What can i say about myself, that many don't already know, sure I had it all, girls, fame, friends, money...but hell you know how it goes, work hard play harder, and I did. We got a little ahead of ourselves, to understand the day "Bulletproof" died, let me take you back before i truly lived.
I grew up on the West side of Queens with my father, at least you can say that, you see my mother died during childbirth, a fact my father never let me forget. You can't understand what that's like, to be 5 years old and hear that you killed your mother. "Daddy" wasn't around much, he was a boxer, well close I guess, he fought illegal cage matches around new york, the pay wasn't great but for the most part it kept us afloat. I know what your thinking, one white kid in an all black school, musta been popular, and indeed I was....but not the good kind. Walks to school and back were like walking the gauntlet, I had a bullseye on my back and there was only one way to make it go away, i had to fight. By the age of 7 I had been on over 100 brawls with the local kids, lets just say i got used as a punching bag for the last time.
I told my father on one of the nights he actually stayed home, he laughed at me, called me a pathetic weakling, and then questioned whether i was even his son...that hurt. He sent me to the gym for boxing lessons every night after school. It worked, by age 9 i was winning almost all the fights i got into, even against larger and older kids. Fun was short lived for me though, as i learned to grow up a little to fast on those streets, round the age of 10 dad barelly came home once a week, sometimes once a month. He sent money but not enough, I had to make a choice. Luckilly for me my recent fighting rep got me noticed by the local street gangs, joining one wasn't hard, a beat in later, I belonged to something for the first time. This is when i met drugs and learned about the almighty dollar, I was making more than dear old dad running cocaine, it was easy, I remember not being able to believe how much people payed for that crap. The money was enough to live off of, even a little extra on the side. I went back to the gym my father sent me to again daily, boxing for fun, lifting weights, even took some judo and kung-fu classes at ol' Changs Dojo, fighting is what i knew, it was in my blood, didn't seem logical to try to avoid what came naturally. I think i was 13 when I entered into my first cage, Man what a night, i can still recall the looks of the men there, the gamblers, eyeing me like a show dog, betting on what round my larger, older opponent would send me to the ER, poor chumps. That was me, your typical 13 year old American boy, illegal cage fighter by day, drug dealer by night, the American dream.....all dreams end
The day before my 14th birthday, was the day I nearly died. It was buissness as usual, a meet me here with the stuff I got the money type deal, just this time, my luck ran out. I remember seeing the gun, and freezing..my life didn't pass before my eyes, no white light, just pain, and dark. I awoke 2 weeks later, i had been shot 11 times. 6 shots in the chest, 2 in my right arm, 2 in the neck and 1 in my left leg. The doctors were baffled on how i lived, they told me god had his eye on me,I'll never forget the look in the doctors eye when i laughed so hard i ripped my stitches open, god watching over me...perhaps he should be reading this...now don't get me wrong, I believe in god, i do I just don't think he likes me. Rehibilitation was hard, not cause of the shots, just I wasn't there. I got a letter from "daddy" reading "Tough break kid, heard you got banged up, look I'm off to Vegas for a big fight, if things go well I wont be back..sorry kid, good luck" I would never see my father again.
Over the next 6 months, i ran my trade out of the apartment, spent a lil of my nest egg and bought a computer, the infernal machines cost a bundle but it helped pass the time, and there's money to be made on them boxes. Internet scams and hacking became my new passion, what else could I do, I couldn't fight not yet, still too banged up, and coke heads get paranoid, they didn't like coming to the same place everyday, and the fact that I'd been shot didn't calm their fears either. So i hit the keys
6 months came and went, and I was back on the streets, 2 weeks later i was back in the cage, I took the name "Bulletproof" Braxxys, the crowd loved it, they love a hook, hell who doesn't. By the age of 15 i was a hit in the local circuits, winning every fight and winning fast. I wasn't gonna make the same mistake again, soon as I had the money to spare, I got hardware. A glock 9mm Handgun, a kevlar vest, and a combat knife, next son of a bitch that tried to kill me, best get the job done. Yea, life was hectic for me, between the everyday hours of training, frequent trips to the shooting range, and selling drugs and guns on the streets, I had my hands full, but i was living better than I ever had. Selling kilos a day, half a dozen handguns and 200 bucks a fight, was pretty good for a 16 year old kid.
It wasn't until I was 17 that i got my first "break" in life, at an underground match in New York City I was spotted by a Professional Scout for the (UFC or w/e storyteller choice of name), it was a special fight, one i wanted, me verse two opponents, the fight was over in 30 seconds, I knew it was my chance i wasn't gonna let two no talent things ruin it for me. This would be the last night that I considered myself a gang-banger, though my "brothers" were none too happy of my breaking of the ties, but it had to be done, cant be a pro and sling dope, and I never wanted to do that shit in the first place.
On my 18th birthday I was officially a Professional fighter, I moved to the City, got me a nice little loft downtown, a few new bank accounts, some new wraps, and a new ride, yea I made it, and damn it if I wasn't on cloud nine. Over the next 4 years I didn't lose a fight, I was the next big thing, it got hard ot leave the house, fans reconized me, "Bulletproof" Braxxys was becoming a household name, at least from those who followed the sport. I wasn't complaining, that's for damn sure, beats running for your life and getting shot. I trained vigorously, fought regurally, and made a lot of money, even met a nice girl. Women...am i right? but anyways Celeste Harrowinger, she was the morning rain, sweet, beautiful, and the most giving woman i had ever known. I had it all, looks, youth, health, love, money..that's the funny thing about happiness, it's bullshit.
I was 23 when I lost my first fight, a bullshit decsision, to this day I think the judges were paid off, A scandal followed, and me, well lets just say the loss hit me harder then the cheating bastard who "beat" me ever did. I frequented clubs, stopped training almost all together, I lived the Hollywood lifestyle, drinking, drugs and worse. The "superstar" lifestyle took its toll on me, I lost my next 3 fights, one of them in 7 seconds, they said i washed up...funny a few months earlier i was the paragon of the sport. Things would get worse before they got better, Celeste left me at the age of 25, can't say i blame her, she did walk in on her sister.."performing" for me, with a heroine needle in my arm. Lets just say her leaving was the wake up call i needed.
I spent then next year training hard again, back to my old ways, hitting the gym 6 hours a day, and the firing range at least an hour a day. I never knew why but firing my glock calmed me, something about it. I felt sorry for the first guy that got in the ring with me, I had alot of anger in me, and something to prove, and prove it I did. Over the next 6 months I was back to winning, and winning big. I was on top again, Heavyweight Champ.. funny how that works, I hate the media....should string them all up. Life was good again, save Celeste, she wouldn't return my calls, IT would be 3 years before I would hear her voice again.
I continued fighting, and winning, frequenting nightclubs, to get "dates" and make some new friends. Life changed for me on my 28th birthday. I finally got that call back from Celeste, just not the call I expected. She didn't sound right, scared, she asked for money, 1,000,000 or they were gonna kill her. I had never been so angry in my life, my old "brothers" kidnapped the only person I ever loved, to get at me, they thought i Owned them something, they were right, I did owe them something, and they were gonna get it. I grabbed my glock, sheathed my knife, put on my kevlar and was off. I knew they wouldn't let her live, they would take my money and both our lives. I made it to the docks, and saw her, on her knees sobbing, her eyes...pleading, but i couldn't do anything, they didn't want my money, they wanted me to watch her die. The shots rang, 2 shots to the back of her head, and 4 shots in my chest.
I woke up the next day in the hospital, the vest stopped the shots, but Celeste was dead, cause of me, I would never forgive myself. I couldn't go on anymore. I quit fighting, invested most of my money, put the rest in high interest CDs. Life was over for me, everyone thats ever been part of my life was gone, mom died, dad might as well be, and Celeste..If there was one thing i would ask god, is to give me the strength, to avenge her, to bring them bastards to their knees for what they have done....
Yes "Bulletproof" was dead, I'm Drake...[img][/img]
Subject: Drake "Bulletproof" Braxxys 
