A/N: Well, here I am, once again, for my fourth GTA story! Yes, yes, another novelization…this time of GTA III, as I've read plenty of extremely good ones, that haven't been finished. This story will be slow, as I might be deciding to write a Halo story at the same time, but for now, I present: "Fight Back".
Disclaimer: I do not own GTA III or any characters of this game, Rockstar do. So file lawsuits for anything except this.
The Banshee sped through the late-night Liberty City ghost town. Its dark blood-red paintwork gleamed in the moonlight. This was Liberty City, the city with the highest crime-rate in America, surpassing Vice City, Los Santos, or Carcer City since…well, since the 1992 riots in LS. You would have to face an eternal struggle, just to survive the streets. One wrong move, one wrong decision, and you could be lying on the ground in your own pool of blood.
This was what Claude had become. A common sort of guy, working in the Columbian Cartel with his beloved girlfriend, Catalina. They had run off from the brisk lifestyle of speed, and guns in the countryside of San Andreas, and for years, they had robbed banks and committed crimes. This was their big chance. They would be working with the leader of the Cartel, Hernando, for this important bank heist.
Eventually, the Banshee slid to a halt next to the Liberty City Bank. Claude gave a quick look at Catalina, and saw her fiery, but beautiful eyes as she jumped out of the car, holding a pistol. Hernando was waiting for them, also with a pistol. Claude would be giving them cover with his pump-action shotgun.
They entered the bank, successfully getting the money, and Catalina charged out, speeding for the escape as the alarm blared. Hernando followed her, with a briefcase in either hand. As the police began to come, Claude came from cover and fired a shotgun, continuously. Eventually, the area had been cleared of any hostiles, and Claude went off to find Catalina and Hernando. He would regret it.
As he arrived at the scene, he found her girlfriend's eyes fixed evilly on him, a cocky grin plastered over her pale face as she pointed two pistols at him. Hernando was lying in a heap next to the Banshee.
"Sorry babe, but I'm an ambitious girl. And you-" she laughed, firing a bullet at Claude.
"You're just small time," she smiled seductively.
She got inside the Banshee, and sped off into the night. Claude coughed a bit silently, blood pouring from his wound, but he could barely move, let alone escape, and the SWAT team found him lying on the ground, exhausted, and easily arrested him.
Claude sat silently in despair as he was driven in the back of the SWAT van to the courtroom, but there was no need for any case. He was guilty, sentenced ten years for bank robbery. Ten years just for love, and a chance to get big in one of the rising gangs of Liberty, Claude thought. The police let him catch some sleep, as they dragged him into the van for escort to Liberty City Peniterary.
It was about 4:00 when Claude woke up, finding himself next to a dark-skinned man, with bandaged hands, and an old oriental Asian gentleman with a calm aura.
"Hey, I'm 8-Ball. You were the one who got arrested last night…jeez that must be tough. Shot in the throat," the black man, called "8-Ball", said as Claude pointed at his throat.
But by now, they had noticed something was wrong. The convoy had stopped, and there was some muffled voices. All of a sudden, the SWAT van came to a halt. The back door opened, and Claude spotted the familiar Hawaiian t-shirts-the Columbian Cartel. They pushed aside the cop, shouting.
"Senor Dickhead. It's no problem to kill you," one of them snarled, pointing his assault rifle.
"You gonna be sorry. All right, get lost," the other said, dragging the old Asian gentleman, and running off into the night, back towards their Patriots. But before they left, they dropped something down on the bridge. A bomb?
The policeman who had been pushed aside brushed himself, and he headed back on. But Claude and 8-Ball had realised: this was their chance to escape. Claude knocked down the cop with a punch, and they clambered out. Then they realised there was something else wrong. But before they could react, a huge explosion rocked the Callahan Bridge, and sent the two of them flying into the sides. Claude saw black as he thumped into the hard concrete.
When he came to be again, his eyes, still bleary from the blast, spotted 8-Ball leaning next to a green Kuruma, amazingly, not destroyed by the blast.
"I know a place on the edge of the Red Light District where we can lay low, but my hands are all messed up, so you better drive, brother." 8-Ball told Claude, showing hi his bandaged hands which had gotten a bit worse after the explosion.
Claude quickly turned around, and gasped silently at the destructive scene. The Callahan Bridge that he had driven across many times had been wrecked, and cut straight in half, and there, was the burnt wreckage of the convoy. Claude turned around slowly, and got into the Kuruma with 8-Ball. He turned on the ignition, and the engine roared softly into life.
"Fancy checking the news, brother?" asked 8-Ball.
Claude nodded, and he turned on the radio. It was nothing like the radio that he had in his old Banshee, probably now a piece of scrap metal under investigation or something. Damn Catalina.
"Liberty city is in shock today, as the police and emergency services deal with the aftermath, of a devastating attack on a police convoy this morning. As yet, no details have been released about the prisoners being transferred in the convoy, and no proof has claimed responsibility. A convoy left police headquarters early this morning, for a routine transfer of felons, to the Liberty City penitentiary. The attack took place on the Callahan Bridge, leaving few witnesses, and the bridge itself, severely damaged. Some of the convicts are thought to have perished, in the explosion that followed the initial attack. Revelations as to the professionalism of the attack, struck police hours afterward, when identification of the missing felons were further hampered by an attack, by computer hackers on police headquarter databases. With the Porter tunnel-project falling behind schedule, this disaster leaves Portland isolated from the rest of the city," came the serious voice of the news reporter.
Claude breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and he continued driving the Kuruma slowly towards the hideout, following the directions 8-Ball gave him. The police had responded very quickly to the attacks, and they were swarming to the destroyed Callahan Bridge. Claude felt very lucky to be alive, rather than rotting in a cell or lying in a pool of blood with a bullet hole in his head.
They eventually pulled up to a grubby-looking flat in the Red Light District. 8-Ball got out, not bothering at surveying the place, telling Claude:
"This is the place right here, let's get off the street and find a change of clothes!"
As Claude followed him inside, 8-Ball whispered to him:
"Hey, man, I know it's not much, but there was a guy called Mike, he wanted to escape from this city a few months ago, he lived here and built his way up as well. Right now, he's probably sitting in paradise, right outta here."
Claude shrugged as they headed inside. A single room with a TV and bed, and a bathroom was before him. 8-Ball rushed over to the closet, and grabbed some clothes, picking out a white shirt and blue jacket. Claude wore a black bomber jacket and green cargo pants.
As they headed back outside, 8-Ball had some more information.
"I know this guy, he's connected, and his name is Luigi." 8-Ball said.
Luigi? Claude thought quietly. Sounds too Mafioso to me. But he continued to listen, as this could be a job opportunity for him.
"Me and him go back so I could probably get you some work. Come on, let's head over there." 8-Ball continued, clambering back into the car.
Claude drove the Kuruma to Luigi's Sex Club, only a few blocks away from the hideout. They parked at the front of the club, and 8-Ball got out.
"This is Luigi's club, let's go round the back and use the service door," he said.
Claude followed him as they made their way to the back door.
"Wait here man while I go in and talk to Luigi." 8-Ball told him, heading inside, and greeting the ladies there.
Suddenly, an angry-looking man in a suit charged out. Must be Luigi, mused Claude.
"8-Ball's got some business upstairs; maybe you can do me a favour. One of my girls need a ride, so grab a car and pick up Misty from the clinic. Then bring her back here." Luigi said. But as Claude was about to turn around, he yelled:
"Remember no one messes with my girls! So keep your hands on the wheel! If you don't mess this up, maybe there'll be more work for you. Now get out of here!" he shouted.
Claude shrugged, a bit annoyed, and if he could speak right now, he probably would have told Luigi to take a chill pill. But he made his exit, and got inside the Kuruma, driving over to the hospital.
"Yo, yo, yo, it's OG Loc and I'm gonna be a gangsta and whoever disrespects me is a…yeah, yeah bitches," came the inimitable voice that nobody wanted to imitate.
Claude winced at the horrible rapping, and sadly remembered the time when he and Catalina had laughed at OG Loc's rapping. But those times were over. All he had now in his mind was revenge.
He arrived at the clinic and turned off the radio, parking next to a red-haired woman, who must have been Misty, and confirmed this by calmly telling him her name. Claude drove her back silently to the Sex Club, where Misty thanked him for the ride and handed him some of her cash she had made from roaming the streets. Claude counted this up to be $1500, enough to spend on food and things, but not quite enough. But it was a start, a start on the long road to revenge. He wanted to go back across the alley to see Luigi for more work, but he was so tired that he dragged himself and his car back to his hideout, and fell into a sleep.