Some say crime doesn’t pay, but they clearly never chugged three Red Bulls, won half a million at the casino, and used it to fund a narcotics empire built out of a literal motel room and some Chinese restaurant paid in full by narcotics.

This isn’t just a game, it’s an experience. A test of endurance, wit, and how many stab wounds you can survive from angry clients when your product dries up. I was once a humble nobody, skateboarding through alleyways, dodging my supplier’s calls and praying my cash stash didn’t outgrow my laundry setup. Now? I’m the Temu version of Pablo Escobar, drowning in more money than I can fit into the ATM.

At my peak, I bought overpriced golden toilets and abstract paintings that screamed "financial instability". Bought more mustangs than I ever needed. I was untouchable, until I wasn’t. I lost it all at the same casino that built me, one spin at a time. Back to square one, broke, bleeding, and caffeinated.

Cars? Redundant. I’ve skateboarded through the ranks of the underworld, high on adrenaline and carbonated beverages, leaving behind a trail of empty cans and questionable business decisions.

There’s something beautiful about watching your empire grow, right up until the moment your supplier wants their cut, you’re broke again, and your last client tries to stab you for selling out.

10/10. Would buy another golden toilet and mustang before going bankrupt again.