Chapter 4: Lance Jackson – Chapter 3

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. 

In the military, Lance was known as a S.E.R.E. instructor. S.E.R.E. stood for Survive, Evade, Resist, Escape, and was the founding principle for pilots to survive harsh conditions in hostile territories. As an instructor, he taught pilots how to survive the harsh conditions of the desert. Lance's mind was conditioned to make even the harshest environment tolerable, so when he entered the dilapidated building as commanded, the broken shutters, graffitied walls, and mud-caked floors melted away into an executive suite of unbridled comfort. 

"Alright," Paintball-mask continued, "you come down here." He escorted Lance through a vast expanse of luxury into a small open room. "We got some yoga mats," Paintball-mask chuckled as he said this. "It's actually really nice and relaxing," he gestured for Lance to lie down on the mat, and Lance complied. 

He doesn't know what drug they gave him, but he suddenly felt much more open to suggestion as all of his fears and anxieties melted away. Yoga. 

"So what happened - something happen in your life that made you homeless?" Paintball-mask asked through Lance's milky haze. "Or have you always been homeless?" 

He heard paper-mask from behind, lying on the beautiful stone-cut marble, "Have you always been like this, Lance?" The design on his mask moved with each word, swirling in ways that his mind had trouble processing. 

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"I was..." Lance whispered through the haze, "in the military." His voice shuddered slightly, "I just got released from the brig... a couple years ago." Brig? They don't even call it that. Lance spent twenty years in a military prison in Fort Zancudo for murder. Why don't you tell them that, Lance? 

"Well I wish I never asked," Paintball-mask replied. "Jesus - you make me feel - are we bad people? Baghead?" He looked over to Baghead and Baghead made his way around to Lance's side. "Do you think we're bad people, Lance?" Paintball-mask asked.

"I don't..." His eyes rolled back and he flicked back to attention, "I don't know any of you." Lance had trouble identifying anyone without knowing them. To him, they were all the same. He pushed through the haze and stumbled back to his feet. 

"Well I'm glad you don't judge us based on this one action," Paintball-mask concluded. Seeing the effects of the drug take hold, he added, "Look at this. Sai Carter's gun emporium. I'm Sai Carter. Make sure to give us a visit alright?" He slid the card in Lance's pocket, adding, "You can come and live there. Inside. Outside. You're more than welcome." His voice felt intoxicating, and Lance could only nod in agreement. 

"Thank you..." Lance stumbled forward, but kept his balance. 

"Alright," Sai said with finality. "Unfortunately we still have a job to do." Sai gestured for Lance to follow and Baghead came up on Lance's rear with his gun drawn. "Let's go." 

As they exited the 'resort,' Baghead apologized, "I have to keep it out." He looked down at his gun and added, "I got a feelin' you ain't gunna do nothin', but y'know."  Lance gazed at the designs on the bag, unable to properly process his words. 

The air outside felt freeing, but the milky drug-fueled haze failed to dissipate. Lance stumbled forward towards the car. "Oh wow, you move quick," Sai said, holding him up. 

"Easy now," Baghead helped. "Into the trunk for me." He eased Lance into the trunk of the car, and Lance felt all of his worry wash away. Somehow he felt safe while confined in that small space. "We'll just close the trunk for you. We don't want you flopping out, and with all of the crazy stuff in the air, we want you to be safe." The words melted together. Lance gazed out of the opening towards the desert just as the car lurched forward and the trunk slammed shut. 

 

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