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Kenneth Nakagawa From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Kenneth Nakagawa, also known as "Kenny" or "Ken" (born April 20, 2004) is a Japanese-American MMA-Fighter. Biography Early Life Kenneth was an orphan and troublesome youth, something which dettered prospective foster parents from adopting him. Once he graduated from high school at the age of sixteen, he left the Orphanage behind and moved into the Asian Community Center in Little Seoul. After moving out, Kenny spent a lot of time hanging around various communities, such as Little Seoul, South Central and El Burro. Shortly after he started to live in the ACC, Kenneth started visiting Gyms all over the City in order to maintain a good physique. In August of 2023 Kenneth started spending more time around Vespucci, due to his job at the Shingle Fish. During his employment there, he reconnected with an old friend, Jonathan Ishikawa. After reconnecting with Ishikawa, Kenneth was signed on as an amateur MMA fighter and spent his days training and polishing his techniques for his debut at the Rockford Dome. Career Last updated : 22/12/2024 Amateur Record: 2-1 ᴡ - (2-1) - VS Michael Rogov - (Rockford Dome) - (TKO + Fight of the Night) ᴡ - (2-0) - VS Matias Murphy - (Legacy Gym) - (Submission, Tap) ʟ - (1-2) - VS Sam Duke - (Rockford Dome) - (Submission, Stop by Ref) Pro Record: 7-4 ʟ - (1-2) - VS Robert Malakian - (Rockford Dome) - (Submission, Stop by Ref) ʟ - (1-2) - VS Travis Caldwell - (Muscle Gym) - (Submission, Stop by Ref) ᴡ - (2-1) - VS Michael Rogov - (Sweathouse) - (TKO + Fight of the Night) ʟ - (0-3) - VS Leonid Tukhachevsky - (Rockford Dome) - (KO) ᴡ - (1-0) - VS Daniel Kardos - (KOTR Arena) - (Submission, Stop by Ref) ᴡ - (0-0) - VS Wade Diaz - (Muscle Gym) - (No contest) ᴡ - (3-1) - VS Michael Koczo - (KOTR Arena) - (KO + Lightweight belt) ᴡ - (1-0) - VS Juris Palodze - (KOTR Arena) - (KO + Title defense) ᴡ - (2-0) - VS Makai Lee - (SAFA Arena) - (TKO + Exhibition fight) ᴡ - (1-0) - VS Daniel Kardos - (Fight Factory) - (Submission + Title defense) ʟ - (0-1) - VS Juris Palodze - (KOTR Arena) - (KO + Title defense) External links 1. Little Okinawa 2. Mountain MMA 3. Bellicose MMA 4. King of the Ring
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-Dean Everett 08:24 A.M. 2/6/2025 —The San Andreas Sheriff’s Department isn’t a force of law; it’s an ecosystem, a bizarre zoo where power-hungry hogs wallow in the muck of authority, snorting and grunting with a hunger for dominance. A fever dream made flesh, these porcine predators, yes, pigs, through and through, plod down the sun-scorched veins of Blaine County, leaving behind the sour stench of fear, stale whiskey, and the electric buzz of flashlight batteries. It should’ve been a quiet night. One glass of whiskey, a couple of Oxy, and a slow goodbye to Grapeseed’s indifferent horizon. But fate had other plans, dressed in beige uniforms and pig-snouts, masquerading as deputies with all the moral clarity of a broken vending machine. There they were: three deputies, their faces contorted with the smugness of men who had never been told "no" in their lives. Their flashlights weren’t tools, they were instruments of oppression, beams cutting through the night like righteous spotlights, tearing into my very soul. “ყơų ɖཞųŋƙ, ცųɖɖყ?” one of them oinked, his breath thick with the stench of stale coffee and a superiority complex. They circled me like buzzards with badges, their questions less about finding answers than inflating their pathetic egos. Each insult they lobbed felt like another brick in the fortress of their fragile power, built high on insecurity and ignorance. They prodded, they goaded, they shone their lights into my face like they could somehow force a confession out of me. What they couldn’t see, what their piggy little eyes failed to understand, was that the only thing they were illuminating was the ridiculousness of their own existence. And then there was Caveman. A homeless drug dealer with the aura of a fallen wizard. Imagine Gandalf, if Gandalf traded his staff for a cracked glass pipe and let a lifetime of poor decisions render him mad, yet somehow more coherent than the deputies themselves. Caveman had once drugged my friend at a club, an event not so much horrifying as it was absurd. She thought she was hitting crack from a balloon, but ended up stuck in a K-hole, her brain lost somewhere between the dance floor and oblivion. Meeting Caveman was like shaking hands with chaos itself. His beard, a maze of crumbs and lost secrets, his eyes flickering with the remnants of a thousand bad choices. His words came in fragments—cracked wisdom, laced with the kind of manic truth only a street prophet could speak. Earlier that day, I had taken refuge in a bar in Grapeseed, a place steeped in the odor of cheap disinfectant and bad decisions. The bartender was a hulking man, with a beard and ponytail as dark as a Viking's soul. He had the demeanor of a man who'd fought in wars and lost, only to be pressed into the dull task of slinging drinks for a living. His eyes told stories of violence and regret, tales he’d never speak aloud. The whiskey was cheap, but it was a necessary anchor as I floated through the absurdity of Blaine County, a place where everyone’s hiding something, and no one’s story is ever finished. Back on the scene, the deputies made their move. They arrested me for DUI, their snouts twitching in self-satisfied glee. Sure, I’d had my share of whiskey and Oxy, but it wasn’t intoxication that put me in that cell—it was their desperate need to assert control, to play the role of tyrants in a kingdom that no one asked for. NOW FOR COMMERCIAL BREAK!! Handcuffed and humiliated, I realized it wasn’t justice they were after—it was theater, a pathetic play where they cast themselves as the stars, all while misunderstanding that fear isn’t respect, and authority isn’t earned. In the cold, graffiti-scarred walls of the holding cell, I thought about Caveman, the Viking bartender, and the three little pigs who had me cuffed. Each was a different facet of the madness that defines Blaine County—a place where the absurd is just another day, and reality’s a joke no one’s in on. The deputies with their flashlights and fragile authority were nothing more than clowns in uniforms, playing dress-up as protectors. Caveman—flawed, filthy, and far from “sane”—was more honest in his madness than the deputies were in their so-called order. And me? Just a witness in the wreckage, trying to piece together a world that makes no sense, all while scribbling feverishly in the margins of it. Blaine County isn’t a place—it’s a story, a dark fairy tale where the pigs wear badges, the wizards sleep on the streets, and the lessons are taught with bruises and breathalyzer tests. The San Andreas Sheriff’s Department can snort and strut all they want. Beneath their pomp and pretense, they’re just pigs in uniforms—trapped in the fragility of their own myths. And somewhere, probably laughing somewhere in the back of his mind, Caveman is free. A wizard without a kingdom—but more freedom than any badge could ever give. ((COMMENTS ARE ENABLED)) ((Username: Comment))
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-Dean Everett 02:24 A.M. 2/2/2025 Where the sky bleeds neon, and the pavement drinks it like an alcoholic uncle dodging rehab. A sprawling nightmare of glass, steel, and forgotten dreams, stitched together with bad decisions and the hollow promises of billboards—“Live Fast, Die Faster, Sponsored by eCola.” In this city, the air doesn’t breathe. It inhales. Lines of white powder mirrored by lines of white luxury cars parked outside Vinewood clubs with names like Oblivion and Lust. DJs with God complexes spin tracks louder than the collective anxiety of their crowd, their beats synched to the rapid-fire heart rates of MDMA-soaked bodies writhing under strobes that flash like seizures. Everything here is synthetic—a plastic utopia built on overpriced drinks and underpaid souls. But beneath Vinewood’s neon pulse, the real game plays out—not in crypto or contracts, but in powder, pills, and paranoia. The drug trade isn’t a shadow economy—it’s the main stage, with Vinewood flipping roles like a junkie desperate for its next fix. While the youth worship at the altar of bass drops and bathroom deals, the older gods ride on. Enter the Sinners MC—grizzled men on ancient chariots that growl like they’re pissed off to still be alive. These aren’t weekend warriors or Facebrowser-sponsored 99’ers. The Sinners are relics, fossilized in leather, stitched together by outdated grudges and whiskey-soaked decisions. They roam the streets like outlaw archaeologists, digging up the bones of a culture buried by a new breed of criminals—tech-savvy, coked-out, and too polished to know what it’s like to get your hands dirty. The Sinners don’t deal in apps or algorithms. They deal in drugs, guns, and violence that doesn’t need a retweet to be real. But somewhere between the basslines and bike engines, there’s a mystery—maybe more of an obsession I can’t shake. Psychedelics. Not the trendy kind sold in boutique dispensaries with names like Zen Gardens or SoulBloom. I mean the real shit: peyote buttons tucked away in dusty corners of Blaine County, hash handled like ancient relics, marijuana strains so pure they could make a priest question reality, and MDMA that doesn’t just get you high—it makes you feel alive. I need to find it. Not for the story, but for the experience. Because somewhere between the "Jump Out Boys" of the Sheriff’s Department™️ manifesting like tactical phantoms and the Sinners MC thundering through the night, there’s a thread—maybe a breadcrumb trail leading somewhere beyond the high. A mantra wrapped in mystery, hallucination stitched to cold, brutal truth. And speaking of truth—did you know pigeons can’t fart? Random, right? But that’s the thing about Los Santos: random isn’t random. It’s just Tuesday. Imagine a city where its veins pulse like tangled neon wires, where every beat of the heart is a siren wailing at 3 AM. This is the terrain the Jump Out Boys carve their name into—mutant cowboys, not with spurs but tactical vests, charging through the streets in armored chariots, cutting through neighborhoods etched in graffiti and reckless decisions. Sirens? Not warnings—battle cries. Later that night, beneath the flicker of streetlights in Jamestown, West Los Santos, we slid into the chaotic hum of Rancho—a place stitched together by pride, paranoia, and the unspoken legends of the Travieso Gangsters 13 gang. Their name bled through alleyways, painted on walls in cryptic symbols, a language written in shadows, known only to those who had truly walked its dark streets. Their history wasn’t ink—it was fog, laced with the whispers of those brave (or foolish) enough to repeat it. Then, like phantoms from the cracks of reality, the Boys appeared. Not men. No. They were anomalies, creatures wrapped in tactical armor, flickering like heat waves off the cracked pavement. Their visors didn’t reflect light. They consumed it, splintering the world into twisted fragments. Their limbs—unnatural, bending in impossible angles, like grotesque marionettes twisted by invisible strings. And how did they talk? Not with words—vibrations. Low, bone-shaking hums that filled the air, mixing with the static of radios fused into their bodies, like cyborg shamanic chants. The Travieso gangbangers didn’t move—just stood there, shadows hardened in defiance, eyes burning with a mixture of fear and bravado against such a foe. Out from the edges of the scene, a kid emerged. Barely old enough to shave, his fresh ink still oozing in dark swirls across his skin. He shouldn’t have been there. But youth never respects the weight of ritual. One of the green creatures shifted—its head cocked at an angle that felt wrong—like an animal with the mind of a machine. "ʞᴎi ʜꙅɘɿꟻ," it buzzed, its voice a strange mix of distortion and something older, like rust scraping bone. Another one stepped forward, limbs jerking in a grotesque dance, pointing to the kid’s tattoos with a gesture that was part command, part curiosity. "⸮ǫᴎiʜƚɘmoꙅ uoʏ ꙅɘʞɒm ꙅiʜƚ ʞᴎiʜƚ uoY" it hissed, the low vibration making the nearby walls tremble, flakes of old paint falling like dust. "˙ɯǝɥʇ ɹoɟ pǝǝlq noʎ ssǝlun 'suoıʇɐɹoɔǝp ʎʇdɯǝ—ʇɐɥʇ ʇsnɾ ǝɹɐ sloqɯʎS" The kid’s posture faltered for a second. His eyes flickered between defiance and fear, like the wires in his head were short-circuiting. "คเภ’Շ ץ๏ยг ๒ยรเภєรร," he spat, his voice tight, his words crumbling under the weight of the moment. The air grew thicker—electric, charged, but not quite sparking. It hung there, too fragile to touch, like the calm before a storm. Across the street, I stood, notebook gripped tight, pulse syncing with the city’s warped beat. On instinct—or maybe madness—I stepped forward, waved, just enough to draw their attention. One of the deputies—or what passed for them now—turned its gaze toward me. Its visor caught the light, not showing my face, but something fractured, a distorted reflection. For a moment, we locked eyes—not as man to man, but as observer to anomaly. "What do you see?" I whispered, unsure if I said it aloud, or if the words just thudded through my mind. It tilted its head, something like amusement—or annoyance—etched across its mechanical face. Then, just as quickly, it turned away, the interest evaporating like smoke in the wind. The kid was left standing there, his tattoos no shield against whatever strange data these creatures were collecting in their cold, synthetic minds. No violence. No arrests. Just tension absorbed, moments archived, reality shifting like sand underfoot. And me? I walked away with a notebook full of scribbles that made less sense the longer I stared at them. There was a taste in my mouth—metallic, like I had just licked the edge of the city itself. And that nagging thought—The Jump Out Boys weren’t here to enforce order. No. They were here to watch the collapse. Piece by piece, they were cataloging it all. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s not. But one thing’s for sure—they’re still out there. Engines idling, watching, blurring the lines between reality, ritual, and something far darker. COMMENTS ARE ENABLED ((Username: comment))
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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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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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*In your character's bored browsing of the internet, they find a mysterious link to an independent local news project simply titled: 'PARADISE'. The website is quite plain, a basic geocities-style setup. Everything is center-aligned. There's an imageboard comment section below.* ((This thread is NSFW and some posts may contain mature content. Thread is considered IC as a website.)) PARADISE PROJECT LOS SANTOS WEBPORTAL ((EPILEPSY WARNING - Some flashing images ahead. (Not too many))) ((Middle mouse on images will open their hyperlinks.)) BY ENTERING THIS SITE YOU AGREE YOU ARE 18 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER [CONFIRM] [GO BACK] ((UNSPOILER BELOW TO ENTER)) SUPPORT THE FREE PRESS Donate to help us film this shit (it ain't easy): Every bit helps and is put toward our cost of living. And beer. CashApp: AshParadise Bitcoin Address (Bech32): bc1zg4tskar7xfwivy5l643lydlw9re59gtyzwf5mdq ((/banktransfer XXXXX 010003978 Paradise Donation.)) FOR ADVERTISING, PHOTOSHOOTS, OR INTERVIEWS: Send an Email to [email protected] OR [email protected] ((Forum PM myself or @Zetara)) -COMMENTS ARE ENABLED- Username: Comment: ((Character Thread))
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"He said to them: I am the bread of life; he who comes to me will never be hungry; and whoever believes in me will never thirst." Edgar Padilla Edgar Padilla also known as "Acid" was born October 22, 1983 in West Las Vegas, Nevada, ex-gang member that was well known for being involved in a various criminal partnerships and activities, such as kidnapping, armed robbery, human trafficking and furthermore instilled criminal actions. Biography: Edgar "Acid" Padilla was once one of the more notorious members of the HPS13 gang in Las Vegas, known for his violent temper and quick trigger finger. Born and raised in the tough streets of West Las Vegas, Naked Street. Edgar grew up surrounded by poverty, crime, and violence. He dropped out of school at an early age and joined the gang to find a sense of belonging and protection. For years, Edgar was a feared and respected enforcer for the gang formed, responsible for carrying out hits, extorting businesses, and trafficking drugs. He was known for his fierce loyalty to the gang, his brutal tactics, and his willingness to do whatever it took to protect his money. However, as Edgar got older, he began to see the toll that the gang lifestyle was taking on his community and his own life. He started to question the senseless violence and the constant cycle of retaliation that only seemed to perpetuate the gang culture. He realized that he wanted a better life for his children, who he rarely saw due to his frequent incarcerations. After spending several years in prison for drug trafficking and assault, Edgar decided to turn his life around. He started slowly working his way out of the street as civil conflicts were at an all time high. He began working at a local metal fabrication and repairs shop at just around the corner from Naked St. Various years later time was spent in prison for drug trafficking, assault, and further issues arising. Edgar decided it was in his and his families best interest to turn tides and work his way along different means of income, professionally. After years of civil conflicts rising in his own gangs ranks there was only one way to go, and that was out. After finalizing a few last promises out in Nevada he turned haste towards Los Santos to meet with his cousin that eventually got him a job working for a garage out north. Months passed and he started to get a cleaner reputation around his end of the street, dipping his hands into business and more lucrative and organized terms of income. Personal Information: Name: Edgar Padilla Gender: Male Nick Names: Acid, Eddie, Ed Current Age: 39 Zodiac: Libra Current Address: █████████ Place of Birth: ████████ ████ Height: 6'0ft Weight: 210lb Blood Type: A+ Family: Henry "Slick" Cano ( Cousin ) Maria Fuentes ( Cousin ) Vanessa Montenegro ( Cousin )
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This thread will be following the life of Ukrainian immigrant and leader of The Odessa Gruppa, Ilya Kalashov.
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"𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙠𝙞𝙙𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙔𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙." "𝙄𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙-𝙃𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝘿𝙚𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨. 𝙃𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚." OOC: This is a character development page based on the manga series "Holyland". This page will show images of body-manipulation, psychedelic imagery, and combat violence. Viewer Discretion is advised.
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(A video is shared around and begins to circulate through social media accounts showcasing LeShawn Jackson, father of five and beloved hometown chef, being murdered by a Los Santos police officer in his own work place, South Central's very own Ring of Fire located on the corner of Strawberry Ave and Innocence Blvd.) https://streamable.com/9d8yf7 (( The video is from the business's CCTV perspective. It would have captured the shooting in great detail. ))
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“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red." This thread will follow the character development of Idania Ceres, a young victim of a harsh Salvadoran reality. Meanwhile, a "short" yet thorough character description. General overview of her attributes and statistics: Full Name: Idania Ceres Age: 16 Date of Birth: April, 16th, 2004 Zodiac: Aries. Gender:Female. Sexual Orientation: Straight. Nationality: Salvadoran. Tattoos: None, yet. Hometown: Barrio El Carvario, Nejapa, El Salvador. Height: 5’ 7” Weight: 127 pounds Character’s body build: Skinny with no visible muscle defitinition whatsoever. Eye Color: brown. Hair Color: Black. Type of hair: long, wavy. Complexion and skin tone: Olive. Current Residence: Los Santos, San Andreas, USA. Occupation: Student. Personality Attributes and Attitudes: Educational Background: High school, 11th grade. Intelligence Level: Below average. Languages: Fluent in English and Castillan with Salvadoran influences. Any Mental Illnesses?: Antisocial Personality Disorder. How does the character show affection/love?: She doesn't. More often than not, Idania sees relationships as means to reach an end. How does the character handle grief? Can the character cry?: Grief is a foreign concept for her warped mentality, she doesn't cry from interpersonal activities. How does the character handle pain?: Poorly, her pain threshold is very low. Is the character typically a leader or a follower?: Follower. Nervous Tics: nail-biting, self-cannibalism. Backstory: TBA
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Edwin 'Havoc' Loera https://face.gta.world/yungmoneymaker Edwin Loera, an 18 years old teenager from Rancho. Loera was born and raised in Rancho, he grew up living among a generation of gangsters and creating his personality around them. The struggle for Edwin only just began when he lost his father and was only left with his mother to live in misery. He's the only child in the family and that makes it extra hard for him to keep up. His mother tried her best to keep Edwin away from this life, she was scared that her son will give in and what seems to be a fun play outside with friends could turn into something bigger but she knew she can't have her eyes on him all the time, since he was hiding from her as well. Edwin has always had that attitude of a troublemake, even in school he'd usually get suspended, his grades would be low, he admired graffitis and due to that he used to do small ones on the walls at school, he'd fight other kids usually and bully. School really didn't made much difference for Loera, since he believed he doesn't need it. From an early age he's had a passion for drawing, he'd sketch things up, make graffiti, even tattoos. However, as of recent, since he started hanging out with locals from Rancho, Edwin's mindset has been heavily influenced not only by locals and gang members but also from the old school Chicano raps he's been listening to. He became more focused on money and it has become his priority. As he sought an option to get out of this misery, help his mother out so she doesn't have to worry about bills anymore and in generally buy himself the designer clothes and cool vehicles he's seen on music videos, he decided to get deeper into the streets. Edwin began with small amounts of weed that he in fact struggled to get rid of in his first days but with the help of Kelly 'Huero' Miller, a local of Rancho back then who helped Edwin out, he made his first sale. What he earned wasn't much but it was something. He took tips from Huero, since both of them were on the same wave - paper chasing. Loera quickly created an account in FaceBrowser, where he used a fake identity to freely offer his products to the community on the website. Not long after, he made his second sale, his dedication was growing bigger. Jacob 'Osito' Dominguez, a member of the SSVR13 gang noticed Loera's dedication and quickly offered him to become a part of the newly formed clique "Project Diablos". Edwin didn't give it a second thought, he knew if he makes it in, he will be making money in no time, so he accepted the offer. Osito's words towards Edwin motivated him even more, he felt proud of his own dedication after receiving more work from Osito. Unfortunately enough, when Loera looked out for Osito again the next day, he found out the guy who only just gave a him a headstart was dead. Osito was shot and killed by rival gang members the same night. The fact this was real didn't really make Edwin back off, he definitely felt like he's lost a family member but that only motivated him to prove himself, in the name of Osito. From this day on, Project Diablos was never the same. The members of the clique were all over the place, not having the any guidance. Soon after, Project Diablos died out, it really died with Osito. It was hard for its members to move on, but eventually they all did. For a few days, Edwin was struggling once again financially, he had no work to do and that didn't look quite well, considering he was unknown around the hood and nobody really noticed him, since he became somewhat a loner. In reality, he didn't really want to part himself from the rest, it was just the pressure that he has literally nothing and his life is just going to shit at this point, with his mother constantly shouting at him additionally. However, those dark days didn't last long. Fortunately enough, Hector 'Demon' DeCastro, another member of the gang offered Edwin to get down with the newly formed clique "Never Gave a Fuck" or shortly "NGF" and Edwin was quick to take the opportunity. He soon after started his hustle again and this time was cashing out with bigger amounts. The tips and tricks picked from Kelly 'Huero' Miller and some created by himself really worked out well. Edwin made his first tattoos on his 18th birthday, he in fact changed his style, driven by the money. Loera never really wasted his time with unnecessary things around, his only intentions were to keep a low profile, which he was doing perfectly fine, earn money and guide new faces around the hood, other teenagers who are also struggling like him. He even managed to pull Mireia Chavarria - a girl who's got bullied by the female's clique, into NGF, he'd teach us everything he knew about the hustle and how the things around the hood go. Fast forward into this, Edwin's effort to become known around the hood and earn some respect on the streets has paid off. He got initiated into the gang, going through 13 seconds of hell. That was the day in which Edwin 'Havoc' Loera signed up for a life sentence or death, in the name of the gang - South Side Varrio Rancho 13 and his clique - Never Gave a Fuck.
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Derek was born in Liberty City at Schottler Medical Center. Derek is an only child and grew up in Broker, Liberty City. His mother worked a job throughout the day and didn’t spend much time parenting Derek. His Father was coming home from work and got into a car wreck and lost his life upon impact. He grew up without a father and spent most of his time in Liberty City alone. Because his mother wasn’t home there was a babysitter over often. One of the babysitters he became friends with was Juanita Sanchez, her mother met Derek’s mother from work. Juanita would take care of Derek when he was younger by feeding him and cleaning up after him, she practically raised him. On the days his mom was home she was physically and verbally abusive to him, she would drink and take her anger out on him. He would go to school with bruises and marks all over his body. Every so often the teachers would take notice and just brush it off. Derek would go around school starting fights with students and causing issues to get attention from others. He would constantly get suspended, so he missed a lot of important things and struggles with the issues daily. He has issues reading, he can write but would rather put it on walls, he isn’t good with math, so he sneaks a calculator. And is horrible when it comes to managing money. One day him and his mother got into an argument over as suspension, and his mom ended up beating him. He had various marks around his face and went to school the next day and the teacher found out. They ended up calling CPS and Derek was taken away from his mother, he spent the next couple years of his life throughout court for custody battles. Eventually his Grandma got custody of him and took him out of Liberty City. She moved him to Los Santos into Rancho and enrolled him into Davis High School. This thread will follow the day by day actions of Espinoza along with character development of Derek.
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DISCLAIMER: This character thread is meant to follow the life of a female gang member on the southside of Los Santos. * Screens may include the implication of sexual activity and explore sensitive topics. *
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This thread is dedicated to the background and life of Danielle "Angel" Mancuso. This thread contains mature subject matter. July 15th, 1999, 02:34 A.M. | Sandy Shores, San Andreas Infomercials flickered across the box television, the only source of light in the run-down mobile home's living room. In the background, a single air conditioning unit worked tirelessly to cool the trailer, its incessant hum softening the sounds of a dog barking outside of the mobile home's walls. Roy Mancuso sat low in his stained armchair, smoking a cheap cigar and cradling a can of Budweiser on his knee, as he watched the cable television impassively. His white wife-beater was discolored underneath his arms from sweat, and his rotund stomach hung down low over his beltline. Roy ashed his cigar on the floor and sat upright in his chair. He used the remote to turn up the volume on the television set. His vision then traveled across the living room to his daughter and wife. Roy pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, and turned to discard the empty beer among the graveyard of beer bottles and cigarette butts on the end table by his chair. He ran a hand through his greasy, black hair, and stumbled across the room to the six-year-old girl sat on the floor. "Come on, princess. Come with daddy," Roy Mancuso coaxed gently and quietly at the adolescent girl sat at the coffee table with a hand outstretched in invitation. His plump, unshaven cheeks flushed red with intoxication. She set down the broken blue crayon she used to color a torn page from her coloring book and looked up at the repulsive man as he towered above her. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and dripped down the sides of his face. "Come on, honey," her father continued to cajole with a drunken smile as he took hold of her wrist. The hair raised on the back of Danielle's neck at her father's touch. Her eyes looked to her mother, passed out on the floral-printed sofa of the trailer's living room, for safety. Danielle rose quietly from the floor of the trailer, and her lifeless eyes lifted from her coloring book to meet Roy's. Roy's grasp tightened around her wrist, and he brought a finger on his spare hand over his parted lips. "Shhh, now, Angel. Don't wanna wake your ma. Come on now, honey. Come with daddy," Roy whispered to the girl as he tugged at her arm. Danielle looked back at her mother as her father led her away, two Dutch-braided, blonde pigtails tossing behind her shoulders. Her mother turned over on the sofa, and a used syringe dropped to the floor from underneath her body. Silent tears streamed down Danielle's unwashed face. Danielle Mancuso would continue to endure nightly abuse by her father for the next seven years, unbeknownst to her alcoholic and drug addict of a mother, Eileen. Roy Mancuso was convicted in 2006 of child abuse when attention was brought to the authorities by one of Danielle's teachers after Danielle was found to be self-mutilating in the school bathroom. Eileen would then move Danielle and her sister, Erin, to the projects of Davis in Los Santos, following their father's incarceration. Danielle was first introduced to drugs by her peers while she attended the inner-city high school, and she quickly became a regular abuser of marijuana and prescription painkillers. Danielle dropped out of high school at the age of sixteen. She worked a menial job as a gas station attendant in Davis to support her drug habits and help her mother with the bills. The day she turned eighteen, Danielle auditioned for the manager of the Vanilla Unicorn and was given a job as an exotic dancer. She received on-the-job training from her colleagues at the gentlemen's club, and was favored by the patrons for her long legs and bright blonde hair. She carried over her father's nickname for her, "Angel," as her stage alias. Another dancer at the strip club, Alana Briggs, an African-American girl with calculating, brown eyes, would be the one to introduce Danielle to drugs such as heroin and cocaine, the pair using the latter of the two to ready themselves for a night of performances, and the former to fade to black in the backroom after they counted through their tip money. Alana would go on to become Danielle's partner-in-crime. The two graduated from private dances in the backroom to propositioning sexual favors to patrons of the strip club for whatever the John had to offer: money, drugs, connections, jewelry or notoriety. Alana Briggs was murdered by the hand of an abusive boyfriend in 2013 at the age of twenty-three. Erin, Danielle's younger sister by two years, moved out of the apartment they shared with their mother at the age of seventeen, and she took up residence with Roy Mancuso's elderly and dying mother in the city of Grapeseed in the county of San Andreas to escape Danielle and their schizophrenic of a mother figure. Eileen Mancuso was convicted on drug trafficking charges in the fall of 2011. February 21st, 2011, 03:21 A.M. | Strawberry, Los Santos "You stupid, stupid bitch!" screamed Robert Liotta between kicks to an eight-week-pregnant Danielle's stomach. Danielle laid crumpled in a heap at Robert's feet in the parking lot of the Vanilla Unicorn strip club, still dressed in her lingerie from her shift. Bystanders took leisure drags off of their cigarettes land watched the assault take place. They then turned their backs and resumed idle conversation inside of their group. Bass from the music playing inside of the strip club thumped continuously and mingled with the sounds of car alarms and police sirens in the distance. "Bobby! Bobby, please, you don't understand?! We could have a family, me an' you!" Danielle plead as she picked up her torso from the pavement and wiped blood from her lip. "A family? A family?! Look at you, Danielle! You think you're really fit for a mother? And, what's this?" Robert asked, the tone of his voice sharp with ridicule as he bent down to Danielle and took a firm grasp of her arm. He wrenched her arm over, his knuckles white, and eyed the fresh injection marks on the inside of her antecubital fossa with a scowl. "You been using again! For the love of Christ, Danielle! Me and you's going down to the clinic first thing in the morning, and we're getting that little son of a bitch inside of you taken care of! I'm not letting the mother of my child be some junkie dancer! I thought you said you were on birth control!" Danielle snatched her arm away from Robert and used her hands to wipe the hot tears from her cheeks. The thick layers of mascara on Danielle's heavily painted eyes smeared and cast dark shadows on her sunken face. "I'm not gettin' an abortion, Bobby! I'm gonna have this kid, with or without you!" barked Danielle as she wiped blood from her mouth on the back of her hand and began to collect herself to her feet. "Like hell you are!" Robert sneered down at Danielle as he loomed above her. He took a final drag off of his cigarette and cast it to the pavement. He then rolled up the sleeves of his baby blue dress shirt and sent repeated and violent kicks to Danielle's abdomen with his penny loafers, casting her back onto the pavement of the parking lot. She lay sobbing, cradling her stomach in her arms, by the front wheel arch of his car as he brought his assault to an end and stood upright to comb his fingers through his tediously groomed coiffure. Robert cast an apprehensive glance at the bystanders, whose attention had then returned, before filling his mouth with saliva and spitting it on the pavement beside Danielle. Robert crossed in front of the 2008 Dodge Avenger to the driver's seat and collapsed into the interior before sparking up another Newport. The car raced out of the parking lot with a screech, Danielle left in a lifeless mound on the ground. A steady trickle of bright red blood seeped from underneath the French chantilly lace of her skirt and down her thigh. The loss of her child and relationship with Robert Liotta drove Danielle into a downward spiral. Her abuse of heroin accelerated; no longer was the drug only used to bring her down after a cocaine-fueled night of pole work. All of the money earned from dancing at the local strip joint was devoted to feeding her addiction. Danielle struggled to maintain the rent on the apartment she once shared with Eileen. After eight months of unpaid rent and empty promises to her landlord, Danielle was evicted, and she was forced to take shelter in the beaten interior of her 1990 Cadillac de Ville, left to her in the will of her then deceased grandmother. She was fired from the Vanilla Unicorn when she continued to show up to work high despite numerous warnings from the manager. Between the years 2012 and 2016, in-and-out of rehab, Danielle would fall victim to an emotionally manipulative relationship with a man by the name of Thomas Rodriguez, a longshoreman. She fell pregnant with his child in 2016, and against the protests of Rodriguez, she would go on to birth the couple's daughter alone in the emergency room of Pillbox Medical Center. Thomas left town and changed his phone number the next day, leaving Danielle alone with the neonate, growth restricted from Danielle's incessant cigarette smoking. December 20th, 2019, 06:57 P.M. | Grapeseed, San Andreas Danielle exited the interior of her rusted, fifth-generation 1990 Cadillac de Ville and exhaled a breath of smoke before dropping her joint into the dirt. She quickly doubled to the passenger side of the vehicle, and helped the dark-haired toddler, courting a battered teddy bear underneath her arm, out to her feet. Danielle's sister, Erin, pushed through the creaky screen door of her house and leaned against a column on the front porch with folded arms. Erin watched the two approach the house with a look of despondency. "Well, well, well, Angel. You must need something to come all the way out here. What's wrong this time?" Erin asked as she made her way down the steps of the porch and met Danielle and the toddler in the walkway. "You always said you would take her, so, here! Take her! I can't do it anymore!" Danielle replied and pushed the toddler toward Erin. "I can't fucking do it anymore, OK?! She's better off here with you than with me. So take her," Danielle continued with a breath of exasperation. Danielle then took to her knee and turned the toddler to face her. She took her face in both of her hands and stroked the toddler's cheeks with her thumbs. After a final kiss on the child's forehead, Danielle rose to her feet and made fast for her vehicle, rummaging in the pocket of her tattered denim jacket for her car keys. Erin took up the toddler, dressed only in a Powerpuff Girls t-shirt and a diaper, and rested her on her right hip. She struggled to strum her fingers through the child's knotted and unkempt hair as she watched Danielle reenter the car. Danielle turned the key over in the ignition of the Cadillac de Ville several times before the engine of the car spluttered to life, and Danielle then quickly reversed out of the driveway and sped down the road, kicking up a trail of dust behind her. Erin traced her fingertips across the toddler's cheek with a weak smile and searched her face with her eyes. The toddler looked back at Erin with unfamiliarity and slotted her thumb into her mouth. "S'gonna be OK, Bella. Auntie Erin's gonna take care 'a you, sweetheart. You look hungry. You want Auntie Erin to make you something 'ta eat?" Erin asked the child, and the child responded with a quick nod of her head as she sucked on her thumb. Erin adjusted the toddler's weight on her hip and turned to carry her up the broken steps of the front porch of her house without sparing a glance to the swiftly disappearing vehicle in the distance.
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This thread will showcase the life of 17 year old Cassiel Ofrey and his life after attempting to leave the gang scene in London, moving to America to try forge a new path for himself.
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Antonio Iniguez, 16 From ambitious beginnings, Antonio spent most of his childhood away from the troublesome hoodlums of Rancho. Forced to take acting classes at a young age, his mother abused his lack of common sense to pay for the finer things in life through commercial gigs. As the years went on, the well paid gigs he was handed as a toddler were no more and the best he could manage was being placed as an extra for a hand cream commercial. With his education down the toilet in favour of chasing his brainwashed dream of acting, Antonio was left no choice but to latch onto the only safety net available to him: South Side Varrio Rancho 13. After the introduction into the gang life by Emilio "SCARFACE" Nunez, Antonio quickly used his flamboyance from acting to get into the good graces of like minded residents. Probably won't be a coherent story to follow as my main aim with this thread is to share the key events in Antonio's life. For more perspectives & detailed screen shots of events showcased here, check out Varrio Rancho 13's faction thread! Concerns about my role play or development can be sent to my PMs. I'm open and responsive to criticism. The media section added below will contain highlights that could be considered entertaining to watch such as brawls, shootouts and well role played criminal activities.
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Bohdan Anderson was born in Liberty City's Broker, 1997, to a John and Mary Angelo. Life wasn't easy, and in fact was unbearable at times. His father was ran off the road by a drunk driver in 1998 and killed on impact. His mother fell to heroin addiction and died later in 1999. Bohdan spent the majority of his childhood, alone. Put into foster care later that year, he was picked up by the Anderson family a few months later and was raised in a socioeconomically rich neighbourhood. Bohdan knew very little of his biological parents, and chooses not to speak of them - purely for ease of conversation. Marcus Anderson was an influential business owner in Liberty City's booming metropolitan heart, he ran and managed many social clubs across the city whilst his wife, Sally Anderson was the stay at home element of the relationship. Albeit he was raised by a family, it was a strict one - a family that lived by a code and set of rules, one that instilled loyalty to those you work with. He was beaten as a child, and forced to live a life of which was filled with uncertainty. A tragic tale that will surely end in a cataclysmic fashion.
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Mia Vasquez, nicknamed Pirata (Pirate in English) for her obsessive desire to commit the act of robbery, is a late teen hailing from Rancho. Indoctrinated to the point she values her gang more than anything in the world, this scummy female will happily relieve you of all your possessions, just so she can feel that rush...one more time. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We pillage, plunder, we rifle and loot. Stand up me hearties, yo ho. We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot. Stand up me hearties, yo ho.
