Tales of The Fakes (ARCHIVED)

concept: fake chop Brett with lots and lots of tattoos.

“The deed’s been done,” Lindsay crows, dropping a bundle of photos on Trevor’s desk. Trevor looks up from his phone, spreading the pictures out with a hand; the drug dealer Lindsay had been sent to rough up is in every one of them, in increasing stages of dismemberment. There’s one near the bottom of the stack with Lindsay and Meg both taking a selfie in front of the victim, blood pouring down his face while they flash peace signs.

“Good work,” Trevor says, collecting the photos and shoving them into a drawer. “Were the cat ears really necessary though?”

Lindsay just shrugs with a grin. “You know Meg.”

“Somehow I doubt it was Meg.”

Lamborghini Aventador SV

Michael and his babes in a nutshell

The Fake AH Crew Magazine

They aren’t good people, but they will fight tooth and nail to be that way.

The “good people”, those are the ones they hate. The perfect politician with a plastic face and even more fake promises. Promises of making things better when they don’t even know how bad it is. The big name CEOs who dip their toes in donation money so they can fish some out for themselves, even though they have enough golden bars and diamond rings at home to fill a swimming pool. Government officials who make laws only for their personal gain, to put more $100 bills in their wallets so they can throw them at abused strippers later.

The Fake AH Crew hates them. Hates them with a passion because they were the ones who forced them into this life in the first place.

They’re the one’s who took away Geoff’s will to live as soon as he finished servicing, not giving him a cent to his name and making him live on the streets. Lucky for him, he was used to it from his rough childhood, so he knew how to climb the system and make a name of himself in the criminal ring so he wouldn’t be eaten alive.

They’re the ones who stripped Jack of her humanity, reducing her to her genitalia. The one’s who took away her rights and stopped her to the ground, leaving her to die on the side of the road where no one would care or even know her name. Lucky for her, Geoff helped her to her feet, or else she’d be rotting and another misgendered name in the obituaries.

They’re the ones who made Ryan believe he was insane. The ones who told him he was “crazy” and “dangerous” because his brain worked differently. He had no where to go without being miserable, forcing him to rob banks just so he could afford his medication, just so he could feel like a person. Forced him to rob the wrong house, where he found a strange man and woman who offered him shelter and food and Ryan felt like crying.

They’re the ones who fucked Michael over, keeping him in a corrupt system all because of a stupid mistake he made as a teen. He had to live the prison life for five years, and when he got out, he wasn’t a citizen anymore and he had no where to go except a man named Geoff who took him in when he saw a poor 25 year old on the side of the road, starving to death because all the soup kitchens ran out of funds years ago.

They’re the ones who made Gavin prostitute himself. Made him into an object for rich men and women to abuse just so he could eat that night. He hated how dirty he felt, but how else was he supposed to survive? Until a man offered family instead of sex, offered a safe haven so Gavin wouldn’t have to sell his body just to live.

They’re the ones who kept Jeremy from moving up. Kept him poor and barely surviving off minimum wage. They didn’t help the addiction that ran in his family and spit at him when he developed it, too. He didn’t remember the last time he ate because he spent his entire paycheck on meth and booze. If he didn’t, he would feel itchy and and paranoid, and eventually, he was evicted. Geoff found him on the side of the road, almost dead from an overdose.

He could take apart a gun in record time but took his time cleaning it. If they needed to stage a weapon, they went to Alfredo to create it. Complete with serial numbers etched into it. They would simply steal the real one when the time was right.

At first, Ryan thought the kid was full of shit. Who was he, strolling in here and saying they knew nothing of guns? Ryan was a trained assassin, a gun for hire. He’d dealt with more guns than Alfredo possibly could’ve ever had.

But Alfredo.

When Ryan held a Berreta 92 up to the back of his head, he merely laughed. “You’ve got the safety on and there’s nothing in there. Your real gun’s in your waistband. A Glock 19. Fully loaded but there’s at least three other loaded mags, two in your coat and one in your pants pocket.” He turned around with a grin on his face. “Are we finished here?”

Ryan stared at him in shock as he walked away, glancing down at the gun in his hand before flicking the switch off then back on. “How’d you know?” He asked the retreating figure.

refuses to show his crew his modeling portfolio that he keeps somewhere hidden in his bedroom (under the bed, according to jeremy)

tries to take home every stray animal that he finds only to be sad every time geoff tells him no

makes his bed every morning and takes a shower everyday because “i may leave diet coke cans, but i’m not as uncouth as gavin”

likes to go on jobs with just the lads because he can get away with being chaotic as possible and not get shamed by jack or geoff

constantly and accidentally gets referred to as “dad” for babying his crewmates, especially the lads

And honestly, why shouldn’t he? Alfredo has made himself indispensable to the most powerful crew in the city, has been welcomed with open arms, can tut and chide and bark instructions at the most infamous of crooks without a moment of fear or hesitation. Alfredo who has always been more than capable of handling himself but no longer needs to bother, safe as houses in Los Santos under the unwavering protection of the nastiest motherfuckers around. 

to the point where it genuinely terrifies other gangs, like, imagine you’re in a gunfight in a warehouse and you shoot a guy in the arm and he goes down, spitting expletives and threats

and you turn and run out of the warehouse and get maybe a block away and suddenly the same fucking guy comes around a corner at you, except now there’s no gunshot wound and he’s got fire in his eyes

trevor and alfredo who play this up with unbridled joy. they’ll wear the same outfits. someone will call one of their names and the other will answer. sometimes even the crew gets tripped up.

geoff has to do post-heist headcounts twice, never implicitly sure whether he counted two heads or the same one twice.