Note: I'm not gonna include everything that was featured in the introduction. Since this is mostly a re-write focusing more on CJ's story and the story focusing on Grove Street and C.R.A.S.H., I'm only including the scenes in Los Santos and trying to connect them in the right order. So anyways, I hope you enjoy.

The date was August 19, 1992 in the busy streets of Liberty City. Carl Johnson, a 21-year-old African American thug, crossed the street and got to a parked car, only to realize the door was locked.

"Damn!" he muttered. "Shit!"

So he took a furtive look around the street and crossed to get to a driver at a red light.

"Get out the car!" he demanded pulling the driver out of the car. "Out, now!"

He hopped inside the vehicle and continued riding just as the light turned green. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket to call his ally.

"Joey!" he answered. "Hey, wassup, man? It's CJ."

He stopped to listen to what Joey was telling him.

"Yeah. I hear you," CJ said. "I never knew my dad, but my brother used to make my life miserable."

He paused once again to listen to what Joey was telling him.

"Yeah, well, that's what family for," CJ said. "Anyway, I got that thing you wanted. Want me to shoot it by the garage?"

He paused to listen to Joey's answer.

"No, no," he answered. "I gotta get this thing off the street, man. It's way hot. All right, cool. Later."

His name was Carl Johnson, but everyone called him CJ. He wasn't exactly from Liberty City. He was from Los Santos, San Andreas. He grew up as a young gangbanger in his teen years with his older brother Sean, nicknamed Sweet, as the leader of the Grove Street Family gang. The gang was formed by Sweet in the 1980s, and Grove Street was at its height and power during the time against their rival gang the Ballas. CJ and Sweet, along with their younger sister Kendl and younger brother Brian, were raised by their single mother Beverly, whose husband left just shortly after Brian was born. Because her husband wasn't around that often, CJ never got a chance to actually know his father and was constantly pressured by Sweet to follow his orders as if HE was the father of the family, which only annoyed the three younger siblings. CJ still loved his brother though and looked up to him.

Then, in 1987, it happened. CJ and Brian had walked to the convenience store on Idlewood and were ambushed in a drive-by courtesy of the Ballas. Brian, unfortunately, was murdered, and Sweet and his buddies, who had just arrived, murdered the Ballas, except the driver, who sped away out of sight. After discovering Brian's death, Sweet blamed CJ for Brian's demise, which prompted CJ to finally leave Los Santos and run to Liberty City. Ever since then, he had met mechanic Joey Leone, who gave him a job to collect cars for his garage, quite enjoying himself since then.

Meanwhile, back in Los Santos, Sweet and his allies were playing craps on Ganton Street. His closest friend, Melvin Harris, nicknamed Big Smoke, was standing right next to him. Sweet was wearing a green Los Santos baseball cap, green T-shirt, baggy blue denim pants, and blue Chuck sneakers. His partner, Big Smoke, was a fat man wearing a black fedora hat, eye glasses with black frames, a green button-up shirt, baggy gray pants, and black shoes.

"Baby needs diapers!" Sweet said as he rolled the dice.

"Oh!" the other gang members cried out as the dice hit the ground, coming up as eight altogether.

"Shit!" Sweet muttered.

"Hey, fool," Big Smoke told Sweet. "We losing the streets, man!"

"Nah. We just standing by our principles, homie," Sweet claimed.

"But our principles are making us bitches, man," Smoke convinced. "Every day, Ballas get stronger, and you and I get weaker. You and I get poorer, man!"

"Man, that shit'll blow over," Sweet shrugged. "It always does."

"Oh whatever, man!" Smoke uttered.

Just then, Jeffrey Cross, one of the allies, came around to interfere with the game.

"Man, whoever heard of a gangster rapper called 'Jeffrey', man?" he shouted.

Jeffrey disliked his name. He felt it wasn't hardcore or gangster, nor did it make him seem tough. He wanted a nickname that was, in his own word, 'gangster'. So he called himself 'OG Loc'. He had always wanted to hang out with the Grove Street members and wanted to pursue a career as a gangster rapper. He was shirtless with a scrawny body full of tattoos and a gold necklace around his neck and wore a black skully and red pants that were slightly sagging. Sweet and Big Smoke, however, were annoyed of his wannabe thuggish ways and wanted nothing to do with him.

"Hey Jeffrey, man, you're messing up the game, man!" Big Smoke growled in annoyance.

"OG Loc!" Jeffrey shouted. "Now that's a gangster name, man. Like Sweet, or Big Smoke."

"Jeffrey, you ain't no gangster" Big Smoke told him.

"Man, you ain't never put in no work for the set," Sweet added. "You a friend, but you ain't no gangster."

"Man, I'm for real, homie!" Jeffrey protested. "For real!"

"Okay, cool!" Sweet snarled in irritation. "Now kick rocks, you messin' up my game."

"You know what?" Jeffrey said. "I'm gonna prove to y'all how real I am. Watch me!"

"Jeffrey, go to college, man!" Sweet told him. "Make something of yourself. Me and the fat man, we messed our lives up. We fucked up in the game, man. We products of the environment. Don't be an idiot, man. Make us proud. Do shit different, baby."

"But I'm a gangster rapper!" Jeffrey complained. "It's my calling, homie!"

"Look man," Big Smoke told him. "Do whatever you want, but get the fuck outta here."

"No, man, go be a gangster someplace else, baby," Sweet chuckled.

"Forget y'all!" Jeffrey whined walking away.

As soon as Jeffrey went away, Sweet and Big Smoke continued their conversation. "This ain't a fucking playground craze, man," Big Smoke told Sweet. "This is the biggest money-making opportunity that guys like us will ever see."

"I got all the shit I need," Sweet said. "Man, I thought we was in this for the hood, not destroying the family, man. This Grove Street, nigga. Roll the dice!"

"Talking of holding families together, you heard from CJ lately?" Big Smoke asked.

The mention of his brother's name has finally got to Sweet. It's been five years since Sweet has last talked to CJ. Ever since the latter left, Sweet has never bothered even calling CJ or even checking up on him since then. He currently never wanted to hear his name brought up again "We ain't speaking," Sweet grumbled. "He got his own life. More than he deserves."

"What- what- what, Brian been dead, what, five years now?" Big Smoke asked.

"Yeah, CJ have five years when he should have been dead," Sweet muttered sullenly. "Man, I lost two brothers, man. One got killed and one showed himself, old perpetratin' ass bitch."

Big Smoke felt rather shocked to hear Sweet say such a thing about his own brother. "You real gangsta, man, but you gotta lighten up," he coaxed Sweet. "See, CJ, he's..."

"CJ running 'round like a fool on the east coast!" Sweet interrupted furiously. "He can rot in hell for all I give a fuck!"

Meanwhile, back in Liberty City, CJ was walking down the alleyway in the red-light district. He viewed a man walking by him going the opposite direction, and CJ turned around, grabbed his pistol, and shoved the man against the brick wall.

"Gimme yo' fucking money!" he demanded ominously.

"All right, man," the man said in a panicking voice as he handed him his wallet. "All right, man. Here, man, take it."

"Yeah," CJ whispered taking the wallet.

"Come on, man," the man protested. "Just don't shoot ma."

CJ instead pistol whipped the man and darted away. "Punk ass motherfucker!" CJ muttered.

Back in Los Santos was also the home of C.R.A.S.H. (Community Resources Against Street Hoodlums), a unit of the Los Santos Police Department, which was used to reduce the level of crime in the city. Despite that, C.R.A.S.H. were actually corrupt, as their method of stopping crime was just by simply instigating a riot in the hood as a way to destroy the gang completely. They even made business with street gangs such as the Ballas in order to instigate the war between the rival gangs. In other words, their method of ending gang wars was by manipulation. They really didn't care about any crimes on the street as long as it didn't affect them.

Officer Frank Tenpenny, an African-American cop and the founder of C.R.A.S.H., was especially eager to manipulate anyone he came in contact with. His partner in-crime, Edward Pulaski, a fat, Polish-American cop, always complied to Tenpenny's demands and was there to back him up whenever Tenpenny would get into conflict with anyone he did business with.

Tenpenny was currently talking to someone who tried to refuse his deal on the phone. He and Pulaski were at their car in front of the Jim Sticky Ring donut shop on Market Street.

"Listen to me, son," Tenpenny told the person he did business with, "I don't give a fuck about you, I don't give a fuck about your principles, I don't give a fuck about your friends. People who get in my way get fucked. Now, you got paid! You took the money! I'm trying to set you up for life here, boy, and you're inadequate! You're no use to me at all, boy! Maybe I should kill you instead!"

He turned to Pulaski, who had come toward the car from the donut shop. "Eddie," he told Pulaski. "Organize a hit squad!"

"Not a problem," Pulaski replied.

Tenpenny then got back to his phone call. "You hear that?" he told the person he was speaking to. "You feelin' me here? You about to wake up with your head fifty feet away from your body, son. Do what we agreed! Oh, you think you can pull one over me?! Do you? I don't think so! So do it! This week!"

Tenpenny hung up the cellphone and stored it around his belt. "All good, pal?" Pulaski asked him.

"Pal?" Tenpenny asked abruptly. "I'm your superior officer and don't you forget that shit! But yeah, all good."

"So is he gonna do it?" Pulaski asked.

"Didn't I say it was all good?!" Tenpenny snarled.

Pulaski nodded. "So are we gonna get the kid?" he asked Tenpenny.

"Yeah," Tenpenny answered. "Let's initiate the little bastard into the force."

So they hopped inside the police car, with Pulaski taking the wheel, and drove away.

The two cops were later parked outside of the police station in Pershing Square. They turned to see a Hispanic man wearing a cop uniform walking out of the station and approaching the police car.

"So you're the new kid, huh?" Pulaski asked.

"Yeah," the Hispanic man answered. "Been working on the streets three years though, and I realized there's only one kind of crime in Los Santos…. Gang crime. That's why I joined C.R.A.S.H."

"Get in the car, kid," Pulaski demanded.

The officer's name was Jimmy Hernandez, and he wanted to eliminate the gang violence by stopping it rather than manipulate it. So he was oblivious to Tenpenny and Pulaski's method. He hopped inside the back seat, and Pulaski continued driving.

"I was called in on this domestic dispute case once," Officer Hernandez told the two cops. "You got this young kid, okay? Can't be more than twenty years old, beating up his wife. So I figure, easy, right? No man hits a woman. Well, it turns out this woman spends all day freebasing and nearly let their kid starve to death. All right, so what do I do? I could take this guy in, and leave a little kid with a drug-addict mother, or I let a guy off with beating up his wife, I mean, it's difficult out there."

"Domestic violence?" Tenpenny asked suddenly as Pulaski made it across Glen Park.

"Yeah, yeah," Hernandez replied. "Serious stuff, man."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tenpenny muttered. "Pulaski, pull over."

Pulaski complied to Tenpenny's demand and the latter turned around to face Hernandez.

"Well, I deal with drug dealers, gang bangers, and psychotics," he told Hernandez, "all of them chasing after a lot of money, none of them scared to kill me, you, or all our families, if they think it will help them. Now this is a bit more serious than a domestic dispute, pal."

"Look," Hernandez tried to explain, "I didn't mean anything by it. I was just– "

"I'm not really interested in what you meant to say," Tenpenny interrupted. "See what you said was you found a woman on drugs a difficult situation. Now how the hell am I supposed to trust you if you're so easily confused?"

"Look," Hernandez explained. "I'm a good cop."

"This ain't about being a good, cop, Pepe," Tenpenny told him.

"It's about taking control of the streets from the fucking savages who've got it now!" Pulaski added.

"I know!" Hernandez answered.

"Then you'll do what it takes?" Tenpenny asked.

"Yeah," Hernandez answered. "Whatever it takes!"

"'Cause this is a game of percentages, 24/7, 365, or in the case of this year, 366," Tenpenny informed." We're just trying to screw as many bad guys as we can."

"Yeah, I know," Hernandez told them.

"That means letting some bad guys get away with things," Tenpenny told him.

"And sometimes, it means doing shit you ain't proud of," Pulaski added. "Because you're strong enough and smart enough to understand the bigger picture."

"Look. I know," Hernandez protested.

"You don't know shit!" Tenpenny told him. "Get the fuck out of the car, ese."

Hernandez complied and hopped right out. He watched as Tenpenny and Pulaski drove away.

Night had finally fallen, as it was 12:18 AM, and Tenpenny and Pulaski were walking out of Ganton Street to their car.

"I knew that fat fuck would see it our way!" Tenpenny said.

"Yeah," Pulaski added. "Always do once they understand the choices we're offering. Say Frank, what the hell are we gonna do with this Hernandez coming on board with us?"

"Exactly same thing as last time," Tenpenny responded. "He's either gonna play it our way, or he's gonna have a problem, like that oversized asshole back there. Look, I ain't worried about that, Pulaski. Pendelberry's more of a concern. He does what he's threatening, then shit's about to get real interesting."

"Yeah," Pulaski replied as he and Tenpenny hopped into the police car, with Pulaski taking the driver's seat. "Hey Frank, how about passing me a smoke?"

The two dirty cops drove away, and a trio of Ballas were hanging behind the gym lighting a joint. One Balla was wearing a white T-shirt, a gold chain around his neck, purple shorts, and a black cap on his head. Another Ballas member was dressed in a blue chore jacket, matching pants, and a brown baseball cap. The final member had on a purple jacket, brown pants, and a purple skully.

"Yo let me hit some of that, homie," the member in the white shirt told the one wearing the chore jacket, who was smoking a joint.

The latter handed the former the joint. "F'sho, homie," the member in the chore jacket said.

The member in the white T-shirt started to inhale and then coughed a bit. "Man, what's this sess bullshit?" he said handing the joint to the one in the purple jacket. "Man, you ain't got nothin' real to smoke?"

"Man, that ain't sess, homie," the one in the chore jacket protested. "That's that hydro."

"Man, whatever," the one in the white T-shirt replied.

"Man, you sure about this thing?" the member in the chore jacket asked.

"Man, I'm tellin' you, dude," the one in the white T-shirt said, "Grove Street's gone to shit, man. They done."

"But we copping off of one of their OGs, man," the member in the chore jacket told him. "You sure this is cool, or this some kinda trap?"

"Be cool, man," the member in the white T-shirt replied. "And if anyone tries shit…." He pulled out his pistol and cocked it back to demonstrate. "…. we blast them."

"F'sho," the member in the chore jacket replied.

"Man, Grove Street ain't even no real gang no more, homie," the member in the white T-shirt told him. "They perpetrators, now they even know it. Shit changes…." He pulled out a stack of joint to demonstrate. "….and this shit changes everybody, man. Even OGs want a slice of this…. And loyal customers."

"Guess you right," the member in the chore jacket agreed. "That shit changes everything, don't it?"

"F'sho," the member in the T-shirt said. "Let's bounce, homie."

So the Ballas turned to leave. They had a plan to weaken the Grove Street Families once and for all. So several minutes later, the Ballas were driving in a green Sabre cruising through the neighborhood. The vehicle drove through Idlewood and made their way under the bridge through Ganton. As they drove through the cul-de-sac, one of the members used the machine guns to fire a bunch of bullets at Beverly's house. The Sabre then drove away, and Sweet, who had just heard the commotion outside, ran to Beverly's house.

"NOOO!" Sweet bellowed as he made it to the front porch. "Oh shit! Hell! Oh Momma!"

Sweet kneeled down. Beverly Johnson had been standing by the door when the Ballas shot at the house, and to Sweet's horror, Beverly was lying on the ground in a puddle of blood, not moving in the slightest. The Ballas had killed Beverly Johnson!

His sister, Kendl, who appeared to be an African-American woman with brown eyes and black hair tied to a high puff wearing a green tanktop, faded blue skirt, and white sneakers, ran frantically to the house as well.

"Oh Momma!" Kendl cried out bursting in tears. "Momma! No! No!"

Sweet ran back out of the front door and held Kendl back. "Kendl!" Sweet told his sister hugging her. "Come on, girl! Momma!"

Kendl sobbed in Sweet's shoulder as he hugged her tightly. They had already lost their younger brother Brian, and now their mother had just been killed.

"Sweet," Kendl sobbed. "You've got to call Carl."

"Carl ain't gonna give a shit," Sweet told her. "He didn't give a shit for the past five years."

"Look, Sweet," Kendl cried between her sobs, sounding concurrently angry, "I know you and Carl aren't talking to each other after he left, but you have to let him know about this! You have to call him to inform the sad news!"

Sweet then realized he had no other choice. So later on, he decided to pull out his cellphone and punched in CJ's number. It was the first time he had ever talked to CJ since 1987.

"CJ, it's your brother," Sweet told CJ softly.

"Okay," CJ said back. "What you want?"

"I think you better come home," Sweet told CJ softly. "It's about Momma. She's dead bro."

Back in Liberty City, CJ was talking to Sweet on the phone while he was in his car. Listening to the last three words Sweet had told him made him drop his phone in shock. Was he listening correctly? Had he really lost another family member? CJ had absolutely no words left but a final response to Sweet.

"OK, Sweet," CJ told him despondently. "I'm on my way over."

CJ then hung up and punched in Joey's number.

"Listen, Joey," CJ said as Joey finally picked up. "I have to leave Liberty City. Family business."