Saints Row Impressions

Pierce had to admit, his first impression of his boss had been rather underwhelming. He was tall, well over six feet, but that had been the only thing that immediately caught the gangster's eye. The boss was lean, not particularly muscular, and while not what Pierce would have called handsome, he wasn't particularly unappealing either. In all, rather common if one hadn't taken clothing into account. Since the day Pierce had met him, he'd only ever seen his leader in a white suit, with his ever-present blue-tinted glasses and impressive array of silver jewelry. White and blue was a common color theme for the gang leader, in his clothes, painted onto his cars, and dyed into his spiked hair. Later Pierce would come to mimic his boss's style, wearing a white suit of his own, though with gold jewelry instead of silver.

The first thing that had earned the boss both respect and apprehension in his gaze had been the startlingly calm and clean way he'd dealt with a group of Ronin that Pierce had decided would be enough for the man to prove his worth. While Pierce had been fully prepared for a drawn-out gunfight, the boss had simply given him a nod, drawn his pistol, and proceeded to kill three men in quick succession while his new lieutenant struggled to shoot a single man in the back with a high-powered assault rifle. When the gun smoke had cleared, the boss had clapped him on the shoulder and jokingly remarked that there were plenty of targets at the hideout, and that Pierce should make use of them.

Reflecting back on it, Pierce recalled his initial fear of his leader after that fight, the chill that had run down his spine, and how long it had taken him to realize the two different sides of the boss's personality. When around the Saints and not burdened by an immediate threat, he seemed like a typical person: he joked, laughed, and treated his gang like family, making a point to remember the names of each and every member.

On the other side, when the boss was angry, Pierce didn't think there was a force in the world that could stop him. Even Johnny Gat, easily the greatest fighter the gang had known, stepped out of the way. When the Brotherhood had chained a young Saint lieutenant named Carlos to the back of a truck and dragged him through town, tearing the skin from his small body and leaving him mortally wounded, barely alive before being euthanized with a single bullet to the head from the boss's revolver, Pierce had seen the unholy rage that made his leader the veritable force of nature he was. The boss had gone on a rampage through the rival gang's territory, killing God knew how many tattooed gang members and burning down as much of their territory as the raging fire could consume.

When Aisha had been killed and Gat horribly wounded, the boss had given the same treatment to the Ronin, mercilessly slaughtering them anywhere in his sight. Pierce had seen firsthand the extent of the boss's wrath, and would never forget the image of him almost ceremonially decapitating the bodies of every man and woman who dared to wear Ronin colors and leaving the wretched corpses along the streets as a message to those he hadn't caught.

When another lieutenant, Shaundi, was captured by a DJ named Veteran Child and taken to his famous club, the boss had shot the star in either leg, pinned him in place by taking the knives of each of Veteran Child's ten now-deceased bodyguards and stabbing them through either arm into the wall, impaling each arm five times, and poured gasoline over every inch of the building and into his victim's still-bleeding wounds, relishing the pain in the DJ's eyes and ignoring his desperate cries for mercy. The blazing inferno the boss left in his wake created a towering pillar of thick black smoke that could be seen from the other side of the city. When Shaundi had returned with a only a few bruises and Gat had asked where the boss was, she'd replied that the gangster had stayed behind to watch the fire burn out, to make sure Veteran Child never escaped.

The boss had returned to the hideout several hours later, his white suit stained grey with ash and carrying a blackened skull in one hand, which he placed on the mantle in his personal bedroom.

When on those violent campaigns, the boss would order every gang member back to one of their hideouts. He made a point of personally carrying out every single act of violence, and when he returned his suit would be soaked in blood, his machete worn down until there was no longer an edge, and would order everyone back to work.

….

Years after, when Pierce had thought the boss had calmed down and the Saints were pop culture icons, rich beyond belief, the Syndicate had gotten involved. Gat was shot dead on a plane over the city of Steelport while defending the boss and Shaundi, and Pierce once again felt a chill run down his spine.

Piloting a helicopter to his leader's aid and followed by a select group of heavily-armed Saints, Pierce almost felt sorry for the Syndicate.

….

Shaundi liked to think that she knew more about the boss than anyone else on the planet, and she would likely be right in saying so. For example, she was one of only three people who actually knew the boss's name. But more importantly, while everyone had seen the boss's anger, his capacity for violence, she was the only one left who knew how he mourned the passing of each and every Saint. Gat had been the only other, and he'd been ripped apart by bullets trying to keep her and the boss alive.

While she and Pierce had both become close friends of the boss, in addition to being his go-to informants, she knew that deep down Pierce was still deathly afraid of the man in white. She had been too, for a time.

After the boss had destroyed Veteran Child and returned to Purgatory, he'd given the order to return to normal posts and gone to his room to change into a new pure white suit. Shaundi had passed her celebratory beer to Gat, who'd raised a thick eyebrow as she rushed off to follow the boss.

"Hey, it's Shaundi. Can I come in?" she'd asked quickly, knocking on the door twice.

"Just wait a minute I-"

Without waiting for an answer, she'd swung it open. "Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for- holy shit!" Instead of his usual suit, the boss was in a plain white T-shirt and his ash-stained pants, exposing his arms from elbow to wrist for the first time as he instinctively drew his revolver and pointed it at the door. His pale skin was covered in bright tattoos, each interwoven between and over his extensive burn scars, and leading up his arms, presumably even higher. "Nice tats, boss!" she'd said in surprise.

"Don't you have any goddamned manners?!" he'd shouted, his accent more noticeable than usual as he brandished his gun. "Fucking give me a second before you barge in! Jesus, I almost shot you!"

"Sorry, sorry," she'd said, holding her hands up. "I just wanted to say thanks, alright?"

"Fine, you said it. Now leave," he'd thrown his weapon onto his dresser as he began to rummage through the wardrobe for another suit.

"Can I just ask where you got those tattoos, at least?"

"Most I got from Richie. Happy?"

"It's just that you've got some interesting symbols there: barbed wire, a sword, and a dragon all in one place. And each one's really detailed even though they're only a few centimeters inches big each. Richie's good, but he's not that good."

"Hey!" Someone had shouted from outside. The boss rubbed at his forehead and muttered something in Spanish.

"Alright, just shut the damn door." When she'd done so, the boss sat down on the purple king-sized bed and rolled up his sleeves to reveal more tattoos. "Each symbol is a Saint who gave their life for the rest of us." He pointed to the sword. "Dean- got stabbed in the back by a Ronin and took the bastard with him when he bled out. The wire- Carlos. This shield is Giorgio. He jumped on a grenade that would've killed me and Gat." He continued for almost an hour, naming each tiny tattoo on each arm by the person it represented. "This is how I keep people with me. This is how I mourn."

"Jesus, how many tattoos do you have?"

"A lot. This is maybe a quarter."

Shaundi had stopped, not knowing what to say, when something had caught her eye. "Who's that one for?" she'd asked, pointing at a star that looked just like the one on her hand on the underside of his forearm.

"That one is for you," he'd said reluctantly.

"But I'm not dead."

"No, but you're one of my right hands; that makes you a prime target. Same with Pierce." He pointed to one shaped like the classic Saints symbol on his collarbone. "Gat's on my back." He'd tapped the point where his shoulders met his neck, indicating a small tattoo of a knife.

"Do you even have any nerves left, Boss?" the lieutenant had smirked.

"I guess I must, because they still hurt like hell," he chuckled, and Shaundi's smile had grown wider, glad that he was out of 'combat mode' as Gat called it.

"Just out of curiosity, what were you gonna do with that creepy-looking skull, anyway?" The boss had smirked and picked it from the top of his nightstand.

"I'm thinking about mounting it just about… there," he'd said, holding it up against the wall opposite his bed. "Give me something happy to think about at night."

"You're a fucking psychopath!" she'd exclaimed, but laughed at the dark humor nonetheless.

"Damn right," the boss had laughed with her. "Now get the hell out of my room."

….

Shaundi smiled, thinking back to the good old days in Stillwater. The boss's policy hadn't changed since then, and even though he'd never told anyone, she knew he'd had a new tattoo done for every lieutenant he'd picked up herein Steelport, including Viola. Her wrists and ankles tied and a bomb at her feet, she also knew those tattoos were exactly why the boss would come after them.

She allowed herself a quiet laugh, earning her odd looks from Viola and the mayor who were similarly tied in place.

"STAG has no idea what they've gotten themselves into."

….

**This is probably the most serious one-shot I could or would ever write on Saints Row. I gave serious thought to having other characters included (I even had an entire section from Angel) but decided that people from Saints Row 3 just wouldn't have the same effect, seeing as this is largely based on Saints Row 2. If you notice anything wrong, please leave it in a review- I'd love to hear some criticism :)**

**Not quite sure if this counts as a plug or not, but I've been playing around with the idea of a multichapter fic. It'd probably be a little bit less dark, and more in depth with regards to the violence- meaning it'd be a lot more gory. That's one major reason that I'd really like criticism on this- mean or otherwise. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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