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1974: The Beginning of Distopya


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OOC: ((This is only canon to my timeline, and will probably be a one time thing as I'm just getting rid of boredom. Also, there is some drug use in this post, so please, do as I say and not as I do: Marijuana is illegal...for now.))

The green Crown Victoria sped into the warehouse and the gate closed behind it. The car screeched to a halt and the engine was off. Outside, police sirens blared as cop cars sped by the warehouse on their way to the docks. After 20 minutes, they heard the cars drive away. The lights in the warehouse turned on. Crates of guns, weed, and ammunition lined the warehouse. The Crown Victoria, dubbed Lawless One, sat in the middle of a large area with nothing else but skid marks and other gang members in it.

The four men hopped out of the car. Tyler Radcliffe, in the back seat, was a gunner and the gang's leader. Chad Ulster was next to him, and was Tyler's right hand man. In the front passenger seat was Nicholas Ranger, the best shot in the gang, and probably the whole city. And finally, a young, 17 year old Vince Sixx hopped out of the car.

"Nice driving, Sixx," Tyler said offhandedly as he and Chad took the cash out of the trunk and went to their offices upstairs. Vince knew it was sarcasm. He watched the two go upstairs and then sat against a crate of weed and sulked.

"Don't worry about it man," Nick said, "You're only 17, the fact that you got us far enough away that you could get in the warehouse in time was impressive enough." Vince nodded and let his blonde hair cover his face. He reached behind him and grabbed a pound bag of AK47 and put it between his legs. He took out a rolling paper and rolled himself a quick joint.

Vince was silent for the next 20 minutes. "Man, you know what's $%&@ed up about society today?" No answer from anyone, just a few looks, and a table of card players got back to card playing. "The people have so much liberties and not enough responsibility. I mean $%&@. We're free, just not free enough. We're responsible for everyone else's health, and so is the government. $%&@ that. The government should just be there to make sure we don't get invaded by another country. I want to take care of myself, and not let that rat !@#$%^& Nixon tell me what I can and can't do to my body."

"Whatever Vince, when you become President of the world, you can do whatever the hell you want, for now, you need to just focus on getting better behind the wheel. My grandma can drive faster than you, kid," a random voice at the card table said. Everyone laughed.

"$%&@ you guys, seriously, $%&@ you all." Vince stood up. "Look at what the hell we're doing here. This is supposed to be a Vigilante gang, and all we're doing is stealing from banks and selling weed. We're just a !@#$@#$ street gang with another name. We're not Lawless, we're $%&@ the Laws."

"If you have a problem with it, tell Tyler yourself, for now, sit and cry, ya sissy !@#$%^."

"I've had it with you $%&@s! It's time for us to start some !@#$@#$ mayhem!"

"Yeah, go drive around a bit and then get back to us." More laughs, and then a bullet went through the back of that guy's skull.

By the time Tyler and Chad were able to get down to the warehouse. Vince had broken open the gate with his Camaro and had left with around ten pounds of weed, some ammunition for his guns, and a hundred thousand dollars.

"$%&@, what the $%&@ did you guys say to him?" Tyler asked.

Nick pointed to the one with the hole in his head, "It was all him. He'll be back after he calms down and sobers up."

"He better, he's the only one that can drive stick other than Nick, and you all are $%&@in paying for a Lawless Two with an auto tranny if he doesn't show up in two days."

"Maybe we better go get him," one of the guys said, "we just won't have Nick shooting."


The black and gold Camaro cruised down sunset boulevard in in the afternoon. Vince pulled up to a red light. Lawless One pulled up next to him. Tyler, in the passenger seat, pulled a gun on Vince. "Alright now, Vincey, follow us back to the warehouse. You can make some brownies when you get back or whatever."

Vince looked at Tyler, then back at the road. He pulled some sunglasses off the dash, put them on, shifted to first, put up the finger, and peeled off the red light, almost causing a collision. "!@#$@#$ !@#$," Tyler said as Lawless One pulled after him.

"Tyler, you know he's 10 times better at driving that than he is the Crown Vic right?"

"I !@#$@#$ know that Nick, so you better be 10 times better at this than you were the last time you drove."

The two cars wove through traffic like a needle in the hands of a skilled seamstress. Vince's music, blasted out of his open windows as he sped through the streets of LA at 60 miles an hour. His goal was the freeway east. He was gonna head back to New York to his family, whom he hated less than Lawless. Once on the freeway, the more powerful Camaro started losing the Crown Vic, and the police started to catch on to the chase. They usually didn't bother with Vince's car, they knew him, and they knew if he was going to get into an accident, it wasn't going to be with anyone else.

Once he was clear of Los Angeles, he turned down his music and rolled up his windows. The song ended, and the news came on.

"Alright, we're going to take a little news break here, and then we're going to give you a raw track by a breakout rock band called Van Halen, who just played their first gig today on the strip."

"Ah $%&@! I missed Eddie's gig!" Vince said to himself.

"Today, we're bringing you an update on the unrest in the Georgian SSR in southwest Russia. It seems that the people have begun revolting wanting freedom from government control."


Vince pulled up to the Sicetti mansion 2 days later. He burst through the door. His brother, Nick, greeted him first, "Back again valley boy?"

"$%&@ you, where's mom?"

"My mom or your whore?"

Vince took the pistol from his belt and put it at Nick's head. "I'm not !@#$@#$ around. Where is she?"

"$%&@, I was just joking you little !@#$, she left like 2 weeks ago. Said something about 'her people needing her'. Now I can see where you get your insanity from."

Michael Sicetti Sr. came down the stairs with Michael Jr. to see Vince with a gun in his hand. "Ah, Vince, you're back, Los Angeles getting boring again?"

"I'll give him a week," Nick said. Both Michaels laughed.

"Dad, is it true, did Mom go back to Georgia?"

"No, Shei-"

"Not Sheila, my mom, Catarina."

"Oh, yes, she went back to Georgia, why?"

"She's in danger!"

Michael buried his face in his hand frustratedly. "We'll talk about this at dinner, alright? We're having pork, dinner will be at 7. For now, your room is just the way you always leave it."


Vince's room was a reflection of himself. He attempted painting the walls black when he was 15, which only succeeded in making them a dark gray with white spots all over. He had a few guitars, two of them were busted against walls or stuck in the wall where he threw it, but his ripoff Les Paul was in good condition. Vince's bed used to be a nice queen bed with a mahogany headboard, but the headboard has been broken in half, and the mattress is now on the floor with most of the blankets gone. A large green bong sat on a desk on the far end of the room with a grinder and a lighter. Vince had brought a bag of weed in the room with him and set it on the desk next to the bong.

Just as Vince was laying down on his bed, his younger brother Tommy walked in. "Hey Vince, I heard you were back."


"How long this time?"

"I don't know. You hear mom went back home?"

"Yeah, and I heard the news. I'm worried about her man. I mean, after Sheila got back together with dad, Nick and Mikey don't really give two !@#$% about her, and neither does Dad."

"The thing that tears me up the most Tommy, is that if we ran this gang, we could beat back the Russians in Georgia, easily."

"Woah, dude. Okay, first of all, even if we could get the dudes to agree to unite, there's no way in hell they'll agree to go across the $%&@in Atlantic just to liberate a country they have no stake in."

"What if we promise them asylum and free reign to distribute drugs and !@#$ as they see fit?"

"No business, that's the problem."

"No business my $@!, what about the $%&@in Soviets all over the place, and the quick access to Europe?"

"Alright, still, we don't control the family, so it's a pipe dream. Speaking of pipes," Nick said as he gave a sly glance to Vince's bong.

"Not yet we don't. If dad doesn't care about Mom, he can die." Vince looked at his shotgun in the corner of the room. Nick looked at Vince, then back at the shotgun, after he worked it over in his head, his face paled. "Dude, no. It's one thing if it's a cop or one of the Russians, but this is our dad we're talking about."

"Dad my $@!. Look at all he's given Nick and Mike. He gave Nick the !@#$@#$ courier business, and Mike's getting the entire !@#$@#$ family when Dad dies. What are you getting? A pizza shop on 23rd, and I'm getting jack !@#$."

"That's your own fault, man."

"Because I wasn't gonna get jack !@#$ from him anyway, so I made something of myself instead of letting someone give it to me. So let's make something out of this gang man. This is our chance to do something big! We won't be just killing Russians...well...uh...we won't be just doing gang violence or running drugs, we'll be freeing a people! We'll be bringing revolution!"

"Do you have a plan?"

"No, but I've thought about it a bit on my way here."

"Are you high?"

"Yes, but that doesn't matter."

"Well, I'm gonna need a few hits."


At the NYPD gang unit office, Agent Nicholson and Agent Cruse looked at some pictures of the latest murder.

"Three bodies. Each of them a massive shotgun wound to the stomach. Our detectives say they're the leaders of the Sicetti crime family, the guys that run pretty much every single criminal activity in New York City," Cruse said.

"Seems like only two brothers lived through the attack, Vincent Neil Sicetti and Thomas Lee Sicetti," Nicholson mused.

"I'm almost ninety percent sure that this was Vince's doing. He's emotionally unstable, and hated the three of them," Cruse interjected.

"Well, then it seems the problem will soon take care of itself. Sicettis are going to go downhill, and we won't have a problem anymore. Let's focus on the Russians," Nicholson said as he closed the file and tossed it in the trash.


The docks were empty. It was two in the morning. A ship filled with the worst criminal scum in New York City loaded a black Camaro onto the deck. The name of the ship was Bessie, and her next port was Batumi, USSR.

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New Yorkers with Thompson sub-machine guns fighting alongside Georgian revolutionaries. News coverage was confusing at best. Some news channels showed it as the Italian and Irish mafias helping liberate a people from the evil USSR, and some news networks viewed the revolution as the scum of New York ridding the scum that is the USSR from one scum country. It took two years, but Vince, with the help of the newly formed Arab empire, the Rebel Army, and most of the strength of the New York mobs, Vince brought freedom to the people of Georgia.

In Batumi, Vince sat with a few men in the situation room. One of Vince's generals, Gerald Crozier, addressed the room. "Gentlemen, we have taken Georgia for the people, and the USSR has begun to collapse. A tsarist revolution is happening to the North, and this could be our chance to take the rest of Transcaucasia."

An 18 year old Vince sat and looked at the map. "See where these two rivers meet above the Caucasian mountains? We'll push the communists back to thi-" An air raid signal went off, but it was too late. The power in the entire building was shut off. "$%^&@#." He heard footsteps, so he turned on a backup generator just in time to see a squad of Communism special agents burst into the room, shooting everywhere. Vince tipped over the metal situation desk and got behind it and stayed silent.

The shooting stopped. Vince used his foot to shut down the power generator behind him. The room was black.

The next sound that could be heard was a shotgun blast, and the room was lit up through a large hole in the body of one of the Special Forces agents. Again, darkness. The squad tried to mask their fear. Vince used the stolen AK-47 to spray the entire room with lead.

"!@#$@#$ communist pricks," he said. The troops had restored power in time for Vince to see everyone in the room dead, including his brother. One of the special forces agents was still alive, and shot at Vince with a pistol. With anger in his face, Vince stomped over to the man, took a knife and cut off his hands.

"I'll make you regret you ever did that you son of a !@#$%*," Vince said to him as he started to carve the hammer and sickle into his forehead.

"Looks like I messed up, and there's no more room on your forehead." He cut open the man's shirt. "Ah, here's some room." One of Vince's guards shut the door. The man's screaming could be heard all night.

The story of the First Distopyan Republic is known only to some students in northern Rebel Army or in southern Slavorussia. It rose and fell, and Vince Sixx, now aged 26, was transferred to a hospital in Caen, in the Welsh Empire. He met Jeanette Beauregard, a woman in the house Beauregard who studied his nation, and the two fell in love. The two concieved a child, born in 1977.

Vince Sixx got out of the hospital in time to catch the transports from Baltic Distopya to Hudson Distopya, later Forstellenreich, he tried to get into politics there, but the Distopyan way had changed so much that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. So, he drove his prized Camaro down to Miami, where he had been many times before, to live and catch up with some old friends from some gangs.

In 1981, he found Tyler Radcliffe working at a garage. Older by a little, with shorter hair, Tyler barely recognized him, if it hadn't been for the black and gold Camaro.

"Last time I saw this car, I was chasing it out of Los Angeles," he said as he put down his wrench to look at Vince. "And the last time I saw you, you were a depressed stoned $%&@."

"Still an !@#$%^&, I see, you still robbing banks?"

Tyler grabbed a tool and got under the Camaro. "Three years ago I got caught, along with Nick and Chad. Chad got locked up for murder, Nick was sent off to Vietnam to do military service, and I got out for good behavior. Chad was murdered in prison. They let me out because I was a witness, and sent me here."

"I had no idea, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I haven't heard from Nick since that day. What have you been up to. Start any revolutions?"

"You ever heard of Distopya?"

"Yeah, that bunch of people from old Commieland that moved to Canada and got taken over by a mad German $%&@? What about it?"

"I started that."

Tyler moved out from under the car. "You're !@#$ting me."

"Look at an old 1978 encyclopedia, under Distopya, you'll find the head of state: Vince Sixx."

"See, all it took was some balls, kid. You !@#$@#$ made something of yourself."

"Sure as hell wasn't doing it in ball-less."

Tyler went back under the car, "Lawless lasted maybe a week after you left. We merged with the Balceretta family, and things went downhill from there. Dean Balceretta got caught under the RICO act, and that's where my story comes together."

"Well !@#$. I knew that whole thing wouldn't last long."

"Yeah, especially after the Tahoe Republic seceded from the union. Cali gangs got taken down fast. Most of the action moved to the big apple or down here in Miami."

"Huh. You own this place?"

"Damn near it. I'm the day supervisor, and the night supervisor never shows up, and the owner is almost never here, only around tax season to tell us we've been !@#$@#$ up our hours."

"How would you like to own it?"

"Heh, not enough money."

"I'll give you three guesses to how much money Distopya made by selling Marijuana to countries."


Vince shook his head.


Vince shook his head. "One and a half billion a year. I took home a quarter of that."

"That's almost 400 million dollars!"

"Like I said, wanna buy the place?" Vince took out his checkbook.


So, Vince and Tyler took over the car shop, and owned it for a decade. Vince followed Erik Betrakte's situation very closely. Erik had actually read "Distopyan Utopia", Vince's political manifesto. Vince even went to Norsvea and gave Erik his blessing.

1996, Vince Sixx fell ill with lead poisoning. The doctors found a lead bullet implanted in his chest from years ago, and it had infected his blood stream, and had not become a danger until now. He was hospitalized, and his son, Vincent Beauregard, came to see him.

Vince was pretending to be asleep. He had no desire to see his son. He followed the news in France, about how Vince was an up and coming royal leader in Normandy, and how everything was handed to him on a silver platter. He was using the fact that he was a Distopyan to gain friendship with the people. He had been bragging about his father being Vince Sixx. Vince was no more of a father to him than Vince's dad was a father to Vince. But, Vincent was jealous of Vince Sixx's attention to Erik Betrakte, the kid he had never known. Vincent used this opportunity to try to build his Distopyan credit over Erik Betrakte. So, Vince stayed asleep as the cameras outside watched Vincent Beauregard pay his respects to his "dying" father.

Vince pulled the plug to his heartrate monitor just before Vincent left. If he wanted a heartfelt moment, he would get one. The truth was, removal of the lead in Vince's bloodstream was easy. They created a bypass hooked up to a device that took out all the lead over time. Vince was very much well. He turned a blind eye to Normandy, watched the first Crimean republic, laughed at Henrik's failed Austervanian experiment, and watched the short lived Vestfjara.

And now, in the year of 2010, Vince Sixx had a new kid to keep his eye on. Chris Bogart. He watched the speech Chris made in Miami and Central District, Crimea. He saw the Distopyan flags in the background. He had no idea of his politics, or his meanings, but the 52 year old Vince Sixx wanted to talk to this kid, and get to know him. The only bad thing would be, Vince is supposed to be dead.

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Fast forward to 2010. Vince Sixx is sitting in a Miami cafe, drinking a cup of tea and reading some news sources about this Tahoan war on his laptop. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar looking black haired kid getting attention from a few girls at the check register while ordering a drink ((Hey, if I can't have it in real life, at least let me have it in a roleplay :P)). He ordered some cup of coffee, and sat at a table with an arm full of maps, reports, pictures, and war-related things. He had them in his lap as he talked to the women as little as possible.


As allied as Florida was, there was still the possibility of spies. Young female spies would be the best to get Chris's attention, since most women his age are in heat, and most men of any age are willing to do whatever it takes to get their parts wet. ((Remember, I said there would be crudeness in this.)) Chris reminded himself that secrecy kept thousands of lives safer, and as much as it pained him to do so, he tried to ignore the women.

He then put his papers and maps on the table and spread out. He then started reading a book about Norsvea, written by Erik Betrakte. It helped him get into the right mindset for plotting.


Vince spotted the cover of the book. It would be a good way to get him introduced. He wanted very much to meet this kid, just as he wanted to meet Erik. Although, Erik was quite a bit easier, since Vince was still "alive" at the time, and Erik was the leader of a nation, and much more easily tracked down. Vince folded up his laptop, put it in his bag, and put it on. He stood up, grabbed his tea - it was damn good tea - and walked over to Chris's table.

"Chris Bogart, if I am correct?" Vince said. His voice shocked him, it was the first time he'd actually listened to it. In almost 40 years, he had gone from a youthful, bassy voice to an almost raspy, senior voice.

"Yes, and I'm about to be quite busy, as you could imagine, not to be rude or anything sir, but you do understand," Chris smiled as he turned the page in his book, deeply engrossed in what it had to say.

"Well, maybe I could help out, I do know my way around this sort of thing," he said while swirling his tea around in the cup, and then taking a drink.

"It seems everyone in this city is a military tactician," Chris replied, "but none of you know how I want to fight this war. This is a Distopyan army, and this should be a Distopyan war."

"Well, Distopyanism is my expertise," Vince said with a smirk.

"It seems everyone says that, too," Chris said, "but what are your credentials?"

"I invented it."

Chris looked up to the man. His silver hair seemed to reflect the sunlight, and for a second, Chris thought he was talking to a ghost. He put the bookmark in his book and set it on the table. "Are you truly Vince Sixx?" he asked with a slow, starstruck tone.

"Back from the grave, as they might say," Vince pulled out a chair and sat down, making room to set his cup down, "The real question is, can you really trust that I am?"

"Well for one, you're dead, or supposed to be, so I don't think anyone would try to pull that off. Second, you look just like him. Third, I spotted the tattoo on your hand. It's the exact tattoo that Erik Betrakte had, except yours isn't as Nordic, and yours looks much, much older."

"Well well, for a young man you are quite observant, I'm impressed."

Chris tried to suppress a big, stupid grin. "Thank you...Mr. Sixx."

"Please, call me Vince. Now, let's get down to business. What's the situation?

For a few hours, the two of them plotted, and Vince offered his experience in Guerrilla warfare to aid his planning. Chris, being a strong armored warfare and Betrakte-ish bombing proponent, tried to work with Vince's Guerrilla infantry and "dirty warfare" techniques. They worked out something that seemed to be a good plan for the both of them. With the more drinks they ordered, the more Chris learned about Distopyan warfare and what it was like in that very revolutionary time. Vince told anecdotes about the many skirmishes he had with the Red Army, using a large gang army and native Guerrillas against an army that had repelled a Nazi invasion and held a slow retreat against the Martencists.

After the planning period ended, the two enjoyed a cup of black tea, and began talking.

"So, Vince, do you live here in Miami?"

"Yes, with my good friend Tyler Radcliffe and his girlfriend...well...girl[i]friends[/i]."

Chris laughed, "Do you want to see the military base we've set up here? I'm sure the guys would be honored to see you. So far, only the Marine corps and the basic garrison is left at the base, and the Marines are shipping off when we take Portland, but I'm sure they'd fight a hell of a lot better knowing they had your blessing."

"Sure, but can we take my car?"

"Yeah, lets go," Chris said as he grabbed his stuff and stood up. He put his hand in the air and made a circular motion with his upwards pointing hand, as if signaling his men to roll out. 14 random guys immediately stood up and followed Chris out. Vince looked at the spectacle and laughed.

"Tight security, eh?"

"You have no idea. Expect to be followed," Chris said with a chuckle.

"They're going to have a hard time," Vince said as they walked to his Camaro. Chris stopped just before it and just stared, wide eyed.

"You've got to be !@#$ting me. This is a beautiful car."

"It makes an even more beautiful noise," Vince said as he started it up. Trying to suppress his excitement at riding in his favorite car with his favorite political figure ever, he hopped in the passenger seat.

"Tell me something Chris, you like rock and roll?"

"Do commies !@#$ in the woods?"

Vince laughed and put in Van Halen's first album. Immediately, he was brought back to driving around with their demo tape in his car, driving back and forth from Los Angeles to New York City, hanging out with Eddie and Alex on the strip, and remembering the high school talent shows.

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