jay'' Me: Nah I'm good man, gotta clock into Job number two in a few hours. Gastor: "Man I thought you was off on the weekends...and Job number two my nigga?" Me: "yea man, moms not doing so well, her cancer is getting worst and I just don't have the money for it." Narration: Gastor pulled out a wad of cash and dropped it on my lap, I've never seen a stack of cash like that....and definitely never had anyone just give me that much money. Gastor: "look after your mom's brody, she all you got. That's thirty bands right there, That should at least get you started, But I can help you make more. Me: "I appreciate it man, I really do...but I can't take that. I know the typa shit you do to be slinging this kinda cash and driving that kinda car....and I love you man, but I don't want no part in it. Gastor: "Keep ya voice down my nigga....(looks around) put that shit up, let's take a walk. Narration: We walk into the parking lot and at this point, is when everything changed. Gastor: "The fuck is wrong with you my nigga, ain't nobody gonna come around and save your mom, only you can do that. Stop acting like a little bitch and get on that shit. Me: "Man you know me, id do anything for my moms, but if I end up dead who the fuck go be there to save her. Gastor: "It ain't even like that brody, you ain't gotta handle no real heat, light work and you damn sure go make way more that you making now. Me: "Fuck!... I just don't know what the fuck to do man....shit...*Sighs* what I gotta do." Gastor: "Don't worry my nigga i got you, ill put you on to my cousin, he go explain everything. Narration: A few weeks later I was here, Dodging bullets and praying I don't take one. Me: *Shouts* "Tamika, what you doing here...." Tamika: *Shouts* "Jay shut the fuck up and get in the car" Narration: I never thought id be so happy to see my girl, and I never ran so fast in my life. Damn near killed myself jumping in the front seat of her drop top head first. Me: *Shouts* "go go go go...Drive!" Tamika: "I'm going, I'm going" (shots ricochet off the side of the car) Me: Keep ya head down. Narration: I fired off my last two shots hoping to slow them down. Tamika: "oh my god are you okay, did you get hit?" Me: "Yea, I'm aight....but how did you find me?" Tamika: "Gastor called me, he said I should come to get you and drive you to the abandoned airfield, he got a friend that can fly you to Los Santos." Narration: Few days after I spoke to Gastor, I went to meet up with his cousin at their grib..They were passing around a few blunts with a few bottles and guns on the table. Like I said I was never no cold-hearted killer, Still ain't, and I definitely felt out of my element here. Rashaud: "You looking type sus my guy..*Looks over to Gastor* you sure this nigga ain't a narc?" Gastor: "Yea he my boy he cool, we known each other since high school." Rashaud: "oh yea? *Grabs a gun and points it at Jay's head* what's ya name Lil nigga?" Me: *put my hands up* "my name Jay" Rashaud: "Why you got your hands up, is you a bitch Jay?" Me: "I mean you got a gun to my head, fuck am I pose to do? I ain't never been in this typa shit" (men on the couch start laughing) Gastor: "Rashaud, chill cuz, he cool I promise." Rashaud: "I don't know man, he seem like a bitch you sure he can transport this shit?" Gastor: "its cause he a bitch he perfect to transport this shit, he ain't never been in no trouble, ain't nobody go expect his ass to be moving this shit." Rashaud: "I feel you my nigga, when the fuck you become so smart?" Gastor: "been hanging around Jay ass too long" (All but Jay began to Laugh) Rashaud: "Aight my nigga three rules, one....never open the bag...two never be late to ya drop and three don't ask no fucking questions....and put ya hands down nigga. Me: "aight...so what I gotta do?" Rashaud: "rule three my nigga, ain't I say no mother fucking questions?" Me: "aight aight you got it" Rashaud: "Gastor, educate this nigga" Gastor: "aight my nigga this how it works, dirty money goes into the laundromat, gets cleaned and bagged up. You pick it up and drive it back to the warehouse and hand it off to this nigga Rez, that's all you gotta do. You get paid two bands a drop and the drops are every weekend. Me: "Aight, sounds easy enough, think I can handle that." Rashaud: "think my nigga? Think? if ya ass come up even a dollar short its a cap for ya ass." Gastor: "My nigga chill, he got this don't worry about it cuz" Rashaud: "His ass better" Me: "Nah yea I got this don't worry....yea I got this... I got too much to lose." Narration: Couple days later was my first drop, like I was told, I pulled up to the back of the laundromat, this Chinese looking lady comes out and hands me a duffle bag. It had some weight to it, and I ain't go lie, I knew it was money...but I was curious. Never held so much cash in my life and I really just wanted a peek....that would hurt anyone would it. That's what I thought anyway. I opened up the bag and I was shocked. Stacks on stacks on stacks of paper, enough to change my life. Now I know what your thinking, why the fuck would I even open the bag....before you say it I could already hear this nigga Rashaud yelling Rule one my nigga Rule one. I guess my first thought was fuck it, and fuck him...this could save my moms...I mean what would you have done. Don't act like you wouldn't have at least peeked.