Chapter 3: Lance Jackson – Chapter 2

From the author

Hello. I am Wally - aka  - aka Lance Jackson - aka - - -

Every day sometime between 2am and 8am PST, I assume the role of Lance Jackson on the NoPixel Whitelist GTA5 Roleplay Server. 

All live streams can be found  

All edited footage is published . 

Frequency - As often as I can.

All of Lance's thoughts and feelings and interactions are recorded here, in my words.

This is his story. 

"What's yer name?" One of the men asked. They both wore leather cuts identifying themselves as members of the Lost. Lance didn't know much about the group, but he'd seen them around and knew they weren't to be messed with. They both wore masks, but to Lance that didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to identify them. For now, he knew them as Paper-mask and Paintball-mask.

"I'm Lance," Lance responded, turning fully and raising his hands in the air.

"Who do you roll with, Lance?" Paintball-mask followed up his question with another.

"No one," he responded. 

"Ok Lance, do you wanna come for a ride?" Paintball-mask stretched out the last word, dragging it across the concrete tile. 

"Yup," lance responded softly.

"Great - sorry about this - we'll bring you back, hopefully," Paintball-mask chuckled and made his way towards their waiting car. 

Paper-mask kept his gun trained on Lance's head, "If there's anything you want to drop off in the dumpster, do it now." 

"I think he already did," Paintball-mask answered for Lance. 

"Is there anything you don't want the cops to find?" Paper-mask explained.

"No," Lance responded. He didn't have anything of value to most people.

"Perfect," Paper-mask said, gesturing for Lance to follow Paintball-mask to the car.

As he did, Paintball-mask explained, "We're going to give you the time of your life, Lance." It was the same muscle car from the parking lot - a jet black two-seater. The trunk popped open and they gestured for Lance to get in. He complied. Lance pushed aside anything that might cause discomfort and set himself down gently. The trunk had an open back, so he could see through the front window from his position. Lance had no idea where they were taking him, but Paper-mask decided the ride would be the best time to question his new hostage.

"So Lance, how's your day going?" Paper-mask asked. 

Lance cleared his throat to speak-up from the back, "I just got out of ICU." 

"Oh fuck. I am..." Paper-mask shook his head, the paper rattling from the movement beneath. "Welcome to the Los Santos experience," he said with a chuckle. 

"Appreciate it..." Lance responded from the back. 

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"What were you in ICU for?" Paper-mask questioned. 

Lance cleared his throat again. He wasn't used to this much conversation. "I... starvation, I think," he responded. 

Paper-mask glanced back, "Well how'd you starve yourself, Lance?" The car turned a corner sharply, the tires screeching in response. 

Lance flinched and answered, "I live in Paleto." 

"Well why do you live in Paleto?" Paper-mask gestured for Lance to continue, then stopped. "Wait, they have Mojito Inn there," Lance could hear Paper-mask's judgement in his voice. 

"It was closed," Lance responded. And the dumpsters were empty aside from scraps. He ate what he could... it just wasn't enough when he was vomiting it out due to alcohol consumption. To him, it was more important to quiet his thoughts. 

"Well," Paper-mask glanced at Paintball-mask, then back at Lance, "have you considered getting a job at the Mojito Inn?" 

Lance thought a bit. To him, this sounded like something he could do - no you can't - and they'd probably welcome the help - they wouldn't - but Lance responded, "They wouldn't want to hire me..." 

"Well why wouldn't they want to hire you?" He prodded. The muscle car roared to life as it accelerated on an onramp.

"I'm from the streets," Lance looked at himself, huddled in the trunk. "From the trashcans," he added. His clothes were clean and he smelled nice, but that was the new-hospital smell. Prison and ICU were the best places to get a break from the streets. He wasn't uncomfortable and he didn't hate life, he just didn't feel like he deserved anything better. Not after what he had done. "From the alleys..." He continued. 

"Look Lance," Paper-mask interjected, "I'm pretty damn sure they'd take you in. I know who runs the counter." His confidence was alarming, but it ticked something off in Lance's head. It gave him a goal. "And then you can just make food anytime you want," he added. "Unless, of course, you got issues with Mayhem. If so, that's probably gunna be a problem," he concluded. 

"No," Lance responded, "Never 'met' them." He'd watched them from afar as they maintained the establishment, but he hadn't made any effort to approach them. Would they really accept him? A dishonorably discharged veteran only a couple years out of his court marshal? "They just ignore me," Lance whispered. 

"That's crazy," Paper-mask replied. "So you just rummage around restaurant trash cans for food?" He asked. 

"Right now, yeah." Lance replied.

The silence was palpable as Paper-mask eyed his hostage. "Is there ever food in them?" His voice raised an octave. 

Lance's reply was simple, "No, nothing worth eating." Not usually, anyway. 

"Well do you get your unemployment checks?" He prodded. 

This caught Lance by surprise. He didn't realize he was being paid just for existing. His mere presence must generate some sort of income for the government if they subsidize his lifestyle. The thought was fleeting. Paper-mask was more than happy to explain the whole process as the muscle car pulled into a parking lot.  Lance made a note of this future income just as the trunk popped open.

"Hop out," Paintball-mask demanded. Lance complied, pulling himself out of the trunk and onto his wobbly legs. It took a moment to regain his footing. Paintball-mask kept his gun out the whole time, but left it in the rest position with his finger out of the trigger guard. He knew how to use firearms. "Now you come in here," Paintball-mask commanded, "You come in this building." His tone was threatening and it raised flags in Lance's mind. 

The building was a rundown garage made of bricks similar to the rest of the architecture in this part of the world. It was the perfect place for unspeakable acts, and Lance's mind reeled at the thought of what he might have to do once they entered.

 

 

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