FAHC think themselves kings, call themselves rulers, act like they
built the city, like they did anything but burn it to the ground.
They are a blight upon Los Santos, they are a plague. There’s a
darkness in them, one no one can ignore, a corruption that runs deep
and irredeemable. It must have started somewhere, come from
something, but outsiders can only wonder if it was born from the
crew, spreading out across their domain or if it sunk into them from
the city itself. Some are perceptive enough to blame the leader, to
recognise the way he created this, the way he revels in the
wickedness of his domain, but even they will never know the answer,
never hear the true story of Ramsey’s decent.
Geoff grew up on the worst kind of stories of heaven and hell, of sin and punishment and purgatory. Where glory is sacrifice and pain, obedience and punishment. Where holy is the carrot you never quite reach, the stick that reminds you of your place. He grew up making sacrifice without reward, practicing obedience and still being punished, looking up for answers and hearing nothing but his own voice railing against broken promises.
Something has to give, and give it does; first patience, then forgiveness, then faith. Then glass bottles and abandoned houses, then Geoff’s knuckles, someone’s jaw. Someone’s skull. It’s not like Geoff was looking to be a killer, he didn’t mean to keep crushing the life out of people, but he couldn’t live in limbo forever and surely there was no greater test. Surely this was as bad as anyone could be, this of all things would blacken his soul, and still nothing struck him down. Still nothing stood in his way. And that was that, really. Because if you’re going to be bad you may as well be the worst. If you’re going to fall you might as well plummet. There’s apathy and then there’s anarchy, and when push comes to shove Geoff has never been an underachiever.
So he plummets, into the darkest corners of the city, into the bloodiest jobs and nastiest gangs, into the kind of sin that is never forgiven. The kind that no longer seeks forgiveness. Even when he takes a turn, cleans up his act and stops rolling around with the lowest of the low Geoff doesn’t look back. Doesn’t regret. He pulls himself together but he doesn’t pull himself out, doesn’t even try, just thinks bigger. Thinks about kingdoms, about empires, about the kind of power that inspires awe. That inspires fear and respect. Obedience.
Darkness, like misery, is always after company, always on the lookout for similar minds, for those who can be dragged in, dragged down. Geoff wasn’t exactly collecting angels, but an argument could be made that the members of the FAHC are worlds worse together than any were apart. That the monstrous parts of them came from somewhere. Came from someone. Maybe it was inevitable regardless, maybe not, Geoff doesn’t care either way; they’re his now and he’s never letting them go.
What he does let go of, somewhere along the line, are some of his sharper edges; splits who he has to be when he’s at work from who he is with his crew, packs the nasty ruthlessness of Ramsey away and brings back the more mellow aspects of Geoff. He learns to seperate fear from respect, recognises that there are greater things than obedience, that there are things worthy of sacrifice. Geoff stopped looking up for answers a long time ago, stopped waiting for something to come along and save him. Now he looks down at his own kingdom, dark and dirty but entirely his own, and maybe it will never be holy but it’s more salvation than he’d ever dreamed of.