its_justterry
Well-known member
- Location
- Blazing Tattoo Studio
Sooo ... It's been a while. So where have I been? Here's a little backstory.
For a year, whispers filled the city—some thought I was dead, others thought I skipped town with a suitcase full of dirty cash.
The truth? It’s a hell of a lot messier.
It all started when I took a once-in-a-lifetime gig in Bangkok. A high-end tattoo parlor needed an artist with edge—someone who knew how to work a needle on both skin and reputation. The pay was solid, the clientele exclusive, and the connections? Dangerous.
At first, it was all about the ink. Rich expats, local crime bosses, and underground fighters lined up for my work. But the deeper I got into the scene, the more I realized his clients weren’t just paying for tattoos—they were using the shop as a front for something much darker.
One night, after finishing a full-back piece on a cartel associate, I got an offer I should’ve refused. A little side work. Moving product, holding cash, being the guy who could be trusted not to talk. It wasn’t long before I was in too deep. The money was stupid good, the lifestyle even better—fast cars, penthouse parties, everything a guy could want. But with big rewards come even bigger risks.
The Thai authorities had been watching. One bad deal, one undercover sting, and suddenly, I found myself thrown in the back of a police van, wrists bound, head spinning. The charges? Drug trafficking, conspiracy, resisting arrest. They threw the book at me, and just like that, I became another prisoner lost in the system.
12 months in a Bangkok prison is enough to change a man. The first few months were survival—learning who to trust, who to stay away from, and how to make myself useful. Tattoos became my currency, my way to stay protected. But inside those walls, I had a lot of time to think.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. A mix of good behavior, legal loopholes, and a few under-the-table negotiations saw me released early. They put me on the first flight back to Los Santos, passport flagged, bank account empty, and reputation shattered.
Now I'm back in the city, looking to rebuild—my shop, my name, and my power.
For a year, whispers filled the city—some thought I was dead, others thought I skipped town with a suitcase full of dirty cash.
The truth? It’s a hell of a lot messier.
It all started when I took a once-in-a-lifetime gig in Bangkok. A high-end tattoo parlor needed an artist with edge—someone who knew how to work a needle on both skin and reputation. The pay was solid, the clientele exclusive, and the connections? Dangerous.
At first, it was all about the ink. Rich expats, local crime bosses, and underground fighters lined up for my work. But the deeper I got into the scene, the more I realized his clients weren’t just paying for tattoos—they were using the shop as a front for something much darker.
One night, after finishing a full-back piece on a cartel associate, I got an offer I should’ve refused. A little side work. Moving product, holding cash, being the guy who could be trusted not to talk. It wasn’t long before I was in too deep. The money was stupid good, the lifestyle even better—fast cars, penthouse parties, everything a guy could want. But with big rewards come even bigger risks.
The Thai authorities had been watching. One bad deal, one undercover sting, and suddenly, I found myself thrown in the back of a police van, wrists bound, head spinning. The charges? Drug trafficking, conspiracy, resisting arrest. They threw the book at me, and just like that, I became another prisoner lost in the system.
12 months in a Bangkok prison is enough to change a man. The first few months were survival—learning who to trust, who to stay away from, and how to make myself useful. Tattoos became my currency, my way to stay protected. But inside those walls, I had a lot of time to think.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. A mix of good behavior, legal loopholes, and a few under-the-table negotiations saw me released early. They put me on the first flight back to Los Santos, passport flagged, bank account empty, and reputation shattered.
Now I'm back in the city, looking to rebuild—my shop, my name, and my power.