Marley grew up in an impoverished neighborhood. Having never really known her parents, she was raised in a series of foster homes. Her rough upbringing and crazy past caused her to experiment with drugs and alcohol. She had finally found her home when a gay man, Rob Colt, a mechanic, decided to foster her.

She started to change her outlook on life. She was doing better in school, fighting less, and becoming more independent. When she was 16, Rob decided to adopt her. After the adoption was approved, she thrived. She became one of the city's best mechanics at her father's shop, through her mentor and best friend, Brian. She was excited about life. She is charismatic and friendly even though she's an introvert and a little bit standoffish. She is compassionate and independent, while also being stubborn yet impressionable.

Although she still battles with addiction, she moved to the city under the idea that she will work within the justice system. But, other plans ensued. She was spoiled by the lifestyle of a petty criminal. She would get into her bad habits and get in a lot of trouble at times. Until she met a boy who was from the wrong side of town. He then showed her how to become a smart criminal, and she ended up joining his family. Now Marley works hard to strive for her goals. During the day she is working hard and being a good asset to society, and behind closed doors, she is still breaking the law and struggling with finding herself.

Melvin Butterstache was born with two things: an overwhelming respect for rules and a mustache that destiny would eventually demand. Growing up in suburban San Andreas, Melvin was the kind of child teachers described as “a pleasure to have in class,” which is adult code for “this kid reminds me when I forget the homework.”

Even in elementary school, Melvin took authority very seriously. While other kids traded Pokémon cards and perfected spitball trajectories, Melvin proudly wore the reflective sash of "Hall Monitor" like it was a badge of office. If someone ran in the hallway, Melvin was there. If someone whispered during silent reading, Melvin heard it. If someone stepped one inch over the painted playground boundary line, Melvin would politely—but firmly—inform them that the rules were the rules.

Needless to say, Melvin did not get invited to many birthday parties.

In middle school, his reputation only grew. Teachers relied on him to pass out worksheets, erase the board, and report suspicious levels of giggling. Melvin took these duties with a level of seriousness normally reserved for nuclear launch codes.

High school was where Melvin truly blossomed into the rule-following legend he was meant to be. He became a Teacher’s Assistant, a Cafeteria Monitor, and a self-appointed Unofficial Keeper of the School’s Posted Guidelines. He memorized the student handbook cover to cover—twice—highlighting important sections and occasionally suggesting improvements.

Socially… things were less successful. 

While other students went to parties, dated, and generally experienced adolescence, Melvin spent most evenings organizing color-coded binders, polishing his future mustache (which at the time was more of an optimistic shadow), and reading about famous lawmen of the Old West. One man stood above all others: Wyatt Earp. To Melvin, Wyatt Earp represented the ultimate hero: a fearless defender of order in a chaotic world. The mustache alone inspired near-religious reverence. From that day forward, Melvin vowed two things:

1. He would become a lawman.

2. He would grow a mustache worthy of justice.

At San Andreas University, Melvin studied criminal justice with relentless dedication. His notes were immaculate. His attendance was perfect. His grades were so high that professors occasionally used his exams as answer keys. Unfortunately, college did little to improve his social life. While classmates bonded at parties, Melvin could usually be found studying municipal codes, reviewing parking ordinances, or practicing authoritative phrases in the mirror such as:

• • “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”

  • “That appears to be a violation.”

  • “I understand your frustration, but the policy is quite clear.”

It was during this time that his mustache finally arrived—not just any mustache, but a thick, proud monument to lawful order. Melvin began grooming it daily, referring to it privately as “The Butterstache.”

Now, armed with a pristine academic record, encyclopedic knowledge of rules, and a mustache that could make a frontier marshal proud, Melvin Butterstache has arrived in Los Santos.

He believes in structure.

He believes in order.

He believes the rules exist for a reason.

And if you happen to be jaywalking…

Melvin Butterstache will absolutely notice.

Origins: United Kingdom 

Rayne may have been born in the deep farming land of Ireland. However she never got a chance to know the land. Her father was a Royal Marine in her Majesty Army. Was stationed in a small barracks within Wales. Often on deployment Rayne was left with her Mother and extended family. 

The eldest daughter, replacement mother to her 5 younger siblings. Caretaker to her dependent grandparents. She was often left to bear the weight of the family. Her Mother worked long hours within the military hospital. Constantly on call, that she may as well have been deployed like her father.

Even at a young age, there was no such thing as a childhood. Just a fake smile, an act that everything was fine. Constantly denying to teachers, social workers and any other professionals the school sent her to. That anything was wrong, she would always protect her family. It just pushed her harder to fabricate the image of a happy child. 

Her school work was always lacking. Her energy was driven towards her family. Rayne could only perform enough to scrape by, shouldering the disappointed looks from her parents. Like a weight crushing her heart. 

Her teenage years saw a flip in Rayne's personality. She started to rebel, desperately needing to break free of the shackles that bond her. Sneaking out, lying her way into the barracks bars. Petty theft from the local stores in the town over. Constantly winding up in the Barracks police cells. The only protection her Father could afford her. So she didn't develop a record. 

If it wasn't for the one friend with her life. She would have likely continued down the road, chasing more dangerous highs. As her mind internally screamed for freedom. Jordon Castello, not a man of words but very much the elder brother she never had. Beat some sense into her, not that she would ever admit that he won that fight. 

Rayne fell back into the same pattern. Only this time she carved days out for herself. Her siblings were older, they could be more independent. So she turned her anger and frustration towards martial arts. Joining a mixed martial arts club, training and even winning some local competitions. But her family kept her close, she couldn't chase that dream to a higher place. 

Her grades when she finished school were less than impressive. The only way she could get the degree she wanted. Was to join the military, something she desperately wanted to avoid. Given her parents life, she promised she would never create that for her own family. She signed on as a combat medic. Much to the disappointment of her Father. Who regularly told her that wasn't a real position. A headstrong stubborn man that believed the only really soldiers were the front line grunts. 

Rayne still continued anyways, the Army paid and supported her though her psychology degree. While she spent university holidays training, or deployed. During this time the contact between her and Jordon fell. Both busy with their own lives. That when her mother collapsed ill at the hospital. At the same time her Father was classed as Missing in Action. Her whole world fell apart. Granted leave she returned home, her mother suffered a stroke. Leaving her left side paralyzed and her unable to work. Rayne tried to reach out countless times for the one person who has always been her rock. But there was no trace of him. 

Not long after this, the dreaded knock at the door. Her father was gone, died in the field. They tried to tell her what happened. But it all became white noise. Her family was no a shell of what it once was. Throwing herself into her work, she served on her deployments. Worked at the barracks hospital when she was home. Served her last few years of compulsory service tracking down Jordon. Creating that connection again. 

Till she decided to leave, put distance between them family thst became too dependent. She still sends help, wll still run home when she is needed. However she needed her own life, her own happiness. She left for city in another country. With just a bag of clothes. Her and her fathers dog tags, and the hope of building a new life.

Full Name: Riley Maddox
Date of Birth: December 28, 2004
Status: Civilian / Freelancer → Prospect (The Lost MC)
Current Residence: Los Santos
Reputation: Low-profile, adaptable, hard to track

Early Life

Riley Maddox learned early that not all homes are safe places.

She was raised in a small town by her grandmother and her father—two people shaped by life in very different ways.

Her grandmother carried a lifetime of hardship that hardened her into someone bitter and unforgiving. The pain she lived with often spilled over into how she treated Riley. Harsh words, constant criticism, emotional manipulation—what her grandmother called discipline, Riley survived.

Her father wasn’t cruel—just absent in the way exhaustion makes people disappear. He worked multiple jobs to keep the lights on, and on weekends he played music anywhere that would give him a stage and a few dollars.

Still… he showed up when it mattered.
Volleyball games.
Band concerts.
Marching competitions.
Prom night.

But outside of those moments, Riley knew him as a man worn down by survival.

Her mother was something else entirely.

A ghost.

Addiction had its claws in her long before Riley could understand it. Weekend visits never felt like family—just hours spent in unfamiliar places while her mother chased the next high, or the next person willing to provide it.

Eventually, even that stopped.

When supervised visits became required, her mother simply disappeared.

No calls.
No explanations.
Nothing.

Then, just weeks after Riley turned seventeen, the past came back—violently.

She was at work when her boss pulled her aside and told her to wait for her father. No explanation. Just tension thick enough to feel.

Riley filled in the silence herself.

She thought her grandmother had died.

By the time her father arrived, she had already made peace with it.

She hadn’t seen the news.
She didn’t know.

When they told her the truth, it didn’t feel real.

Her mother had been murdered—killed in the first triple homicide their town had seen in nearly twenty years.

Of all the ways Riley imagined seeing her again…
that wasn’t one of them.

What came next made it worse.

The man accused walked free—released on a technicality before justice could ever touch him.

To the system, it was over.

To Riley, it never would be.

Because innocent men don’t run.

And that’s exactly what he did—sold everything, abandoned his life, and disappeared without a trace.

Growing Up

School offered no escape.

Riley was quiet, withdrawn, already carrying more than most people her age could understand. The bullying came easy to others—and it stayed constant.

It only confirmed what she already believed:

People aren’t safe.

So she adapted.

She became observant. Controlled. Careful.
She learned how to read people before speaking to them—before trusting them.

And trust?

Once broken, it wasn’t rebuilt.

People didn’t get second chances.
They just… stopped existing.

Outwardly, Riley kept moving forward without a word.

Inside, she never stopped asking herself what she could have done differently.

Leaving Home

By graduation, Riley understood one thing clearly:

If she stayed, she would become just another story that never changed.

So she left.

With a bag, a small amount of savings, and a refusal to let her life be decided by where she came from, she moved to Los Santos.

The city was overwhelming.
Too loud.
Too fast.
Too unforgiving.

But it didn’t take long to realize something important—

Los Santos doesn’t care who you were.

Only whether you can survive what it is.

And Riley could.

Present Day

In a city that forgets people as quickly as it swallows them, Riley Maddox was never meant to stand out.

Just another name.
Another face.
Another story that fades.

But Los Santos doesn’t just erase people.

Sometimes… it rebuilds them.

Now, running freelance work and staying off the radar, Riley has started drifting closer to people who live outside the rules — the kind of people who don’t rely on the system that failed her.

The kind of people who take what they’re owed.

Whether Riley is looking for belonging… or something darker — revenge, purpose, or a place where loyalty actually means something — is still unclear.

But one thing is certain:

She’s done being a victim of other people’s choices.

And whatever path she takes next…

Los Santos is going to remember her.

Origin: USA

Name: [REDACTED]

Alias: "Rush"

DOB: [REDACTED]
Nationality: American

Early Life

[REDACTED] grew up in the margins of American poverty. His mother drifted between jobs, never stable long enough to offer security. His father, a disabled combat veteran, carried the weight of war in his body and his stories. Those stories, about brotherhood, violence, and survival, shaped [REDACTED] far more than bedtime tales ever could.

Despite his intelligence, [REDACTED] was fixated on two things from an early age: firearms and money. Not out of fascination, but necessity. Hunger teaches efficiency. Fear teaches foresight.

The only structure in his life came from his school’s ROTC program. Discipline. Order. Purpose. To [REDACTED], it was clear: the military wasn’t just a career path, it was escape.

At sixteen, [REDACTED] falsified his age and enlisted in the U.S. Army.

War Changes What It Touches

In 2008, Operation Iraqi Freedom put [REDACTED] on the front lines before he was old enough to vote. What emerged from him overseas wasn’t fear, it was clarity.

[REDACTED] proved himself a natural marksman. Calm. Precise. Lethal.

More disturbing was the realization that killing didn’t haunt him.

It exhilarated him.

Within two years, his performance earned him a place among the Green Berets. His postings grew darker, quieter, and more classified. Eventually, he was embedded in Mexico, tasked with destabilizing major cartel operations, including intelligence surrounding the Los Diablos Dorados (LDD) and their rivals, the Vega family of Bolivia.

The Warehouse

Intel revealed that the LDD had captured someone of value, an individual with direct ties to the Vega hierarchy. [REDACTED] was assigned the operation with a simple directive:

Neutralize all non-essential personnel.

He entered the warehouse alone.

Silenced weapons. Close-quarters combat. Thirty-plus confirmed kills.

By the time he reached the final room, [REDACTED] was low on ammo and behind schedule.

Inside, five men stood over a young woman bound to a chair, bloodied, broken, still defiant.

[REDACTED] didn’t hesitate.

He rushed them.

The woman watched in stunned silence as the men died one by one, efficiently, almost effortlessly.

[REDACTED] slung her over his shoulder and vanished before reinforcements arrived.

The Safehouse

[REDACTED] treated her wounds without ceremony.

[REDACTED]: “Care to explain why someone like you ended up here?”

Woman: “Care to explain why you charged in like a lunatic over something that is none of your fucking business, gringo?”

[REDACTED]: “I don't care about your drama, I care who you’re connected to.”

Woman: “Is that so?”

[REDACTED]: “You’re a Vega. Which means you talk… or you end up like the men who had you tied up.”

She studied him, really studied him.

Woman: “If you took out that many soldiers, you’re not alone.”

[REDACTED]: “Wrong. One man. One government paycheck, though right now, I’m working for myself.”

She thought back to the massacre she witnessed. The smile she swore she saw on his face.

Woman: “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

[REDACTED]: (smiling) “Didn’t you notice? Killing feels like electricity. Best drug there is.”

Woman: “A… rush?”

[REDACTED]: “Exactly.”

After some chatter, she gave him her name. Adelita Vega. Niece of Drug lord and cartel head Fernando Vega.

[REDACTED] confirmed it all. Best part was, she was more valuable alive than dead.

The Name

Adelita: “What should I call you?”

[REDACTED]: “I don’t give my name to cartel royalty. You people aren't into sending Christmas cards.”

Adelita: “Then you’re just a  nobody Yankee who loves killing.”

[REDACTED]: “Fair. But don’t nickname me after a baseball team. The Yankees suck.”

Adelita: “Then I’ll call you.. Rush.”

[REDACTED] paused.

Then smiled. He knew it fit him well.

The Offer

Days later, Adelita disappeared. In her place: an embossed envelope bearing the Vega insignia. Coordinates. A time. A $100,000 cashier’s check. [REDACTED] went.

The desert rendezvous included armored SUVs, a private helicopter, and Fernando Vega himself.

Fernando thanked him.

[REDACTED] refused the check.

Fernando motioned with a smug grin.

A pair of men steppeded forward and suitcases appeared from behind their backs. One million dollars in cash.

Then the real offer. A life of power. Wealth. Purpose, without a leash.

[REDACTED] hesitated only long enough to recognize the truth.

The U.S. had made him lethal. Fernando would make him free.

Rebirth

[REDACTED] stripped down as a petrified look-alike was dressed in his clothes at gunpoint.

Fernando placed his loaded gun in [REDACTED]’s hand.

“Whoever you were before today is dead.”

[REDACTED] didn’t flinch. He smiled and shot the man clean between the eyes. Then emptied the magazine into the corpse laughing manically until the clip ran dry.

Fernando watched, amused, cigar glowing in the dark.

“Welcome to the family, Rush.”

Origin: Pyongyang, Democratic People's Republic of North Korea

Occupation: Diplomat • International Lawyer • Matchmaker
Affiliation: DPRK Foreign Legal Affairs Bureau (covert)

Su Yuu was raised to believe that loyalty was not a choice, it was an obligation.

Born in Pyongyang to a family quietly favored by the state, her childhood was one of careful privilege: better schooling, access to foreign texts, and constant observation. From a young age, Su showed a talent for language, logic, and persuasion. She didn’t argue loudly, he convinced quietly. That talent did not go unnoticed.

By her early teens, Su Yuu was placed into an elite state grooming program designed to cultivate future diplomats and intelligence assets. There, she learned international law, Western philosophy, psychology, and behavioral analysis alongside more subtle skills: reading power dynamics, manipulating emotional bonds, and understanding how trust is built, and broken. Romance, she was taught, was one of the strongest levers of control.

Officially, Su Yuu studied law abroad under tightly supervised exchanges, eventually earning credentials in international and civil law. Unofficially, she was being shaped into something far more dangerous: a long-term intelligence operative embedded in plain sight.

When Su emerged onto the world stage, she did so as a problem solver. A lawyer who specialized in conflict mediation, immigration issues, discreet settlements, and reputation protection. Governments trusted him. Corporations sought her out. Individuals confided in her.

And people fell in love around her.

Su Yuu discovered that matchmaking, introduced publicly as a cultural side practice and later formalized as a “consultation service”, gave her unprecedented access to people’s private lives. Desires, fears, secrets, betrayals. Who wanted residency. Who needed money. Who couldn’t afford a scandal. Who would do anything for the right partner.

Couples she introduced often found stability, opportunity, or protection. In return, Su gained leverage. Sometimes immediately. Sometimes years later.

Behind closed doors, Su Yuu reports selectively. She doesn’t flood handlers with useless information, only the pieces that matter. Financial entanglements. Political ambitions pillow-talked into existence. Weak points masked as love stories. Her value lies in patience; she is not a spy who steals documents, but one who cultivates people.

Publicly, Su Yuu is calm, impeccably dressed and disarmingly sincere. She believes in order, balance, and destiny, at least, that’s what she says. Privately, she sees relationships as ecosystems to be guided, nudged, or destabilized when necessary.

Whether Su Yuu truly believes in love, or simply understands it better than most, is a question even she hasn’t answered.

One thing is certain:

If Su Yuu has brought two people together, it was never by accident.