Chapter Text
Chapter 1
May 3rd
It had been 3 years since the infamous 'Fake AH Crew' had been sent down. Finally caught by the F.I.B.People say that a rival crew, 'Funhaus', screwed them over on their biggest heist yet. The Pacific Standard. It was going great, money was all collected, no alarms had been triggered. All was going to plan, until they left the bank. Instantly swarmed by the police, they fought as much as they could, but to no avail could they escape. The F.I.B knew their every move. Leading to the fall of the Los Santos rulers. Jack was sent to a female prison and all the men were sent to prison, Geoff, Ray, Michael and Gavin. Apart from Ryan. Him, he was clinically insane. A quiet man who wore a skull mask, not thinking twice before putting a bullet between the eyes of anyone who pissed him off just a tiny bit. He may have been a quiet man, but did he like to make noise. Always the one to pull out a rocket launcher, causing rampage and havoc in the streets. He ended up in a mental institute, locked away for the safety of the other prisoner's.
The first year he was there, he nearly killed a man. After that he was locked up. Seperated. Isolated. The way he liked it. He had no associates anywhere, no lovers, no friends. So the day he received a letter, the guards were shocked.
"Haywood. You have mail" barked the guard. Pushing it through the hole in the door. Ryan watched it as it fell to the ground. Waiting for the guard to leave before picking it up. He already knew what was inside. Only a few sentences. Cryptic to anyone else. The letter read:
"3 years it has been,
Sorry for the delay,
Just remember the day,
You killed 53.
Yours sincerely,
LL"
May 6th. How could he forget that day. 53 people massacred in one day. There was a reason behind the mentality, not just unjustified slaughter. These were 53 men who were part of a sex trade scandal. So, the deaths were reasonable. It was partly celebrated among the citizens of the city. But broadcast everywhere.
"Officer" Ryan said.
"What do you want inmate?"
" I request my items" said Ryan. Somewhat, confident. He glanced at the guard who seemed a little taken back. "May I have my items?"
"You haven't asked for anything in 3 years. Why now?"
"Something's come up." The phrase stifled a laugh from the guard.
"You're in a mental institute. There's no way you're getting out of here. You're crazy for thinking so!"
Ryan didn't reply. Just kept his head down and stared at the letter.
3 days.
May 5th
Two days since he received the letter. He'd placed it neatly on his table. Very few things sat on the table. Nothing personal belonged on there. He was a vagabond after all. What attachments would a previously wandering criminal have. The guards were curious about him. He rarely spoke, he'd had the same book for three years and 70% of the time he sat in the same place, still, doing nothing. Only ever moving to eat his meals and use the toilet.
"Haywood. We have the items you requested." A guard had appeared, holding 3 small pots of paint. Ryan was lucky enough to be sent to a mental institute. They encouraged creativity. If only Ryan was being as creative as they wanted him to be. Ryan stood up from his bed and walked over to the door and waited for the guard to slide the pots through the hatch. When he did, he took them and carefully placed them on his table.
"Thank you officer" said Ryan, giving the guard a nod before going back to his bed to resume his position.
1 day.
May 6th.
5 years since the massacre. Ryan's proudest moment. He'd woken up early. Around 5am. He stood up from his bed, used his toilet, gotten dressed and made his bed. Instead of his usual routine of sitting down and reading. He went to his table and picked up his small pots of face paint. Red, black and white. It had been a long time since he'd seen them, a long time since they had been used. He removed the lid from the white pot, struggling a little as the lid had dried shut. He had no brush to decorate his face with, so he used his hands. He dipped his fingers inside the pot, pulling out a big clump, he spread it between his hands and then rubbed the paint over his face, covering everything. He only had a small mirror to work with. He inspected his face, he'd done a pretty good job at covering it all. He wiped the paint off his hands as best as he could, smearing it on his trousers. He moved on to the red paint, grabbing a smaller clump and smearing it in his forehead, using his other hand to push his hair back. He covered his forehead thick with red paint. It was messy but he was starting to look like himself. Clearing his hand once again, he moved on to the black paint. To the finer details of his beloved face paint. He was careful with this bit. He dipped his finger in the paint and drew a diamond on his nose. He returned to the paint and drew 3 stripes going from just above his lips to the bottom of his chin. Black circles around his eyes,pointed at the ends. He moved on to the final details, two curved triangles on the side of his face opposite to each other. He finished the final details, he put the lid back on the final pot and wiped his hand clean. He looked at his final work. He smiled, and what a sinister smile it was. 3 years he'd be trapped. All because of a rival gang. A gang nobody knew. He was finally getting out whether the institute knew it or not. Someone was coming for him.
An hour had passed. Ryan sat on his bed, a guard approached his cell carrying his breakfast.
"James, your breakfast is here." Said the guard. Holding it through the slot. Ryan walked over, keeping his head to the floor.
"My name is Ryan." He looked up to the guard, grabbing the tray. He stared him in the eyes. "Don't ever call me James." The guard took a while to let go of the tray. The crazed man's stare had shaken him, before realising who was in control.
"Inmate, what is on your face?" The guard had noticed the messy paint job on Ryans face.
"You want us nut jobs to be creative. So I did some work." He gave a smile to the guard before sitting on his bed to eat his breakfast. The guard didn't say anything else. Just turned and walked away. It wasn't long after guards departure that the sirens started wailing. His ride was here. They just had to find him before the guards took them down. Time passed, 5, 10, 15 minutes. Still no saviour, still wailing sirens. Then it happened, someone turned the corner, taking the guard by surprise. Instantly knocking them out with the butt of their gun. A second guard came running at them, ducking under a punch, quickly rising, the stranger grabbed the guard by the throat and threw them to the ground, putting their boot on his neck until the consciousness left him. No other guards were in the vicinity. The masked stranger walked up to Ryan's cell and pulled off their mask. Ryan expected to see someone he knew. But instead he saw a guy he'd never spoken to before and had definitely never seen before.
"Who are you?"
"I'm your ticket outta here. I spent 15 minutes looking for you! This place is a maze!" The man's voice had a hint of excitement in it. A man who seemed like a child at heart.
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who sent you and who on earth you are!" He was getting angry he didn't want to play games. He wanted out.
"Chill. I was sent by Lindsay."
"Lindsay? I thought she got caught!"
"Don't underestimate that woman."
"And who are you?"
"My names Lawrence. I'm from Funhaus."