All saints go to heaven

A/N: Saints Row will be one of my all-time favorite games, and I've been playing SR:TT and SR2 recently, so why not write about it? Haha, drabble.

Warnings: Language, and the general wit-and-wack of the Saints Row universe.

Disclaimer: I don't know if I know the Boss, but since the Boss is already in the game, I guess I don't.

**Boss' description: Rugged Class (black) hair, Fem voice 1, Brown eyes, Thick Feminine eyebrows, Dark red lipstick, Punk liner, Tan (supermodel) blush-on.


"That's some nice finishing," the current boss of the Third Street Saints commented as she pulled the pervious driver, throwing him to the road.

He shouted as a Bootlegger almost ran over his head, watching his previous Attrazione run from zero to thirty miles in three seconds.

This was a pretty usual thing nowadays—cars getting jacked, planes getting hijacked; he left with a shrug and a pat to his front pocket. She only went for the car, thank God.

As for the carjacker herself, the Boss has been high on heroin lately. Three years into the domination of Steelport and the reclaim of Stilwater, she has to get some action every once in a while, right?

She's had sex—that is if you can classify sex as a being interrogated by a bunch of police hiding under Aviators, "sexy shades" as she calls it.

So here she is, suited up with one of the most 'conservative' outfits she has, an Urban Safari set: a white low-cut top, a khaki-colored set—a ¾ sleeve jacket, mid-thigh short-shorts, a pair of loafers; a pair of black fingerless gloves, and a black leather belt.

Downing her second shot of gin—man, can she hold her alcohol—she recalls a scene with on of her favorite Saints.


"You seriously need to get laid."

"Shaundi, c'mon, not even half of the men here are that satisfying."

"Then get the ones left, there's gotta be someone who's just as sexually deprived as you are."

"Huh, I bet Pierce is."

"He is, well, he was, got laid a few nights ago and he can't stop talking about it."

"What, some stripper from the local clubs?"

"No-o-o, he got lucky this time, foreign stripper; tall and blonde, green eyes, I think she was drunk when they fucked."

"Or on LSD."

"Ecstasy most likely."

"I saw him driving up the drug dealer near the port last week."

"Then it's nonconsensual."

"Shaundi, I think we'll be having fun with guns and drugs in a while."

"Oh no, no-no-no-no, you need to relax, boss. Girls gotta have some fun time. So get our there, get on some heroin, make-out with some guy, and just get laid."

"I'm not on the pill."

"He's gotta have a condom handy, or a few if you're still high and ready."

"What makes you think I'm gonna get high? Gunfire's the only thing that makes me high, sweetie!"

"Yeah, like how combat suits give guys a hard-on."

"Hey, sexual fetishes are sexy."

"Yeah, okay, just get some fresh air, boss. You'll thank me later."

"Alright, and you'll thank me later when you've got a naked Birk in your bedroom."

"What the fuck—"

"Nah, just kidding."

"Thank God."

"Or maybe not."

"Fuck you."

"Love you too, Shaundi."


"Fresh air topped with whipped cream, baby." She called for another round as something gripped her from behind.

"You look like a fine time, honey." A husky voice pressed to her ear.

She wasn't drunk yet, she'd need a few more shots before she was, "Hmm, I'm as fine as they'll ever hope to be." She chuckles as a large hand presses underneath her jacket, just below her breasts.

"Then why don't I see for myself, huh?" He's cocky and her grips a bit tighter at her skin.

She mocks him, confidently, "I'd like to see you try."

"We'll see about that." His breathe reeks of cigars and cigars remind her of money.

"Hmm, you sound rich for someone who drinks cheap." She extends her tongue a bit farther when she licks her lips and she can taste his breath.

"A man has places to explore, bodies to see, and fucks to give."

It's a bit too close for comfort, he presses the grease on his face to the smoothness of hers, "Then go get 'em bodies." She rolls her eyes, it's not like she was serious in the first place about getting laid with his type.

"I got yours first, baby."

"Then sweetie," She pats his cheek, feeling the stubble, "You better search for bigger ones before you get this."

He presses sticky kisses on her neck, "I've got a big, hard one just for you."

She's had enough, "Get off of me, asshole."

"Quit the foreplay, let's just fu—"

In one swift movement, she unravels him from her and slams his face onto the bar; sure enough he's knocked unconscious, his face pressing into the marble.

"Should've listened, fucker. You could've gotten the best sex you'll ever get." She murmurs to herself as she downs another shot of gin.


It's her fifth shot and everything seems to blur, just a little. It's enough to distinguish between male and female, but not enough to tell open eyes from closed ones.

She starts singing to herself, giggling halfway through the chorus. An ecstatic mixture of heroin and gin make for a giddy and smiling boss. She starts hearing voices.

"You know you should get off of that."

It's her conscience, "I never knew I had a conscience."

"I'm not that voice in your head."

She swallows a sixth shot, she's still about ten percent sober.

"Then what are you? An angel? Come to tell me how to fucking rule the world?"

"No, not that I'm sure. You've already taken over Steelport."

"The chief of police wants me gone, fuck me right?"

"I'd rather not."

"Why not? I'm sexy as fuck."

"Do you even know who I am?"

"You're a—man, woman, lesbian, transsexual?"

"I've never been so insulted my whole life."

"You're that voice in my head! You're me!"

"Look a bit to your left,"

She does after she swallows her seventh; she's on the edge right about now. There's a blur of black and tan contrasting with the red and purple background.

"Shit! Astral fucking projection!"

"I'm not—I'm real."

"Well let's see,"

She reaches out and her hand comes in contact with a toned chest. Both of her hands are skimming over this 'projection's' body; around shoulders, skimming the torso, wrapping around the waist, travelling a bit further—oh, it's man.

"H-hey! I think that's enough!"

She gasps a little, "Fuck, you're sexy."

"I beg your pard—"

She rams her open mouth to his, sloppily, landing a sticky kiss where jaw meets neck. She sucks on scented skin, eventually leading herself to his lips; laughing to herself. He pulls away before she comes close to lapping her red lips to his.

"What are you doing?!" He practically shouts near her lips.

"I want to eat you alive." She moves forward, touching his lips teasingly.

He rolls his eyes and swallows hard. "You'll regret this when you're sober."

"But I'm not sober, sweetie."

His reply becomes muffled when she forces her tongue into his mouth, pressing the muscle to the roof of his oral cavity. He releases a throaty groan, wanting to pull away. Her hand on his neck locked him in a death grip and the hand pressing on the front of his pants just screamed the urge to fuck.

"You'll kill me." He murmurs when she breaks away to attack his neck.

"Stop talking and get to the nearest wall." She moves before she speaks, pulling him to her as she moves to stand up. Tipsy and high, her grip on him showed no weakness. Thankfully, her seat was at the end of the bar, just a few feet from the brick wall where she pins him mercilessly.

She's in between his legs and she rubs herself back and forth, up and down, and all over him—that would be enough for any man to pull their pants off and ram into her right then and there.

"No one's watching." She whispers as she grinds her hips against his.

He sends her a husky growl, "Stop before things get—" he moans, "uncontrolled."

"I like it wild and rough, sexy." She laughs lightly before pressing herself onto him at full force.

He can like this; after all, she's the one who's pushing him to. But no, he groans and rolls his eyes before rolling themselves so that her back's pressed to the wall and his hand is holding her wrist—that hand was, thankfully, kept away from his…part.

"I never knew I'd get to be fucked on a wall." She laughs in spite of herself. They're a few inches apart, but he's thankful he can finally breathe.

"Drink this, you'll sober up." He has a vial in his free hand and she sees it to be a liquid in the colors of the rainbow.

"A fucking rainbow drink," Her free hand grabs the tube and downs the liquid in an instant, closing her eyes at the warm sensation growing in her stomach.

He lets go of her, closing his eyes and clasping his hands in prayer, "Please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me, please don't—" A thud stops his mantra.

She's gone cold on the floor.

He's got no other choice than to accompany her until she wakes up, does he?


"Shit, I've got a major hangover—" She rouses from her unsteady slumber; being slumped on a table isn't her ideal way of sobering up.

"Who the fuck are you!?" She screams at the male opposite her, getting ready to throw a few punches to break his jaw.

"Calm down, I'm not here to—"

"The fuck—" She slams her palm to her forehead, "You're that kid!"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "Well, I was—"

"You're that punk-ass kid who trashed my fucking 'chopper!"

"Look, I'm sorry, three years have passed—"

"You're out to fuck my city!" She grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls to deliver a hook to his face.

She gets a smell of something from before. There're red smudges all over his face and neck. She adds all the odds together and—

"Oh my fucking god." She pushes him roughly. "Fuck! Fuckity fucking shit, such a dumbass.." She groans and wipes her hands on her face. "You're him!"

"I'm sorry? I don't—"

"I made-out with you! I made-out with a fucking kid!" She yelled, laughing in disbelief, "How sick can I get?"

"Probably sicker, but at least you're sober—"

"How old are you anyway?"

"..Nineteen."

"Shit,"

"Technically legal."

"Still too young for me." She shakes her head, still laughing in spite of herself, "Why are you here anyway?"

"Just wanted to see how Steelport's doing."

"And you fucked with me."

"I didn't, the Deckers have disbanded because of the Saints, and so it's you who's been fucking with me!" He's unfamiliar with the usual cuss words, rich-ass.

"Kids these days, thinking they can rule the world."

"I was a god."

"Yeah, a pussy-assed bitch with a keyboard."

"I won't respond to that." He shifts uncomfortably.

"You don't have to, " She brushes it off, "It's the truth anyway."

"Truth from three years ago."

"You should've just gone to some university."

"I did, I still am."

"Then I guess I won't be seeing you and your make-up wearing geeks-with-guns."

"Disbanded, remember?"

"I wouldn't know if you're secretly plotting to overthrow the Saints, kid."

"And I wouldn't know if you'll remember how you practically came over me."

If she had a gun, she'd shoot him dead. "Don't you fucking talk about it."

He raised his hand in defense. "What? You did it anyway, preying upon the innocent."

She rolled her eyes. "I was drunk. I was high. Big deal.."

"It was for me!"

"What? Don't know how to turn down a drunkard? Or in desperate need of some good fucking?"

"I thought you didn't, you know, do it with—kids?"

"I don't."

"Then why did you—!"

"Relax, we wouldn't remember it anyway."

"I was sober."

"Then maybe some bullets will help you forget."

"Alright, alright! I won't, I won't! It was disgusting anyway."

"I'll pretend that I didn't hear that. After all, you're still just a bitch with a keyboard."

"I've an IQ of a hundred and eighty!"

"IQ? Please, I've got guns sweetie. It don't matter whether you've got an above average IQ, when you're dead, you're dead."

"Thankfully I'm still alive."

"And if you still wanna be, you'd get out of my sight."

"But I—!"

"You even kiss like a pussy."

"You attacked me! What was I supposed to do, kiss you back? I thought you didn't—"

"I don't. It's just obvious that you lack some testosterone."

"…You're actually sober right now, seriously.."

"Sober as I when I kicked your sorry ass."

"I don't know what else to say."

"Then don't, just get up and leave."

He pauses, contemplating; "Actually, there's something that I've wanted to ask you since that day, three years ago."

She shrugs, "Fire away."

"Why are you called Saints, anyway? You practically kill as many as you can!"

"All saints go to heaven."

"With your crime sprees, I doubt any of you will."

"Says the bitch who had the world at his fingertips."

"I'm not! Well, I had a part of the world—"

"And you let it all slip away."

"What—you were the one who took it from me! I even wonder why I'm having a conversation with you."

"Hey, I'm not the one who just traded auto-jobs and ammo-ups. You could've offered a treaty, an alliance, you know?"

He frowns. "You'd shoot me before I'd even finish."

"I might, but hey, we've got guns, you've got virtual guns, we'd rule the world."

"And you'll kill me."

"It's always nice to have people who're afraid of you follow your every word."

He stops. "We're three years past that, at least I am."

"Yeah, whatever."

He smiles a little. "All saints go the heaven, right?"

She is taken aback. "Of course they do."

"It'd be nice to say that I'm in heaven right now, but—"

"I'd kill you before you could," She feels angry, "You're just fucked up."

"Aren't we all?"

"And aren't you a bit too young for picking up girls at this club? I mean, everyone's practically my age, sweetie."

"I'm not! Why would I even—"

"It's past one in the morning, and I'm guessing you're out here looking for a good time, turns out I was wrong. You're here just 'cause you know I'd be."

"What would I possibly want with you?"

"Oh I dunno, something along the lines of revenge?"

"I told you I'm over it! Please, it's past three years. I'm not that childish anymore."

"Yeah you aren't. Still a bitch with a keyboard though. I've seen some virtual chaos here and there, some bank thefts too, and a little bit of hacks from Steelport and Stilwater."

"I swear it wasn't me, or any of the Deckers."

"Yeah right."

He stops, sighs, and continues. "All saints go to heaven, right?"

"You ain't even close to being a Saint."

"But I can, if the circumstances are dire and I need to—"

"Bullshit. Just fuck off, Miller."

"Alright, you're just a pissed off socialite with a gun anyway."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" She is definitely insulted.

He's smug. "As much as you'd hate to admit it, you're nothing without your guns."

"I'll kill you right here, right now, with just my fists."

"Then why haven't you?"

"Fuck—just fuck you, okay? I'm not in the mood for a bar murder."

"Neither am I to be sexually assaulted, again."

"Now you're so full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Less than you are."

She stands up in frustration and in anger. "Fuck you!"

He's relatively calm, leaning back onto his seat. "You already did."

"Someday Miller, I am gonna rip your ass and stick it to your face."

"Good luck with that."

"Oh, and for the meantime, don't even try contacting me or the Saints." She walks out on him, just like that.

He sighs and slumps on his seat, taking a couple of minutes before leaving as well.


The next morning, she wakes up with a cough and the sudden need to puke. As she was vomiting, her phone rang a single message.

"Can't I at least tell you that you drank a poisonous substance just to make you sober and take away half the pain of a regular hangover? :("

"Oh fuck you." She replied after washing herself up.

"See you around darling. ;)"

"Shit's gotta be kidding me." She pockets her phone after sending the last message.

When it rings, she doesn't even bother to answer.


A/N: Well, that sucked. A sequel might be coming up, so stay tuned. For the meantime, care to drop what you think about it in a review? I'm changing my writing style now. :)