September - Week 3
Operation: Docks Exchange — Cash & Cargo [#8]
Date: 18/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz
Night fell over the Ocean Docks and the city’s noise faded into waves and the hiss of distant cranes. I moved quiet — slipping to the back side of the loading area to collect the cocaine destined for the MedellĂn warehouse. No lights, no witnesses; that’s how we make business — clean and efficient.
The shipment was secured and driven back to our warehouse where the exchange was to be completed. Crates unloaded, the product moved into storage — everything went to plan. Then came the final step: the pay-off. Under an abandoned warehouse miles from the city, I retrieved the duffel bag — heavy, double-zipped — and felt the weight of what was inside: $1,500,000 in cold bills, proof of another successful operation and payment for risk.
We stored the cargo, counted the money, and closed the night knowing MedellĂn’s shelves and coffers were fuller for it. Business handled, loyalty confirmed — the streets remember who keeps supply steady.
Operation: High-Stakes Export — Red Sultan Run [#9]
Date: 18/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz
Old ties pay off. I met with Mike — a veteran who’s owed MedellĂn more than a few favors — and he brought an offer too big to ignore: $15,000,000 for a top-tier shipment of cocaine and assorted goods. The buyer’s friends wanted discretion and speed; we gave them both.
I rolled up in a decent-looking red Sultan, crates hidden inside like any respectable courier job. The city wasn’t kind that night — a police check post nearly clipped us on the way. Tires screamed and hearts raced, but we slipped past just in time and pushed straight toward the Ocean Docks. At a quiet, pre-planned spot I moved the cargo into our Yosemite to clear any glaring suspicion, then drove the load to the backside of the pier.
No theatrics, only efficiency: we shoveled the goods onto the waiting boat, sealed the deal, and melted back into the city. The buyers left with high-quality product; Mike and I walked away with a life-changing payout. Another clean score for MedellĂn — risk met with reward, loyalty rewarded, business done.
Operation: Half-Ton Exchange — Boat/Plane Run [#10]
Date: 18/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz@creptez
Kikoz and I rolled out from M base before dawn, the city still breathing slow. Word had come in: a single buyer wanted half a ton — 500kg — of product and a package of goods, all to be moved off the books. We loaded the convoy and headed for our secondary warehouse; with that weight and that money on the line, mistakes weren’t an option.
At the warehouse we moved fast. Crates were stacked into the car, seals checked, and every bag counted — the cargo was worth $1,500,000 and the air tasted like tension. Rumors had spread that the cops were breathing down Ocean Docks, watching the usual routes, so we scrapped the predictable plan and switched to a quieter drop. That change bought us time and kept the operation clean.
The transfer went smooth: the 500kg were loaded onto the boat-plane, sealed for export, and pushed away from the pier before dawn swallowed the horizon. When the engines faded, Kikoz and I counted the cash — the payout was real, heavy, and life-changing. Another perfect run for MedellĂn: supplier to buyer, trust honored, business closed.
Operation: Midnight Shamal — One Ton Run [#11]
Date: 18/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz@creptez
The call came out of nowhere — an American number, short and to the point: one ton, shipped overnight. This wasn’t a regular job; this was the kind of run that changes ledgers and reputations. My friend briefed me in a whisper, the kind of whisper that makes you check the locks twice. I slipped a little bump of coke into my burrito — a bad habit, a good omen — and headed for Los Santos Airport.
The Shamal sat waiting like a shark on the tarmac. Crates were rolled and strapped, the cargo hold packed tight until the metal smelled like powder and oil. My role was simple and absolute: get that plane to San Fierro, hand it off clean, and come back with proof of payment. Engines lit, the city fell away under the landing lights, and we flew into the dark with a single heavy parcel of MedellĂn’s product.
We touched down in SF and waited, tense and quiet. When the men finally arrived they carried duffel bags like boulders — raw cash, $3,000,000 in green and rubber bands, two grand spent on bands alone. There was no counting; we weighed what they brought and trusted the scale and the handshake. The money was solid. The plane left lighter, our pockets heavier, and another risky night closed with everyone alive and paid. MedellĂn delivers — always.
Operation: Expanding the Fleet — Bone County Shamal [#12]
Date: 19/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz@creptez
The MedellĂn Cartel runs on loyalty, product, and presence — and presence means power. Even though we already had three Shamals spread across San Andreas, Bone County remained empty. That was a gap we couldn’t ignore.
Carlson and I loaded raw cash into the trunk of my blue Buffalo — fifteen million, bundled and stacked. The ride into the desert was quiet, the kind of quiet where you feel the weight of what you’re carrying more than the road under the tires. When we reached Bone County, it was there waiting — painted in our color, already looking like it belonged to MedellĂn.
The deal was clean. No drama, no gunfire, no wasted time. Fifteen million passed from our hands to theirs, and the aircraft was ours. We took the Shamal for a ride above the dunes, the desert shrinking beneath us as another chapter of the Cartel’s empire was written in steel and jet fuel. MedellĂn grows, one purchase at a time.
Operation: Highway Job — Supply Robbery on LS–LV [#13]
Date: 19/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz@creptez
I was lying low on the LS–LV highway, waiting on a pickup that promised decent cash for a small cargo of supplies. The desert night kept things quiet — the kind of silence that makes every footstep louder and every decision heavier. When the buyer arrived I moved in, emptied the vehicle, and secured the crates. The job was going clean.
Then the man made a mistake. He tried to snatch my weapon. In that life, hesitation or weakness costs more than respect — it costs lives. I reacted without mercy. The confrontation ended quickly; the threat was removed and the cargo stayed with MedellĂn. We left the scene efficient and cold: supply taken, threat neutralized.
Profit on the run: roughly $500,000. Another successful robbery for the books — no questions, no witnesses, only results.
Operation: High-Rise Replica — Quick Sale in LV [#14]
Date: 20/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz@Karma
I was hanging around one of the MedellĂn homes when I noticed the place — clean lines, the kind of brickwork only the rich get to enjoy. It was in a wealthy block of Las Venturas, and when my contact mentioned there was another house just like it, I couldn’t let the chance pass. Old friends make the best opportunities.
I called in a friend — a fixer who moves property and people for a living — and he led me straight to the house. Brick for brick, it matched the one I’d seen. The owner turned out to be someone I knew from high school, a man who’d later worked in a shadowy “service” for an unknown American crew. He needed cash fast and the place was a gem. Ten million, raw and up-front, and the deal was ours if we acted clean.
We walked the paperwork quietly. I pulled him into the bank, withdrew the black — stacked, wrapped, heavy — and loaded the cash into the MedellĂn Burrito. There were no lawyers, no long waits: a nod, a handshake, the transfer of keys. Business done, the house ours. Another asset secured, another piece of the city that now bears the MedellĂn mark.
Operation: Blood Debt — The Fall of Michael [#15]
Date: 20/09/2025
Participants: @kikoz@Karma@creptez
The casino lights blurred easy money into a blur; laughter and slot clinks filled the night while Michael waited outside like he always did — patient, steady, my brother in every sense that mattered. We grew up together, ran with each other, bled with each other. After a night of gambling and cheap jokes, I went to sleep smiling. The next morning that smile died with the ring of an unknown number.
On the other end was a voice speaking like a ransom note: twenty-five million for Michael’s life. My blood ran cold when they said his name. I raced to the location with the cash stacked and ready, heart pounding for the only man who had ever been family outside this Cartel. When the doors opened I stopped: the kidnappers were not strangers — they were former members of MedellĂn, expelled for corruption and betrayal. The men who once swore the same oaths were now asking my brother’s life for payback.
I handed them the money because a man’s life is worth more than pride. They took the bills, and then the bullets. They killed Michael and turned their guns on me. I survived with anger burning like fire under my ribs. I wanted to burn the world down where they stood, but this life demands patience and calculation. That fury will be paid back in full, not in blind revenge, but in a ledger of suffering they will not escape.
We buried Michael in the MedellĂn graveyard — quiet ground for a brother who deserved better. The hole they left is a map of what comes next. This is not an ending. It is the opening chapter of a long debt, and MedellĂn does not forget.