Taggart Farm.
Located on the edge of Boho County, right next to East 9 Highway.
Endless fields of sorghum stretched out across the farm, swaying like golden waves in the gentle breeze. Everything around looked peaceful and quiet.
"Billy! Tie up that third scarecrow! Then get back here for lunch!"
From the farmhouse in the distance came the rough shout of his father, Jack.
Little Billy hugged a scarecrow wrapped in black rags, breathing hard as he lifted it up and fixed it onto the cross frame.
"Make sure the other two are tied tight. I don't want the wind blowing them away," his father called out again.
"Got it—"
Billy wiped the sweat from his forehead and answered with clear annoyance.
"Caw—caw—"
His shout scared away a few crows that had landed on the other two scarecrows.
He shook his head helplessly. "These things are completely useless."
"Billy! Did you break the drill again?!"
His father Jack's angry voice rang out once more.
"No, I didn't!"
Billy yelled back, irritation building inside him.
He quickly tied up the scarecrow in his hands, then jumped into the sorghum field. Imitating his father's tone in a mocking voice, he repeated sarcastically:
"I don't want them blowing away…"
"These pieces of junk can't even keep birds away. What a joke."
"Woof—woof—!"
Right then, their usually calm family dog suddenly started barking wildly toward the sorghum field.
Billy heard it and instinctively stood on his tiptoes, trying to see what was going on.
That's when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the head of a nearby scarecrow twist slightly.
A few more crows took off in a panic.
Billy froze. Was that just his imagination?
He stared at the extra scarecrow, confused. Where the hell did this one come from? He didn't remember tying one up here. Was this one of his brother's stupid pranks?
With a mix of curiosity and unease, Billy pushed the sorghum stalks aside and slowly approached the strange scarecrow.
The closer he got, the more he realized this one looked nothing like their cheap homemade versions with just a few rags.
It looked… way too real.
Almost like an actual person tied to the frame.
The scarecrow was wrapped head to toe in a long black coat, with a black cowboy hat pulled low on its head.
The midday sun beat down on the brim, casting the figure's face in deep shadow so you couldn't make out any features.
"Where did this come from?"
Billy stopped a short distance away, studying it.
Their own scarecrows were always thrown together—some straw, a wooden pole, done.
But this one…
Billy's eyes traveled downward, and his pupils suddenly shrank.
What stuck out from the bottom wasn't a wooden stake or straw. It was a pair of feet covered in black scales, with razor-sharp claws for toenails.
It reminded him of the monsters from those horror movies.
The dog in the distance let out a terrified whine.
Billy's scalp went numb. He finally realized something was very wrong. Pure instinct took over—he spun around and bolted, screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Dad!! Brother!!"
But it was already too late.
A clawed hand grabbed his skull.
Jack and his older son had been outside the farmhouse fixing the drill. The moment they heard the family dog's unnatural whining, they'd stopped working.
When they heard Billy's desperate cry for help, they exchanged a quick glance, faces turning pale.
"Billy?!"
They scanned the golden field. The small figure that had been there moments ago was gone.
"Damn it!"
Father and son charged into the field, pushing stalks aside as they sprinted toward the sound of Billy's screams.
But something was off—the cries weren't getting closer or staying in one spot. They were actually moving farther away.
Suddenly, Jack stopped running and looked up at the sky.
Under the blinding sunlight, a huge black shadow with massive fleshy wings shot into the air. In its claws was Billy, already limp and barely conscious.
"BILLY!!!"
…
Maybe because it had been raining the last couple of days, a thin mist hung in the Los Santos air today.
"Be careful who you make friends with at school. And stay away from those boys."
Soren leaned against Morrison's car, watching Patty head toward the school gates and giving her one last warning.
"You're such a nag! You sound worse than Uncle Morrison, old man," Patty shot back from the entrance, turning around to stick her tongue out at him.
She was wearing a fitted long dress today, her golden hair flowing down her back. Between her youthful beauty and natural rich-girl aura, she instantly became the center of attention at the school gate.
Plenty of guys turned their heads. A few brave ones even whistled and started walking over to flirt.
But the second they spotted Soren standing nearby with his cold, sharp presence, they all backed off.
Except for one idiot.
"Hey! Patty!"
A loud engine roar cut through the air as a red convertible sports car pulled up.
A guy with slicked-back hair and a varsity jacket vaulted over the car door, twirling his keys with a cocky grin as he blocked Patty's path.
Scott Braddock—one of the most persistent guys chasing after her.
"How about riding with me this weekend for the trip? My dad just bought me this new one."
Scott spoke while shooting Soren a hostile look up and down. "And who's this broke old guy driving that piece-of-junk Sunpton? That car looks old enough to sit at the table with my grandpa."
"That tacky red coat is seriously lame. Where'd you dig that up—from a bullfighting yard sale?"
Patty's expression cooled the moment she saw him. She instinctively took a step to the side.
"Move, Scott. Who I hang out with is none of your business."
"Come on, Patty…"
Scott refused to back down. Wanting to look tough in front of the girl he liked, he jerked his chin at Soren and loudly provoked him:
"Hey old man, stay away from Patty. She's way out of your broke-ass league—"
"Study hard at school and stay away from crazy people."
Soren completely ignored the jumping, red-faced Scott. He gave Patty a small nod, then turned and got back in the car.
Guys this age only knew how to try and impress girls by stepping on other people. They had no idea how pathetic it looked to anyone who wasn't interested.
"You—!"
Scott's face flushed crimson. Being straight-up ignored like that hit his teenage pride hard.
His fists clenched so tight his knuckles popped, but that strange pressure coming off Soren kept him rooted in place.
"One last time—East 9 Highway has some seriously nice scenery! Plus there's that legendary haunted church ruin everyone talks about."
Patty walked around Scott and shouted toward Soren, "You seriously not coming?"
Soren lazily raised his hand and waved her off.
"Hmph! Then just stay home and rot in that empty office!"
Patty huffed angrily and ran into the school, leaving Scott standing there awkwardly by himself.
He watched his crush walk away, then looked at the man who hadn't even bothered to glance at him. Feeling all the surrounding students' mocking stares, his face burned with embarrassment.
Soren slid into the passenger seat.
"Let's roll, Uncle Morrison."
The car obviously belonged to Morrison. The office could barely keep the lights on—forget about owning a vehicle.
Morrison started the engine smoothly and chuckled, "Kids these days are full of energy, huh?"
He'd clearly heard Scott's pathetic attempt at trash talk.
"Too young. Makes them easy targets," Soren said as he reclined the seat and got comfortable. "Head to Enzo's."
"Enzo's?" Morrison raised an eyebrow. "You trying to buy back some of the Devil Arms Dante pawned?"
"Gotta collect some interest," Soren said matter-of-factly. "He dumped a mountain of debt on me out of nowhere. Borrowing a few of his weapons is the least he owes me."
Morrison's expression turned strangely sympathetic. He gave Soren a pitying look before stepping on the gas.