My name is Trane Jackson. I am a Third Street Saint. I really didn't want to be a Saint, but I was pressed into it by two guys. Let me tell you how:

I was born and raised in Stilwater. My mom was a dentist in Brotherhood turf, and my dad was a member of the Third Street Saints. He wanted me to be something other than a gang member, so he usually kept me from going with him. About ten years later, he died in a car accident. Apparently he was coming home from a mission, when some Westside Rollers shot at him. One of them got him in his head and he crashed into a store wall.

I was mad that he died because of that, so I would frequently cut class to see his grave and bring him flowers I would get with money from my allowance. My mother became a drunk after she retired, and she would usually come home with food, stock up on everything, come to my room, and beat me with a belt and say,"This is all your fault! If you weren't born, I would still have my husband!"

But that is kind of another story. Anyway, When I was twenty-three years old, I was walking down Main Street, minding my own business, when I saw some Westside Rollers spraying something on a local bar's wall. I thought of calling the cops for a moment, then I put my phone back into my pocket and continued walking.

Then I heard some shots ring out, and I saw four Brotherhood asswipes standing over the dead Rollers. Then they saw me. They thought I saw something I shouldn't have, so they started chasing after me. I saw them and started to run. Then I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and fell on my face.

I turned around and saw them standing over me, ready to shoot me. I closed my eyes, waiting for the shot that would end me. but it never came. I opened my eyes and saw a Saint standing over me with his hand out.

"Follow me if you want to see the future of yourself." he said.