A/N: I'm done re-writing chapter three, this new one is the final one. I did another very small edit at the very end of chapter two, touching up the hastily written ending a bit. Sorry for all the edits and deletions, it's just been tough to pick up where i left off.

Tommy:

Tommy's eyes popped open to darkness. His head felt like a truck had backed over it and he had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was turning in for the night back at his mansion then everything got a little hazy. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hello?" his voice echoed as he called out.

There was a rustling sound a few feet away; causing Tommy to reach for his gun, only to find it wasn't there. He swore under his breath as his hands searched the concrete floor for anything to use as a weapon. Someone coughed, making Tommy stop dead in his tracks.

There were a few moments of silence until finally whoever coughed finally spoke up. "A-Anybody here?"

Tommy waited a few minutes, trying to figure out what was going on and where he was. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Who're you and where the hell are we?"

The voice paused. "No clue where we are," it said. "And the name's Carl Johnson. You?"

The name didn't ring a bell to Tommy, not that the situation would've been any better if it did. "Tommy Vercetti." he said quietly. "Tell me I'm not the only one who can't see shit."

"You're not." Carl said. There was another rustling sound, which caused Tommy to wonder who or what was making it. "What the hell's going on?" Carl asked, a small bit of panic in his voice.

There was a grunt followed by a cough. "Was that you?" Tommy called out to Carl.

"No." Carl whispered. "I'm gonna take a guess and say that it wasn't you either."

"Right." Tommy whispered back. "Alright I've had enough of this!" he yelled. "What the hell's going on? Who's doing this and where are we?"

The row of lights on the ceiling flicked on one at a time. Tommy looked around to see the black man he guessed to be Carl, and a large empty warehouse. A man in a black leather jacket came up between Carl and Tommy, startling them both.

"Jesus-Damn!" both yelled, taking a few steps back.

Before any of the three could begin talking a static sound filled the area. "All very good questions Mr. Vercetti." a deep and distorted voice came from above, though nothing could be seen. "You're in a warehouse in Atlantic Quays-"

Tommy remembered that district, but it was in Liberty city. "What the hell are you talking about? We're in Vice City!" Tommy noticed both Carl's and black jacket's faces as they looked at him like he was crazy.

"What're you talking about, man?" Carl said. "We're in San Andreas."

"You're both wrong," the voice from above cackled. "You're in Liberty City."

"But…how?" Tommy mumbled to himself.

"There is no time to ask questions you don't need to know the answer to." the voice said. "You are all here because I've deemed you the most dangerous and evil people ever to live in the country." The three looked at each other in disbelief. "You've each been injected with a small amount of a highly rare poison. Do not waste your remaining time going to the hospital, it will take them well over an hour of your life expectancy to figure out what it is I have given you."

"So what," Carl yelled. "What's the point of this, then. For us to sit here and wait to die?"

The voice laughed. "There's still hope, for one of you. I've scattered one hundred packages around the city, one of these has the antidote. Though, there is only enough for one of you."

The three looked at each other again, all of them sizing the other up. "So you want us to wander aimlessly through the streets in search of a package?" Tommy asked the ceiling.

"While that may be a bit more interesting to watch," the voice said. "It wouldn't give you much hope, would it? Instead if you each check your back pocket you'll notice a beeper." they each pulled theirs out, Tommy's was a small blue one, Claude's a fat red one, and Carl's a thin green one. "Every twenty minutes the location of a package will be displayed, good luck Tommy, Carl, and Claude as you each only have forty eight hours to live." there was a crackle and the warehouse was silent.

Tommy looked at the other two, wondering what to do. There was an uncomfortable tension in the air as each stared at one another, all of them waiting to see what the other did. Finally there was a tone from each beeper. 'The Red Light District, Sex Club Seven.'

Claude:

Claude looked at the other two, smiled, and took off for the large door at the end of the warehouse. There was a scream behind him, Claude ignored it and pushed through the rusted over door. Outside it was pouring down rain, but Claude only concerned himself with the passing perennial. The driver screamed bloody murder as Claude thrust his hand through the side window, ripping him out onto the street and getting in the car.

Of all the places the first package had to be, it had to be in a mafia run club. There really wasn't a person in Liberty City who didn't, at one point or another, have something to do with the mafia. But Claude's relationship with them ended bloody, which caused them to want him dead. Now he was being forced into their hands to save his life.

He replayed the previous night in his head, trying to figure out how he could have gotten into this. He had spent the night with a hooker at his home in Witchita Gardens. Nothing out of the ordinary, so how the hell did he wind up in a warehouse in Atlantic Quays with two other people? There wasn't time to think as his destination was in sight.

The perennial skidded to a stop in front of Sex Club Seven. Claude hopped out and slid over the hood, landing on the sidewalk and bursting through the front door in one movement. The club had seen better days, its red carpets stained, the blue wallpaper peeling, the blue smoke that hung in the air wasn't even supposed to be there, and the dancers/hookers were increasingly ugly with every day.

Four big guys in black suits sat upon stools at the bar, each staring at Claude. In fact the whole club was staring at him.

"H-hey, isn't that the mute!" one of them yelled. It was inevitable, Claude figured, that he'd be recognized. Rather than just the four pulling out weapons, though, half of the club pulled out a firearm. Apparently the bounty on his head had increased since his last trip to this area.

Claude wasted no time in acting, he rushed the nearest of the four mafia soldiers, taking him off of the stool and over the bar. The rest of the club paused, waiting to see who popped up. There was a muffled gunshot then two more as the bartender leapt down to lend a helping hand. The whole club was at a standstill, weapons aimed at the bar.

Carl:

Carl watched as Claude made a beeline for the warehouse door. "Son of a bitch!" he coughed as Tommy wrapped his arms around Carl's neck, why, he didn't know. He stomped his boot down on Tommy's foot, whirled around and brought his fist up to Tommy's chin. "Asshole! What the hell's the matter with you?" he didn't wait for Tommy's response.

Outside it was pouring down rain, making Carl wish he was wearing something more than a tank top and blue jeans. A quick scan of the area and Carl noticed a cop car sitting all by it's lonesome at the gate of the sawmill across the street.

"Arrgh!" Tommy came up behind Carl, landing a blow to the back of his head. Carl stumbled forward a few feet before tripping on the curb and falling into the grass. "It's kill or be killed, Carl." Tommy growled, bringing his foot up to Carl's face.

The cop car across the street was apparently not alone, as both found out when the siren started up and the car backed into Tommy, sending him to the ground. Two cops got out, each toting a pistol. "Freeze!" one yelled at Tommy.

The other went to help Carl. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, bending down to help him up.

"I am now." Carl mumbled, taking the cop's hand and twisting it until everyone heard a snap. The cop screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his wrist, while Carl stripped him of his weapons and got into the squad car, leaving them to deal with Tommy. "Red Light district, Red Light District." Carl kept repeating to himself.

This was a race against time, and each other. Carl was trying to remember what had happened to him, but all that came to mind was his falling asleep in one of Madd Dogg's bedrooms. His thoughts were cut short as another squad car smashed into the back of his.

"Didn't take ya'll long." Carl said to himself, steering onto the street he remembered the club to be on. Of course he quickly regretted it as more cops were speeding towards him from the other direction. "Shit!" he screamed, turning the car into a parked perennial. The perennial didn't stop Carl at all, though, as both cars smashed through the club's front wall.

When Carl finally managed to peel his eyes open he noticed Claude as he hopped over the half destroyed bar, a white package in hand. "Shit…" Carl mumbled, spilling out of the squad car and onto the debris-covered floor. He pulled out the .45, he had taken from the cop, and pointed it at Claude. "The package, give it to me!" he said, standing up.

Claude's right hand had been out of Carl's sight, which Claude used to his advantage. He nodded and held the package out for Carl to take. Carl reluctantly moved forward, his gun still trained on Claude. He put his hand on the white paper of the package, which was Claude's signal to bring the 9mm up and pump two shots into Carl.

Carl fell back to the ground, holding the blood soaked patch of his stomach. He watched as Claude tore open the package, only to find nothing. Carl smiled at his frustration. Then, the lights began to dim, slowly his vision began to blur and he blacked out.