The goddamn alarm went off. At least, that's what I thought. But it wasn't. It was something far much worse.

My phone was ringing. I quickly threw a gaze at the bedroom clock. It was 4 in the morning. "Fuck it." I said, without even knowing who would bother to disturb me at this unwonted hour.

I nearly went back to sleep.


I threw away the comforter, and picked up my phone. It was Bryce.

"Not him again", I slowly said to myself and answered the call.

"What do yo-" I was brutally interrupted by him.

"Murder." He began. "York Street, East Vinewood. I need you here ASAP."

"I'm not in the LSPD anymore. Why would I care?" I replied.

"Because it has your name written all over it. Literally." He said. I was not sure whether he was joking or telling the truth, but I decided to go there anyway. It better be interesting, else there will be another body over.

I showered, and was out of the house within half an hour. Pretty impressive, at least for me. There standing on the driveway was my new car, a third hand DeClasse Vigero. A fine American V8 from the 70s. All the cool kids of that time period drove it, smoking cigarettes and nailing drunk cheerleaders. Being able to go from 0 to 60 in 6 seconds, it's not really a bad car. But pretty cheap though, I got it for only $10,000. Granted that the suspension had collapsed and the car needed 4 new tires, but it's still worth it.

The Los Santos traffic was merciful. I managed to go from Morningwood to East Vinewood in just five minutes under an hour. And there he was, Bryce and his little posse of coppers. Flatfoots. Pigs. Whatever you call them.

I pulled up beside a police cruiser, and got out. Bryce was no where in sight. The area was full of unfamiliar faces. From distressed civilians to annoyed cops, everyone were either angry or worried. Probably because they jolly Saturday got ruined.

"You Bryce's guy, ain't ya? He's waitin' for your ass at the back." A fat white cop said, spitting out crumbs of donuts, which gave away a smell of roasted Bean Machine coffee.

I kept on striding forward. I could sense someone approaching behind me. It better had to be Bryce. That bastard needs to explain himself. But it was't Bryce.

"Hi John!" A sweet voice rang behind. I turned around, and saw a young and beautiful female police officer approaching me. I knew her.

"Sienna! How you doin'?" I hoped that she would explain the shit happening at this time of the day.

"I'm doing great! So Bryce called you here, didn't he?"

"Yes. That bastard better explain himself. What's going on?"

She nodded her head forward, signalling me to look backward. I did, and saw Bryce talking with another cop. "What's he doing?" I asked Sienna.

"Arguing. Our boys don't want you 'round here." She said, taking a sip of her coffee.

I was about to speak, but she was quicker to fire. "Russell Harris, 34, married. Found dead in the trunk of his wife's car today. He had his throat slit, and was missing all of his fingers."

"How does this concern me?" I asked. That's the truth, this didn't bother me abit.

"He was missing some of his organs." She replied.

I expected her to continue, but she didn't. So, out of courtest, I asked which ones.

"His male ones. His johnson was removed, along with two of the edwards." She said, crushing the paper coffee cup. "Come, let's talk to Bryce."

We both walked towards Bryce, who at this point finished his argument and was apparently texting someone.

"Hey asshole. Why do you want me?" I shot my question, which clearly everyone around had heard. Sienna giggled, while the other cops rolled their eyes in annoyance. Clearly they didn't want me.

"Well, take a look at this" He pointed to the trunk of the car. There lay Russel Harris, without his pants on, bleeding from his face, his groin and his palms. The sight was absolutely horrid.

"What? What's that?" I asked Bryce. I clearly wasn't referring to the emancipated man, but to the trunk lid of the car.

There, written on blood was:


Yes, I am John Weiss. And that's not my real name. But that's what everyone thought my name is. Only my family, Bryce and some of my closest friends knew my real name.

"Fake name, huh?" Sienna mischievously asked.

"Oh Sienna, go away." Bryce groaned, and amazingly, she went. I was too shocked to react.

"All right, John? John? You there?" He shook me up. "Listen John. The killer knows who you are."

That's exactly what I was thinking about. And I should stop narrating this shit. Hurts my throat.

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