Grand Theft Auto: Rushmore City
by Metal Harbinger

Author's Note: It is after a lot of thinking that I have decided to discontinue "Grand Theft Auto: Capitol City" after the combination of running out of ideas and things being so unorganized they seemed so thrown together (at least in my personal opinion) that I was forgetting what went where.

Rest assured though, I am not giving up on the other ideas I had wanted to implement and thus "Capitol City" will be undergoing a reboot into the very fic you see before you right now.

Artie Cappelli will be returning, as will most of the familiar cast members I've already introduced. Some will be recast and some will be eliminated, mostly the ones I couldn't think of much to do with being the latter.

As it is with any typical GTA story, this story will be rated 'M' for strong violence, explicit gore, adult language (including some racial slurs, to which I must point out I am NOT a racist in real life and that any slurs uttered will be strictly the views of my fictional character), drug abuse and some sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised!

As it goes with any piece of fan-fiction I write, I do not own the rights to the "Grand Theft Auto" franchise, they are strictly the property of Rockstar Games.

Now that you have been forewarned, on with the story…

Chapter 1: Welcome to Rushmore City Artie Cappelli

"Hey yo', you've just reached the phone of Gino Cappelli, your number one purveyor of late night fun in all of Rushmore City. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number and a short message, and if you're an attractive woman, your measurements, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible. Ciao!" a boastful tone called out over the thumping bass of techno music in the background, prompting the caller to snicker quietly to himself.

"Good ol' Cousin Gino, always the biggest talker in the room," Arthur Cappelli thought to himself waiting for the tone that would signal for him to begin talking. A loud electronic beep sounded and he began speaking.

"Hey Gino, this isn't some hot big titted minx, it's your cousin Artie! As of right now I'm entering Lincoln and should be arriving at your place in a few minutes. Have your lazy ass hopping and ready to go 'cause I don't like to be kept waiting y'know. Talk to you in a bit. Ciao!" Artie slapped his cell phone shut to end the call and then shoved it back into his pocket.

"So this is Rushmore City, huh?" Artie asked aloud shifting uncomfortably in the backseat of the taxi he presently occupied.

It was high noon on what appeared to be a nice sunny day, except the city itself was anything but nice.

"Heh yeah, it's Heaven on Earth if you're hooked on half the shit flooding the streets around these parts. This place oughta' be considered a godforsaken shithole by anybody with any shreds of common decency!" the grubby middle-aged driver called from the front as the skyscrapers and upscale establishments of Washington Dell were replaced by the factories and tenements of Lincoln Island, where even for this time of day the streets were filled with their usual droves of laborers, hobos, prostitutes, druggies, gang members and other general slime, a far cry from the well-dressed businessmen, women in the latest fashions and tourists who resided across the bridge.

"Guess I can't disagree with your there pal," he thought to himself as he watched a teenaged hoodlum run up and knock an old lady to the pavement before swiping up her purse and vanishing from sight.

"So mind telling me why a well-dressed fellow like yourself even bothered coming to this dump again? It sure takes a lot of balls to be coming to this pit dressed like that. Hell, I'll be surprised if you don't get some scamp trying to hold you up the second you step outta this cab!" the driver inquired as they came to a stoplight.

The younger man looked down to the outfit he wore, which consisted of a nice black button up dress shirt and pair of clean blue jeans. Indeed they were decent clothes, but to him were nowhere near the level of grandeur the cabbie made them out to be.

"Then again, he's probably not used to seeing somebody around these parts who understands the concepts of a shower, a toothbrush and some cologne," Artie thought to himself staring at his own reflection in the window, his short, wavy black hair all nice and clean, his tanned skin emitting a healthy shine and his face as smooth as it could be after a fresh shave. He looked over to a hobo who carried everything he owned in a shopping cart and then over to a sagging hooker who looked like she had probably been standing on that same corner since the days of Christ. He could tell already he would stand out like a sore thumb when compared to the locals around this island.

"Must be the Crowex too," he thought staring down at the gold watch wrapped around his left wrist.

"I have some 'personal business' that needs tending to," Artie replied, catching sight of some tough-looking individuals in bright red jackets that he noticed staring intently at him, much like the nameless driver had prophesized.

"Heh heh damn, it must be pretty personal if you're going to Camden Heights of all places! That place right there is a major shithole, fuck it's the king daddy of all shitholes! Did you hear they just had another big gang battle over there the other night? Nine people dead!" the driver rasped.

Artie brought up a hand to silence the man, "Please, I didn't come to receive a history lesson. Just get me there as fast as you can."

The driver shrugged his shoulders, "Heh, sure thing high roller! You're the boss," he sarcastically chuckled returning his attention to the street ahead of him as the light turned green.

"Hey Lenny, yo' we jus' got a call from Hamid over in Bellport. Apparently there's been some major six car pileup and the coppers got the whole area blocked off. If yer headin' over that way ya' might have to find yourself another route 'cause it looks like they won't be goin' nowhere for quite a while," a lady's high-pitched voice squealed over the radio.

Sighing heavily, the driver now known as Lenny, grabbed the receiver and spoke, "Sure thing Trudy!" Slowing the cab down, he waited as a delivery truck pulled to a halt outside a shop and carefully veered around it. "Looks like we're gonna be takin' the scenic route, kid! Oh well, more money in my pocket! Heh!"

This 'Lenny' fellow was already getting on his nerves. "My name isn't 'Kid' damn it and nor am I one. I'm 28 freaking years old Pops!" Artie thought to himself. He seriously hated people talking down to him like he was still a child; he had already gotten enough of that bullshit from his previous employers.

Driving further down the street, the cabbie made a right turn and was instantly halted by a road construction sign.

"Goddamn it!" Lenny grunted as he pulled up to a worker holding a stop sign. "Looks like we might be spending a little more quality time together," he snickered pulling out a cigarette and lighter while turning up the radio's volume to drone out the rattling jackhammer outside, filling the air with some outdated Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn duet compliments of Lone Star 92.9, leaving Artie wanting to beat his head against the nearest window as Lenny began singing along with male vocal sections.

"Son of a bitch," the young man muttered to himself when the screeching of tires somehow infiltrated his field of hearing.

A dark blue '05 Washington came speeding into view, driving onto a sidewalk and knocking over a row of newsstands before forcing a few of the road workers to leap out of the way, nearly clipping the cab as it peeled back onto the street.

"You crazy fucking idiot, watch where the hell you're going!" Lenny screamed out the window, flashing his middle finger to the fleeing driver. "Goddamned punks!" the balding man grunted pulling his arm back inside.

Less than a second later a gunshot rang out and the driver's brains were splattered all over the interior.

"What the fuck?" Artie called out as he was jarred from his daydream by more rattles of gunfire and the blood-curdling shrieks of people being shot to death. In another split second he was knocked backwards as the cab spun out of control when it was clipped by a red and white Clover.

"Shit!" the young man's mind repeated before he finally uttered the profanity aloud. He had not been injured in the crash, but the sounds of battle raged all around him as he lay perfectly still, pretending to be dead and waiting for the fighting to die down before he would attempt his escape.

The light popping of submachine guns and regular handguns mixed with the deep booms of shotguns and the ear-splitting rattle of assault rifles, later followed by a loud explosion that had probably been from either a hand grenade or a pipe bomb. More screams followed as a crash came from above, forcing Artie to raise his hands defensively as broken glass rained down upon him.

Opening his eyes, he gasped upon finding a dying man in a dark blue vest impaled on the shards of what was once the windshield. Several bullets had already torn through his chest, either way there was no chance of saving him.

"Not again damn it!" Artie grunted as he forced the door next to him open and stumbled onto the street, nearly tripping over the corpse of a road worker.

Black smoke congested the air all around him and he instinctively lowered his head as he felt the wind of high-powered bullets sailing above his head, almost as if they were coming from all directions. He crouch walked along the now shot up cab and took cover behind a Blista Compact that had been drenched with the blood of an old man.

"Goddamn it, what the hell is going on here?" Artie asked himself as he witnessed the insanity all around him.

Innocent bystanders were fleeing in all directions they could, screaming their lungs out as they attempted to dodge the bullets fired upon them or weave their way around those who had not been fast enough to escape the ensuing skirmish.

A young couple fled, hand in hand, as they leapt over the body of another road worker, only to be sent airborne as a Stallion convertible collided with them before the car itself would plow head on into a jewelry store. Nearby, another frightened man ran over and hijacked a Kuruma that had come to a halt, pulling the door open and punching the driver in the face before throwing him to the concrete and speeding away while the driver's wife protested from the passenger seat. As the bullets flew, pedestrians continued falling at an alarming rate.

Artie was about to take cover behind another car when he was interrupted by a man in a puffy green jacket colliding with him.

"Watch where you're going you fucking asshole," the man screamed as he stumbled back to his feet and resumed bolting down the street.

Before Artie could return a vulgar reply of his own, there was another loud explosion and he looked over his shoulder, only to find a large flaming hunk of metal coming towards him like a manmade comet.

"Fuck!" he screamed in wide-eyed horror as the burning car landed on top of the Blista Compact he had hidden behind just seconds earlier, creating another explosion which sent him flying into the air.

Pain coursed throughout Artie's athletic form as he lay on the ground and he wanted to lay there in a near broken heap until somebody could come and tend to him, but right now that wasn't an option. He had to keep moving if he wanted to survive and with a mighty roar he pushed himself back to his feet, doing everything he could to block out the jolts of agony shooting up his legs.

He turned to find a pink and white Oceanic swerving to a halt in the middle of the street and its owner, a man dressed in a purple pimp outfit, stepping out and firing at unseen attackers with a machine pistol until another red and white Clover came charging head on and smashed into the luxury sedan's side, sandwiching the pimp between twisted metal and leaving him to die a slow, agonizing death.

With no regards to their fresh victim, the Clover's doors flew open and two men in red jackets stepped out with guns blazing.

The sight of the red jackets made Artie gasp as he recognized them from somewhere else, remembering the thugs in similar attire who were eying him up while he was in the cab.

"Must be a local gang," Artie said to himself as he saw who the two men were firing at.

Hidden behind another dark blue Washington were three men, all in matching dark blue vests, two of whom were armed with regular handguns while the third carried a sawed-off shotgun.

"I've gotta get the hell outta here," he thought to himself as he turned around and stumbled towards the nearest alley, feeling slightly disoriented from all the earth-shattering chaos occurring around him.

Artie leapt haphazardly over some overturned trashcans and then nearly tripped over a ratty old lawn chair as he ran down the alley. He was confident he had slipped away unnoticed by the clashing factions, yet he still wanted to create as much distance between himself and the gory spectacle as possible, hoping nobody had decided to follow him.

Approaching a chain-link fence, he grabbed onto it and hastily pulled himself over, again forced to ignore shockwaves of pain as he strained himself before throwing his left leg over and then falling hard on his ass. He was telling himself to keep running, but his lungs felt like they were going to explode and he doubled over to catch his breath, not to forget that his entire lower body felt like it was on fire.

"Man, what the hell is wrong with this city?" Artie muttered slinking against the fence. "Christ almighty even Liberty City was tame by comparison. At least there I had a chance to sit down and enjoy a meal before some guy got his brains splattered all over the place by one of those Triad dipshits."

"Well, well, well…look at what we have here boys!" a cocky voice called out.

Approaching him were four young men, two of them carrying blackjacks and the others barehanded, all of them wearing bright red jackets. They all looked down upon him with a bloodthirsty sneer like they were sharks smelling blood. Artie said nothing as they stood tall over him, furrowing his brow and clenching his fists as he tried to avoid making any sudden movements.

"Looks like we've got ourselves an outlander here, boys!" called out the apparent leader of the group, a Caucasian man with a black bandana covering his shaved head and twirling his blackjack haphazardly. "The Crowex says so," he said pointing his weapon to the old watch, "No way a swanky businessman from Emerald Hill would be caught dead around these parts…unless of course we're the ones doing the killing," he finished, eliciting snickers from his comrades.

"And just who the hell are you punks?" Artie blurted out.

"You're right Low Lo, we've got ourselves an outlander," another one of the punks spoke up, "The bitch would know who we were right away and he'd be showing more damn respect too!"

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but that tag over there indicates that you're on Redcoats territory and we don't take kindly to strangers trespassing…unless you're willing to pay a 'fee' for safe passage," Low Lo spoke, making the money gesture with his free hand.

"Oh great Artie, you haven't even been here an entire hour and already you're going to get yourself killed," his mind scolded.

Looking over to his left he saw the 'tag' the leader spoke of, a skull wearing an 18th century British army officer's cornered hat in front of a large set of bold red letters outlined in black that formed the initials 'R.C.'

"So what's it gonna be chump stain?" Low Lo asked, "Are you going to cough it up, or do we have to 'convince' you to hand it over?" The two unarmed underlings cracked their knuckles to emphasize the man's point.

Artie was in a tight spot, much like he had been plenty of times before. His stubborn Cappelli pride prevented any feelings of hopelessness and he wouldn't allow them to kill him without a fight. Driven by instinct he felt around for anything he could use to defend himself with.

"Are you fucking deaf? What's it gonna be you little bitch?" Low Lo shouted.

"Let me think…" Artie spoke just as his hand grasped a discarded beer bottle. "Not gonna win me this war alone, but it's better than nothing," he thought as he swiped it from the pavement. "NO!" he screamed and with a mighty fling tossed it at his aggressor and caught him in the side of the head.

"Get him!" another Redcoat called out.

Artie pushed himself to his feet and tackled one of the Redcoats to the ground and driving his knee into the man's groin. While still mounting the man he brought his fist up and drove it into another man's gut before finding himself struck hard in the back of his head by a blackjack and pulled off the thug.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" Low Lo shouted as he rose to his feet and began to stomp away at him. The others joined in and began striking Artie all over his body before knocking him silly with another hard blow to the head.

"Get his stuff!" the leader ordered. It was the last thing Artie heard before blacking out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**About 3 hours later**

His head was killing him and his entire body felt like it was on fire. It had even been a chore for the young man to shoot his eyes open.

"Damn it…" Artie grunted as the late afternoon sunlight sapped his vision and he listened to the bones crackling as he rolled over to his side. Wiggling his body a little more, he grunted loudly as he felt every bone popping back into place. Thankfully nothing had been broken and he rolled over onto his stomach, taking a couple deep breaths before pushing himself back to his hands and knees.

He had been so distracted by the beating he had just endured he nearly forgot why he was there in the first place.

"Oh shit…Gino!" he blurted out, "Christ, how the hell long have I been out for?" he asked himself as he went to view his watch, only for his eyes to widen in horror as he realized it was nowhere to be found. Instinctively he reached for the cell phone in his pocket only to find that it wasn't there…along with his pants!

Struggling to regain his balance Artie crawled over to a nearby dumpster and grabbed on to pull himself back to his feet. As soon as he stood upright he looked down to find himself clad in just his boxers and undershirt.

"Shit, those fuckers took everything," he thought to himself, having lost his clothes, wallet, cell phone and even his Crowex, the very watch that had been given to him by his uncle as a graduation gift.

"Those goddamned sons of bitches…I'm gonna fucking kill them all when I find them," the young man grumbled as he stepped into a well-populated street, only to be met by raucous laughter and taunting whistles.

"Why hello handsome," the high-pitched voice of a nearby construction worker in hot pants called out, "My that's a big pipe you have there."

"Jeez, what be wrong wit' cha' boy?" an overweight African-American woman asked as she shielded her frightened child's eyes from him.

"Been working out much?" a blond-haired man mockingly called out, followed by the booming laughter of the crowd he traveled with.

"Yeah, I used to have a pair of underwear like that…until my father got a job!" another man shouted.

Growling in frustration Artie pushed his way through the gathering crowd, punching out an old man who pulled an oxygen tank behind him.

"This fucking day has only gone from bad to worse," he hissed as more pedestrians began staring at him, eventually happening across a group of young ladies who looked like they had just died and gone to Heaven.

"Oh my god, hello you big stud you!" a ditzy blonde called out, adjusting her halter top so more of her cleavage was sticking out, "You look like you've been working out. Mind if we feel your six pack?" she asked reaching down to lift up his undershirt.

"Uh, I kind of have some place to be right now," Artie replied pulling himself away, trying to remain as civil as possible towards the lady, who was actually pretty and definitely somebody he wouldn't have minded finding a secluded spot and having his merry way with if he wasn't already late for meeting up with his cousin.

"Yeah, my warm bed," a brunette added puckering her ruby red lips at him.

"Really please, I have to be somewhere right now," Artie said fighting against his hormones as a feisty redhead mimicked cat noises at him.

"C'mon sweetie, we don't bite…hard," the redhead cooed with a seductive wink of her emerald eye.

"Really, I appreciate the consideration miss, but I'm gonna be in trouble if I don't get to where I need to be soon," Artie spoke as she attempted to grind her ass against his leg.

A police siren caught the young man's attention and he looked up to see a patrol car pulling up to the curb.

"Alright buddy, show's over," a cop said stepping out and readying his taser.

"We've got a possibly mentally ill subject we are dealing with on Chesterfield Boulevard. Approaching with caution," the driver spoke into his shoulder-mounted radio before withdrawing his nightstick.

Without a word Artie freed himself from the redhead's grasp and bolted down the sidewalk as fast as he could.

"Call me!" the redhead shouted just as he rounded a corner and found a laundromat. Throwing himself inside he ignored the stares of worried patrons and reached into one of the machines to steal a freshly cleaned red track suit that thankfully matched his size and then found a pair of red and white sneakers that he slipped his feet into and then snuck out the building's back door.

"Damn it, I've gotta get to Gino's and fast," he told himself as he found a conveniently placed BMX bicycle waiting for him propped up against a nearby dumpster.

Hopping on the bike he pumped his way out of the alley and nearly knocked over a tiny old granny before speeding down the street. Unfortunately for him, he had also lost the directions to Gino's place, which he had written down on a piece of paper shoved into his pocket. He would have to stop somewhere to ask for help.

"Goddamn those sons of bitches. I swear I'm going to track those fuckers down, slit their throats, fuck the wounds and then rip off their heads and shit down their goddamned fucking necks if I ever find them," he thought to himself as he waited for an ambulance and fire truck to pass through the intersection, no doubt heading towards the site of that battle from earlier on.

For Arthur 'Artie' Cappelli it was just the beginning of his stay in Rushmore City, one of the toughest cities in all of America.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: It's taken me a while to do this, but I have finally managed to get the first chapter of this reboot up and going for a fic which itself was a reboot to begin with.

I'm going to try to take things a little slower this time around as I found out that is probably my best means of getting things done, yet at the same time trying to produce the speedy feeling of playing an actual Grand Theft Auto game.

I want to give a special thanks to those who followed "Capital City" and hope that you will follow this story closely as well and in the process you will be kind enough to deliver me your reviews!

This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME…and also a belated Happy New Year! \m/