Ken Raymond's Party, Starfish Island, Vice City, Tuesday, January 1, 1980:

"Happy New Year!" The shouting echoed through the rooms of the large mansion, led on by their host, Ken Raymond. Michelle Wendell raised her beer in an exaggerated toast. She'd already done a number of shots, in addition to a lot of beer, and was so drunk she could barely stand up. She didn't normally drink like this, but tonight she had good reason. She wasn't celebrating anything. Earlier that day, somehow, her parents had found out that she was gay and had thrown her out. Sixteen years old, homeless, with nothing but ten bucks and the clothes on her back, she'd remembered hearing about Ken Raymond's party at his mansion on Starfish Island, and had spent her last ten dollars taking a taxi there, where she'd begun drinking her sorrows away for the night. Why not? She had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do.

Presently, two drunken girls began to make out, and equally drunken boys began to cheer them on. Before she'd been found out, Michelle would have been jealous of those girls, but now the sight nearly reduced her to tears. They were all so happy, so excited for the new decade, and here she was, broke and homeless and with no idea as to what she was going to do. She stumbled away from the crowd, wandering drunkenly around the mansion, finally finding an empty bedroom. She fell facedown on the covers and began to sob.

Some time passed, how long she wasn't sure. It was long enough that she'd stopped crying. That's when she heard the footsteps behind her. She rolled over in the bed and saw a man standing over her. The man put his hands on her thighs, running them under her skirt.

"No! Stop!" Michelle shouted.

"Shh," the man said, placing a hand over her mouth. "Just lie back and take it. You know you want it."

The man unzipped and lowered his pants and boxers, climbed on top of Michelle. She tried to knee him in the balls, but he'd pinned her legs underneath his.

"Hey, I think you'd better let her go." It was a third person, one that neither one of them had seen enter. It was a welcome distraction, as the man climbed off of her, moved to confront this third person.

"What if I don't?" the man asked threateningly.

He groaned and collapsed to the floor. Michelle saw another young woman, about her age, maybe a little older, now that he was out of the way.

"Come on," the young woman said. "Let's go."

As Michelle got out of bed, she looked down. The man who'd just tried to rape her was lying on the floor, motionless, bleeding. A knife handle was sticking out of his sternum. The mysterious young woman pulled her out of the room and started leading her down the hall.

"What's your name?"

"Michelle. Michelle Wendell."

"Well, Michelle, I'm Anna Baker. Nice to meet you. I wish it could have been under better circumstances."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to take you home. Where do you live?"

"I don't have a home."

"You don't have a home?"

"My parents threw me out today."

"Well, okay, I can let you crash on my couch tonight. Are you okay with that? I live alone so you'll definitely be safe there."

"Yes. Thank you."

"Okay, I'll take you to my car."

The young woman led Michelle to her car, a black 1969 Ford Galaxie, opened the front passenger door, let her sit down.

"Hey, can I leave you here for five minutes? I need to tell Ken what happened."

Michelle nodded, and the woman ran off. By the time she'd gotten back to the car, Michelle had finally passed out from drinking so much.