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⚠️This showcase is strictly for players aged 18+ only. Mature themes are present. No exceptions. 💓 Pulse Founded by Nyx and her ride-or-die Riley, Pulse is more than a name—it’s a lifeline. Born out of backroom betrayals and velvet lies, Pulse is a sanctuary for working girls—escorts, dancers, performers, and anyone grinding under the neon glow. From an apartment tucked inside the heart of Los Santos, Pulse beats with sisterhood, survival, and zero shame. No pimps, no predators, no bullshit—just a place to crash, connect, and cash out on your terms. 💋 We protect our own. We work smart. We never apologize for being the fantasy—and owning it. 🔥 Who We Are Pulse is a collective, a sanctuary, a sisterhood. Established by two women who crawled out of the smoke, stripped off the control, and built something the system never wanted them to have: freedom. We’re dancers, escorts, sugar babies, and dream-weavers. We sell fantasy, but we live in truth—and that truth is power, protection, and choice. Pulse is home. Pulse is family. Pulse is ours. 🏠 The Apartment Hidden from the chaos of the city, Pulse’s base is a grungy, open-concept apartment lit in violet and crimson—part lounge, part war room. It has rooms to rest, spaces to work, and a no-judgment policy stronger than steel. Visitors need a vouch. Enemies don’t make it to the door. 💋 What We Believe Sex work is work. Safety is a right, not a privilege. We share knowledge, not competition. No one gets left behind. We do not belong to anyone but ourselves. ⚡ Pulse Is… A place to crash when you’ve burned every bridge. A soft landing after a hard night. A guidebook for the new girl, and a war cry for the one who’s had enough. ⚠️ Themes & Content Pulse explores mature themes including sex work, violence, drug use, and trauma. We handle all topics with respect, consent, and clear boundaries. We value story over shock. Grit doesn’t mean glorification. ⚠️This showcase is strictly for players aged 18+ only. Mature themes are present. No exceptions.
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Hello, some people told me they thought my last character was very fun so I decided to make a thread for this one. Chelsea Pacheco
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hi this thread will follow the development of my character beth collier
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╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗ janice sutherland ╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝ a tale as old as time... just from jan's pov
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Hakim Rasul (1996-????) Born on October 14th, 1996, in Davis, Los Santos, Hakim Rasul, a. k. a. Kevin Daniels, is a 28-year-old inmate currently serving a life sentence within the San Andreas Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation upon conviction of Multiple Counts: One Count of Second Degree Murder, two counts of Attempted Murder, Felony Possession of a Firearm, and Reckless Endangerment. Growing up in an explosive atmosphere of gang violence and economic hardship, Kevin Daniels showed great early academic promise but, because of his environment, could not sustain a clear life direction. Seeking refuge from the streets at the age of 18, he joined the U.S. Army. A talented and resourceful soldier as a combat engineer, Daniels proved himself in short order. His tours in the Middle East earned him recognition for his intelligence and tactical skills, but the exposure to violence and trauma deeply affected his psyche. After receiving an honorable discharge after four years of service, Daniels returned to Los Santos, where he found it difficult to acclimate to civilian life. Suffering from untreated PTSD and lacking financial stability, he turned to crime, putting his military training to use by becoming an accomplished participant in illegal activities affiliated with local gangs. A botched altercation in 2023 led to a drive-by shooting in which one person was killed and two were injured. Despite his pleading of self-defense, Daniels was convicted by overwhelming evidence against him. While serving his sentence, Kevin Daniels embraced Islam and assumed the name Hakim Rasul, which expresses his commitment to self-improvement and spiritual asceticism. An active member of the prison's Muslim community today, Rasul has become known for being intellectual and articulate and gives tutoring to other inmates on basic education and theology. His conversion to Islam commands respect from some peers and skepticism from others, yet he maintains a low profile to avoid conflict.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐭 "𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞" 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐬𝐨𝐧
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Through this portrayal, readers will tangle with what it means to be young Jewish men of affluence in Modern America's vast ecosystem. For inquiries, notices and portrayal interest for the Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity or the American Jewish community: @Villainous (PM)
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This topic will follow in the life of Melissa Patel. Backstory: Melissa Patel is not your average white girl that you think you know; she grew up in a not-so-average trailer-park home with an abusive father that held her and her mother hostage for years with verbal and physical abuse. As the years went by, the courage and fear were growing inside of Melissa towards her own and her mother's mental and physical health, as her father's rage was growing and breaking more and more boundaries that eventually led to Melissa trying to make a run away from home but eventually being caught and beaten, leaving scars, often cigarette burns, on her body as a way to discipline her that there is nowhere she can go. At her high school, even staff were curious about why she was quiet and standing alone from the crowd, where she got these scars and bruises, but her father always managed to make up a story or an excuse, often putting fear in the staff members, letting nothing happen, and often making Melissa skip out on school days and events. One night, Melissa's mother tried to stand up for herself after a verbal arguement that lead her to be brutally beaten up and being taken to the hospital, and giving the last drop into the cup that was filling over the years inside Melissa to make a move, she took her fathers working gloves after he fell asleep, and carefully planted a cigarette between his fingers loosely and poured from some of the alcohol he was drinking out onto the floor and even managing to pour a small amount onto his father before lighting the cigarette with a match afterwards, she threw the burned match into the poured out alcohol alongside with the gloves and watched as the cigarette fell into the poured out alcohol, lighting his only home and abuser into flames, as she watched she felt a sudden calming comfort seeing her finally being set free but even then this wasn't the end for her, the fire marshals later indentified the case as accident as they found the lead cause of the fire a cigarette butt and knowing that the victim was heavily toxicated at the time of the incident. Being sent out with no home and future, Melissa obviously dropped out of school and turned to drugs to cope with the pain inside her and the flames that saved her that night.
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Antwan Wallace is a mentally challenged, mildly schizophrenic male who has unlimited time in the world to express himself via art, social media and debauchery due to his ongoing welfare status, allowing him to live life financially free. Hallucinations: Seeing or hearing things that aren't there. Delusions: Mistaken but firmly held beliefs that are easy to prove wrong, like thinking you have superpowers, are a famous person, or people are out to get you. Disorganized speech: Using words and sentences that don't make sense to others. Strange behavior: Acting in an odd or repetitive way, like walking in circles or writing all the time, or sitting perfectly still and quiet for hours on end.- 24 replies
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https://gtaw.gg/playpen
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"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Richard Tagaloa Richard "Surfs" Tagaloa: The Mixed Mutt from Apia to the County's Underbelly Richard Maria Tagaloa, known on the streets as "Poko," was born on September 27, 2000 by his mother Sandra Mariana Tagaloa ( Hispanic ) and very.. distant father Preston Tagaloa ( Samoan ), in West Apia, the bustling capital of Samoa. A young man hardened by a lifetime surrounded by violence, without a father figure, he grew up on Molu Street, a place where crime and poverty went hand in hand. His childhood was shaped by the powerful pull of the WTN (West Tongan Nation) gang—a notorious crew of mixed Hispanic/Tongan works alike, feared and revered across the islands. For Richie, gang life was the only path he saw. School meant nothing to him, and the streets held both promise and peril. A Gangster in the Making Richard entered the world of crime with a hunger and determination that quickly caught the gang's attention. He became a trusted runner, handling drug deals and extortion for the WTN with a ruthlessness that was rare in someone so young ( 15 ). He was known for his collective demeanor and a strange, almost ill-minded loyalty to the gang. Carrying guns and threats, he left his mark on the streets, calm and collectively. His reputation grew, and so did his role in the gang— armed robberies, trafficking, and endless brawls that left both him and his opponents scarred. As he got older, Richard started to feel the weight of his choices. The brutality he once embraced began to feel hollow, and he began to question the endless cycles of violence and retribution. Prison stints came and went, each one eating away at his humanity. He had a young son he barely knew by the age of seventeen, a child growing up without a father because of his endless stretches, months at a time. The life that had once promised him respect and power was instead taking everything he held dear. A Glimpse of Change After a three years of prison time for assault & battery, Richard found himself suffocating under the weight of the life he had chosen. He started to make his way out of the gang in increments, first by securing a job at a local woodworking shop. The work was hard, the pay minimal, but for the first time, he felt like he was building something, even if it was just furniture. It was honest work—a small rebellion against the life he had known. But the streets don’t let go so easily. Leaving the gang wasn’t a clean cut. He had debts to pay, promises to keep, and enemies who wouldn’t let him go. Every day felt like a countdown, and he knew he had to leave Apia for good if he wanted a real chance. So, with one last goodbye to the gang and the island that had been both home and prison, he headed for Los Santos to sought out his cousin [Violet]. The Mongols MC: A Darker Descent In LS, Richard was introduced to Isaac Montanelli, the vice-president of the Mongols Motorcycle Club. Montanelli was captivated by Richard's wild-eyed fearlessness and saw potential in him as a man willing to go to any length to survive. The Mongols were a different kind of beast. They were older, more formed and some would even beg to say.. more ruthless, and far more connected than the gangs Richard knew in Samoa. They offered him what the WTN never could—a vast network of money, a home, some respect and an introduction to a more organized aspect of power. Now nicked-named "Surfs" he became absorbed in the MC mindset by the help and guidance of his new-found sponsor [Isaac Montanelli]. The club became his new family, a twisted echo of the brotherhood he once had with the WTN, but far deadlier. The work was relentless, dangerous, and took him even further from the boy he’d once been in Apia. Personal Information: Name: Richard Maria Tagaloa Gender: Male Nick Names: Richie, Surfs, Richard. Current Age: 24 Zodiac: Libra Current Address: █████████ Place of Birth: ████████ ████ Height: 6'1ft Weight: 210lb Blood Type: A+ Family: Malcolm "Buster" Tagaloa ( Brother ) Violet Mendez ( Cousin ) ( Samoan ) Preston Oku Tagaloa ( Father ) ( Hispanic ) Sandra Maria Tagaloa ( Mother )
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Nurlan Bakytov was born on November 14, 1997, in Osh, Kyrgyzstan, a region known for its rugged terrain and diverse cultural heritage. Growing up in a post-Soviet environment, Nurlan was exposed to the harsh realities of economic instability and political turmoil. His father, a former factory worker, and his mother, a school teacher, instilled in him the values of resilience and hard work. Nurlan's athletic prowess was evident from an early age, leading him to pursue a career in mixed martial arts. He trained at a local gym where he was spotted by a fight promoter who introduced him to Kyrgyzstan’s clandestine fighting circuits. By the age of 18, he was a well-known figure in the underground fight leagues of Bishkek, earning the nickname "Arstan" (Lion in Kyrgyz) for his ferocity and strength. Nurlan's success in the fighting ring caught the attention of local organized crime groups. By his early twenties, he was deeply involved in the criminal underworld, working as an enforcer and debt collector. His activities soon expanded to include arms dealing, smuggling operations across the Kyrgyz-Tajik border, and establishing a network of illegal gambling dens. In his mid-twenties, Nurlan moved to Moscow to manage and expand his criminal operations. He established a significant presence in the Russian mafia, dealing in everything from luxury car smuggling to high-stakes robbery. His influence also spread to Eastern Europe, where he orchestrated several high-profile art heists, targeting private collectors and small museums. Despite his criminal lifestyle, Nurlan is known for his philanthropic efforts, particularly towards children's sports and education in Kyrgyzstan. He funded the construction of a youth sports center in Osh, which provides free training and education to underprivileged children. Nurlan's personal life remains largely private. He was once romantically involved with a Russian journalist, Ekaterina, who ended the relationship upon discovering his criminal activities. He suffers from chronic insomnia, a condition he manages through physical training and chess, a game he plays to strategize and relax. Nurlan has never been convicted, despite several investigations. His connections within political and law enforcement circles in Kyrgyzstan and Russia have kept him largely out of prison. As of the latest reports, Nurlan has been considering expanding his operations to the United States, specifically Los Santos, where he aims to explore opportunities in the arms and technology sectors.
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What does the bear mean in the Bible? "One of the most prevalent associations of the bear in biblical symbolism is with God's judgement. The bear often appears as a divine instrument of retribution. For instance, in 2 Kings 2:23-24, Prophet Elisha, the apprentice of Elijah, invoked God's wrath upon a group of disrespectful youths." THE BEGINNING: Moses Acker, born in the heart of Los Santos in 2002, was a child of the concrete jungle. His world was vibrant chaos of the city, but it was also a place of harsh realities. His parents, lost to a tragic accident when he was just a toddler, left him adrift in the unforgiving currents of the foster care system. The system, felt cold and impersonal to Moses. He bounced from one foster home to another, each one a fleeting glimpse of normalcy before being thrust back into the anonymity of the system. The constant upheaval and lack of stability left a deep scar on his young soul. EARLY YEARS: By the time he hit his teenage years, the streets had become his sanctuary, a place where he could forge his own path, however dangerous it might be. He found solace in the company of other lost souls, the forgotten faces that lined the boulevard. He honed his skills with a spray can, transforming the city's grey walls into vibrant canvases of his own creation. His fists, unfortunately, became equally adept at defending himself in the rough-and-tumble world he inhabited. Yet, amidst the chaos, Moses found a strange sense of peace in the quiet concentration of a chess game. The strategic dance of the pieces, the calculated moves, He'd spend hours on the boulevard, facing his opponent a weathered homeless man with eyes that held stories of a life lived on the end of a blade. PRESENT DAY: Moses's life was a constant struggle, a relentless fight against the odds. But even in the darkest corners of his existence, a flicker of hope remained. His bond with Corey Leblang, a friend from his childhood, was a lifeline. Corey, with his own troublesome past, understood Moses better than anyone else. Their shared history, their shared struggles, forged an unbreakable connection. After two years passing, they connect once again and this time in hope that they remain together to take on the city's grimy feel. For inquiries, notices and portrayal interest for the Alpha Epsilon Pi fraternity or the American Jewish community: @Villainous (PM)
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1. A NEON HAZE OF MEMORIES OF A BYGONE LIFE IN THE CITY --- The continued developments of Roselinette 'Rose' Thorne, a 27-year-old former sex-industry worker in the city, a future lowlife. Focused primarily on aesthetics, bits of her development, and general theme - Not a text-heavy book/story. TABLE OF CONTENT: 1. A NEON HAZE OF MEMORIES OF A BYGONE LIFE IN THE CITY 2. GREYHOUND BUS TO NOWHERE 3. ADDICTION 4. FRUSTRATION 5. MISSED 6. A PLACE TO DIE AT 7. PARANOIA 8. ALL NIGHTER 9. KNEW YOU'D COME THROUGH 10. PETS 11. THE WHOLE DAY 12. GNOMENAPPING 13. HATESEED HARDCORE 14. DANGEROUS CROWD 15. ACAB 16. CRACK HOUSE TO A CRACK HOME 17. TRAUMA AND FRIENDSHIP AT SANCTUARY TRAILER PARK 18. DAZED 19. TRAUMA OR SOMESHIT 20. NICE FISTS HOMEGIRL 21. IMPS 22. NEAR THE MOON 23. WISE WORDS 24. EGGS 25. SANCTUARY 26. FUCKIN' ANIMALS 27. BOOGITY BOOGITY BOOGITY 28. TAG ADVENTURE 29. DELIVERY 30. NO REGRETS 31. FRIENDS 32. I'M A FUCKING MONSTER, SOMETHING WORSE THAN PRIS 33. NEED MORE MANPOWER 34. I AM A SURVIVOR 35. SADCR - PRISONER 36. CONFINEMENT 37. COINCIDENTAL 38. IN HER OWN HOME 39. TIME FOR REFLECTION 40. LATER SKATER 41. NOT DEAD YET 42. BACK TO SQUARE ONE 43. NO FUTURE 44. DYKE FREE SINCE 2023 45. NOT ALL HEROES WEAR A CAPE 46. BAD INFLUENCE 47. SHOWER OF REGRET 48. JOURNEY 49. BOYS BE BOYS 50. DUMPSTER BITCH 51. WHERE ARE WE GOING? 52. BLACKMAIL 53. HELLSIDE 54. THE STRUGGLE 55. PEACE NEGOTIATION 56. OBSESSION 57. GUERAS 58. THICK AND THIN
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PARADISE is a neo-noir crime drama series inspired by works such as 'Nightcrawler', 'Drive', 'Max Payne', and 'Shot in the Dark'. Currently ten acts in length, this thread follows the gradual development of Ashton Love, a gonzo photojournalist here in Los Santos to cover crime and urban decay. PARADISE features some adult themes and references to real-world social and political issues, including human trafficking, the drug epidemic, and the destabilization of the East. Some content written around the Ukraine conflict was written prior to invasion. Thread quality drastically improves over time (as I learn to edit!) LATEST CONTENT (UPDATED 29/JANUARY/2024) PARADISE PROJECT WEBSITE CLICKING EACH IMAGE BELOW WILL BRING YOU TO THE CORRESPONDING ACT (Click with middle mouse to open in new tab. Individual scenes contained in spoilers.) BEST BROWSED TO THE ATTACHED MUSIC ON EACH SCENE EACH TRACK IS CHOSEN TO FIT THE THEME THE POST IT'S ON RECOMMENDED & RELATED READS 'Katya Annikova', a story of struggles and sensuality 'The Truth Will Set You Free', story of Yunisa Flores of the LS Daily News One call, that's all! - An Episodic introspective to law and corruption Investigating the Void: A '70s-chic Gumshoe Story- 204 replies
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August 28th, 2024 The plane jerks and groans against the turbulence, but I barely notice. I’m already in Los Santos in my mind, feeling the grime of the city under my boots, hearing the sirens wail and the whispers of desperate men echo down dark alleys. Los Santos; city of sins and secrets. A place that devours the weak and rewards the ruthless. It’s the kind of place that calls to men like me. Broken men. Men who’ve seen too much and done worse. A city that doesn't need a hero, just someone willing to do what needs to be done. Mission Row. The city’s beating, rotten heart. It’s where the worst of them nest—the Chinese, sharp and swift like knives, cutting deals and throats with equal ease; the Italians, clinging to Vinewood with their greasy palms and old-world vendettas, always thinking they’re untouchable. Up north, the Russians are making their move, cold and calculating, spreading like a stain no one can wash away. And down in Davis? The gangs swarm—Crips, Bloods, Sureños—each one marking their territory with blood and fire. It’s a powder keg waiting to blow, and I’ve got a match in my hand. The police? They’re part of the problem. They’re not the thin blue line; they’re a damn sieve, letting the filth pass through while they pocket their cut. You think they care about justice? Please. They care about their pensions, their power. They see a kid with a gang tat and a bad attitude, they give him a night in the tank, slap him on the wrist, and send him back out to do the devil’s work. And me? I’m fine with that. The plane dips, starting its descent. The woman across from me grips her seat like it’s a life raft. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s probably safer up here than she is down there. Down there, where men like me walk the streets. Men who’ve been kicked around and come back swinging. Men who don’t believe in good or bad, just the things that need doing. The plane shudders as we touch down, and I feel that old familiar itch, the one that starts in my gut and spreads to my fists. The city is calling to me, whispering promises of chaos and carnage, of justice in its rawest, bloodiest form. I step off the plane, the hot, filthy air wrapping around me like an old friend. I know what I’m here to do. I know what this city needs. It needs someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty, someone who understands that sometimes, you have to play the monster to fight the monsters. I’m not the hero. I didn’t come here to make friends. I came to remind this city who really holds the power. And it sure as hell isn’t the crooks running the show. The lights of the city stretch out before me, a twisted constellation of broken dreams and shattered lives. I’ve got a plan, a score to settle. This city thinks it knows pain. It’s about to meet me. The guy who doesn’t blink. The guy who doesn’t flinch. The guy who doesn’t stop. I didn’t come here to die. I came here to make damn sure that they remember my name. And in the end, when the smoke clears and the bodies drop, they’ll know exactly who brought the fire. D.R. August 31st, 2024 I’ve been in this city for almost a week now. Los Santos—where every corner has a story, and every shadow hides a secret. The deeper I dig, the more tangled it gets. I’ve been poking around Mission Row, trying to get a feel for the old guard, but they’re slippery. The other side of things? Chinatown’s a bit easier to navigate. At least they don’t bother hiding their dirt. There’s a spot in Chinatown—a small casino bar that everyone seems to know but nobody talks about. “The Boss” runs it with a grip, a little empire hidden behind red curtains and smoke. I’ve been inside a few times. Caught more than a few familiar faces in those rooms—players, movers, shakers spending their dirty money. Even got a few good shots of the back rooms—plush, oriental decor which deals are made in over whispered conversations. Then there’s “Will,” one of The Boss’s men. Got a little side business—marijuana. Saw him making a few trades in one of the private rooms. It’s all on the glasses—clear as day. But I’m keeping that under wraps for now. Not enough to make a move, just enough to keep them guessing. Things got interesting last night. Two of The Boss’s muscle decided to rough up an ex-cop. The kind of guy who’s seen better days—Morales. Got a bit mouthy after one too many drinks. They pushed him, he pushed back, and then he drew a piece—a legal carry, but that didn’t matter much when the cops showed up. All they saw was a guy with a gun and gloves. Took him down hard, cuffed him up, and let the muscle walk away without a scratch. Standard procedure in a place like this. Had the whole thing on tape. Got good footage of the assault, the gun, and the aftermath. Figured it was worth something, so I dropped it off at the precinct anonymously. A little nudge to remind them someone’s watching. Didn’t expect much to come of it, but Morales found me. Says he wants in, says he can help. He’s got connections, knows the players, the way things move. Could be useful, could be trouble. Either way, he’s in for now. Morales says there’s something big coming down the line—something that’s got The Boss and his crew looking over their shoulders. He doesn’t know what yet, but it’s enough to make them nervous. That’s a good sign. Nervous people make mistakes. And mistakes are what I’m banking on. For now, I keep things quiet. No names, no loose ends. I’ve got enough footage and photos to stir the pot, but I’m holding back. Timing is everything. The Italians can wait. The action is here, in Chinatown, and I’m just getting started. The Boss thinks he’s untouchable, but everyone’s got a weakness. Everyone has a breaking point. I’m not here to be a hero. I’m here to clean up, one way or another. And if that means getting my hands dirty, so be it. D.R. September 1st, 2024 Two bodies found in Mission Row. Two women, close in age—early 30s, maybe younger. They knew each other, I’m sure of it. The way they fell, the way the scene was laid out, it had a story to tell. Detective Wayne was on the scene, playing the hardass. He doesn’t like me much. He’s by-the-book, always looking for a explanation to put in his report. But this? This isn’t something you wrap up with a bow. The first woman took the brunt of it. Bullet casings all around her, a tight spread. Whoever did this knew what they were doing—calm, methodical. She was hit at close range, multiple shots to the chest and torso. I’d say the shooter was right on top of her when he pulled the trigger. The second woman? She got about ten, maybe twenty feet before she went down. Found her between two parked cars. She ran—at least, that’s what I want to believe. She ran and got clipped. The two Deputies on the scene were green, eager to speculate but not keen on doing the mental paperwork. They tossed around ideas—gang-related, a robbery gone wrong, maybe a personal vendetta. But there was something about the way the bodies were positioned, the way the bullets fell. It didn’t feel like a random act of violence. It felt personal. Calculated. Like someone had something to prove. It’s close to an Italian-owned joint—a bar around the corner. I floated the idea that maybe it was gang-related, that someone got too close to the wrong people, and things went south. Wayne shot me a look, one of those “don’t waste my time” looks. I get it; he’s got his own theories. But I can’t shake the feeling that if this was about the Italians, we’d be seeing a different kind of mess. Part of me hopes it wasn’t mob-related. That would mean this wasn’t just business as usual. It would mean someone out there got real pissed at these two women and decided to end it right there, in front of an open club. Cold-blooded, sure, but somehow, that feels easier to stomach. Personal vendetta, crime of passion, whatever. Anything but more gang violence spilling into the streets. Could’ve been the shooter was drunk, maybe high, but I doubt it. Too precise for that. Two clean kills, no collateral, no missed shots. That takes a steady hand and a clear mind. Whoever did this, they knew what they were doing. The Deputies drifted back to their car, bored now that the initial excitement was over. Wayne stayed, combing over the scene like a bloodhound, looking for something to back up his gut. I’ll keep my ear to the ground, see if I can dig up anything. Two dead women in Mission Row—that’s not something you just ignore. And if it ties back to the Italians, well, that’s a whole other can of worms. For now, I wait. Let Wayne do his dance, let the uniforms talk themselves in circles. I’ve got my own leads to follow, my own theories to test. But something tells me this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. D.R.
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(Idk what to put here. Ta-dah.)
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