Saints Row: Bullet to the Heart — The Third, Black Parade
Steelport greets the Saints with hostility and loss. Johnny is gone, and Kyouki is left to face the chaos — torn between mourning and control. As she hunts for answers and stabilizes her empire, the Saints are forced to confront what their power has truly cost them.
Kyouki stared at herself—hair disheveled, mascara smudged, dried blood staining her sleeve. A version of herself she didn’t recognize anymore. A version she hated.
“Undress?” Renji suggested, wiggling his brows. “We’ll do the rest.”
Kyouki threw him a glare. “Renji. Not now.”
Silver approached quietly, holding out a steaming towelette. “We are not undressing you,” he said calmly. “We are preparing you.”
Ren nudged Renji’s leg with his foot. “Idiot.”
Renji lifted his hands. “Fine, fine—battle prep, not flirting. Unless she asks.”
A breath escaped her. Barely a laugh. But enough to make the room exhale with her. “I just need control back,” she whispered.
Ren stepped close—not touching, just close enough she could feel the warmth. “You lost control because you loved him,” he whispered. “That is not weakness.”
Her jaw trembled.
Silver brushed a stray curl behind her ear—gentle, reverent, grounding. Not possessive.
“Cолнышко,” he murmured, “you moved through a battlefield shaking. And not one bullet touched you.”
“Except the ones you put in everyone else,” Renji added with a crooked smirk.
Kyouki’s breath hitched—half a laugh, half a gasp.
Then her face crumpled. “I just need to control,” she said again, more desperate. “When I lost Aisha, I wasn’t this bad. I loved her just as much. I just…”
Her voice cracked. Tears pooled, hot and sudden.
“What if I was only holding it together for Johnny?”
Renji’s expression softened. Truly softened. “So what if you were?” he said, leaning forward. “You have us. You have your people. You don’t owe anyone strength right now.” His tone dropped, almost tender. “Fall apart. You are allowed to hurt.”
Saints Row: Bullet to the Heart — Heart of a Saint Under Control
While Kyouki is away, Troy sends in undercover agent Michael Mann to infiltrate the fracturing Stilwater. The Saints fight to maintain control of her expanding empire as power splinters and loyalties fray. What begins as an civil war spirals into a investigation — and the true price of leadership comes due.
One requirement Troy had sought was driving skills. The Saints still went to race, he would know he spied. Now, with Schlemmer at the helm, he had several cars bought in that had been seized from the illegal racers, past payments or however the car was acquired. And they needed fixing.
So for two days and nights the recruits picked their ride, repairs and tuned them with little to no breaks between.
Along with Lt Schlemmer’s previous onslaught, bodies adjusted to sleep deprivation. Though one day, to their surprise, finally giving them a break, if you want to call it that.
It was well known that the Saints did most of the racing circuit, though the recruits didn’t know that, and the best way would be to track around the academy.
After the allotted time, James Schlemmer sets up a new gauntlet of sorts where the four persons he has chosen compete against each other.
“Fastest time keeps the car.” His word to them.
“Fuck is this about anyway, Sir?” One recruit chimed.
Schlemmer smirked. ‘ That’s the one .’ “Nothing for you to worry about, maggot. Now drive.”
The four doing as told started their engines in the mock race.
When Troy filled Schlemmer with the required skill sets, Schlemmer picked the two young women and two young men who could fill that role. Once their lil lap race was over, their next task was to learn carjacking and obstacle course driving.
That one outspoken young man, done, fed up with what they were putting him through, and he didn’t hold his tongue. “Lt. Seriously, are you trying to kill us! Cause that bullshit right there yo-“
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Huh?”
“Your. Name. Maggot.”
“Mikey…”
The deadpan look Schlemmer gave caused the kid to roll his eyes. Taking a deep breath.
Saints Row: Bullet to the Heart — Dynasty of Ashes
Tragedy strikes as Kyouki loses the people she loves most. Amid the grief, she learns to wield her pain as power, molding Stilwater beneath her will. Every step forward costs her something — every victory built on loss and ashes.
Kyouki snorted, shook her head. “If you had wanted to marry me, you should have kept your dick in your pants. I have no reason to associate with the likes of you, business or personal.” With that, she brushes past the stunned Ultor figure.
“No.” Dane growled. He reached for her, tugging her arm and into his chest. He held her in place, a hand on her throat. “You will marry me. You will tell your uncle you have considered when you leave.” Dane squeezed her neck for emphasis on how not joking he was.
Kyouki struggled against him, trying to push him away. “L-let… Me… G-go…” breathing hard through her nose.
Dane then smiled, this was how he wanted her, how he had her in the proverbial palm of his hand. Whimpering, writhing, he pulled her close and kissed her. When he broke the kiss he whispered against her lips. “I will never let you go.”
Opening his eyes Kyouki was locking eyes with him. A soft smile on her full lips caused Dane to slacken, and just as suddenly a fist met his face before he had time to process what happened to him.
Stumbling back a few feet hitting the long table behind him.
Kyouki came closer glaring at the man, towering over him as he braced himself, sheer intimidation encapsulated her. Grabbing his chin roughly pulling his face close to hers. ”If you ever, ever , put your hands on me again, like that. You will lose the hand and much, much more. Hm?” Kyouki stood, leaving Dane for good this time.
Dane watched her go. He tasted blood. He put his hand to his lip. Blood coated his fingertips.
Introducing my Boss, Kyouki I. James aka Li Joined the Saints at 14, still riding that wave (20 years later).
Kyouki was that girl everyone liked — the one who always smiled when she passed, held the door open, helped a classmate study before exams. She had a warmth that didn’t match the city’s edges, her laughter cutting through all the noise like something good in a place that forgot what good looked like.
Most people thought she was too sweet to be running with anyone serious. She didn’t flash colors, didn’t brag, didn’t talk about who she knew. Just a girl in a cropped hoodie, ripped jeans, and sneakers, sipping coffee on the corner, waving when she recognized someone.
But the Saints knew.
They knew the quiet ones were the ones you didn’t cross.
They knew she could walk through their base, pull a gun apart on the table, or translate a deal in three languages before anyone else blinked.
Even Aisha liked her — said she had that “pretty danger” kind of energy, soft on the surface but with something steel underneath.
And everyone knew one other thing for certain: Johnny Gat didn’t play about Kyouki.
You could joke, flirt, maybe test the water if you were stupid or new — but once you saw the way Gat’s eyes followed her across a room, that half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, you stopped. Fast.
Because she might’ve looked like the girl next door…
But everyone in Stilwater knew better.
Shortly Li came up the hall from where Dex office was, he could hear her heels clicking on the stone floor, she stopped in front of his office talking with one soldier, the guy she was speaking with nodded to what she asked, she felt someone watching her back; she saw Johnny waved with a smile, continuing to her previous destination. The soldier who she was just speaking with hadn’t budged. He was ogling as she walked away; burning a hole through her jeans.
Hell, Johnny couldn’t help but stare. She had on a pair of tight black low rider skinny jeans that hugged her ass like a second skin and a purple camisole top with thin straps that slid off her cinnamon shoulders.
“Daaaaamn, she got a phat ass.” The Saint runner said when a fellow Saint came up, watching her leave biting his fist mock crying, not noticing Johnny shooting him rocks from his chair. “I’d let her shoot me to get wit her.”
Kyouki awakens from a five-year coma to a fractured Stilwater. The Saints are scattered, new gangs have claimed the streets, and the city reeks of blood and betrayal. With cold precision, Kyouki begins rebuilding the Saints piece by piece—rising from ruin to reclaim the empire that once bore their name.
Ky’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the light as she watched the shadows of the nurse walk back past her bed. Li closed her eyes again, as it was relatively quiet once more. The sound of the metal rings scraping across the metal bar of the curtain being pulled open caused her to turn her head slowly on the intruding noise. Seeing a young boy old enough to be her younger brother lying next to her looking at her with the most awe-inspiring expression, she raised her eyebrows in question.
“You’re Li.”
Li made a noise that acknowledged him.
“I got shanked to come meet you. I want to help you when you get out.”
Li turned her head back to him. “Nam..?”
“Oh, Carlos, I’m Carlos Mendoza. I heard you were in here. You knew my brother, you've been in a coma for five years!”
‘What?’ Li frowned and turned slowly to look back at him. “Fi-v… Yea-?” She swallowed again. Ky heard wrong. She was just out the other night.
Then on the radio that was softly playing in the background, called for the anniversary of Mayor Hughes’ yacht incident. A flood of thoughts rushed. Before she could pinpoint a single thought, guards rushed in and wheeled her out.
“Carlos Mendoza, look me up when you get out!” The young man laid back down and held his side. He was going to run with the Saints, just like his big brother.
Second version of the same moment — This one, the one that aches.
🤍 City Lights and Promises
A moment that begins with goodbye, and ends with a question she can’t unhear.
The night is soft, the city humming low under a sky full of scattered light.
Kyouki steps from the car, heels clicking gently on the stone steps of her brownstone. Her laughter lingers in the cool air, polite but genuine — a sound her date seems to hold onto for just a second too long.
He offers a small gift bag, something thoughtful, careful.
Kyouki smiles, almost shy. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he says, voice hopeful. “Maybe next time—”
She tilts her head, lips curving. “Maybe. I should—”
“Yeah—” he echoes softly.
The quiet between them feels warm, uncertain. It could turn into something. Or fade right there.
Then a sound — the slam of a car door.
A ripple through the night, pulling the warmth away.
Measured footsteps cross the curb.
Black on black, the sweep of a trench coat, shoes clicking once, twice, like punctuation to something unspoken.
He doesn’t look at the man. Not once.
Just passes by — the air following him colder, heavier, familiar.
The date stammers. “Hey—wait, what—”
But the words die as the door shuts behind them.
Kyouki’s hand trembles on the key. Before she can turn, he’s already there — close enough that the space between heartbeats disappears.
His hand catches her wrist — not rough, but steady. Pulling her inside with him.
The gift bag slips from her hand, landing softly on the steps outside.
The door shuts.
For a moment, the world is silent.
Then his hand finds her cheek. His mouth finds hers. The kiss is deep, desperate — like something he’s been holding back too long.
He breaks away only to take off his glasses. His eyes are bare now — tired, wanting, honest.
He kisses her again — slower, trembling just a little.
Kyouki presses against his chest, breath catching. “Johnny—”
He stops. Looks at her like she’s the only thing left in the world still real.
His voice comes quiet, raw around the edges.
A version of a moment — This one, the one that burns.
🖤 When the Door Closed
A taste of what happens when restraint finally breaks.
The night hums low, city lights glittering like scattered promises.
Kyouki steps from the car, her heels clicking softly as she climbs the steps to her brownstone door. Her laughter is quiet, polite — practiced calm masking the small tremor of nerves. Her date stands close, warm, harmless.
He hands her a small gift bag, something thoughtful.
Kyouki smiles. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he says. “Maybe next time—”
“Maybe,” she teases gently. “I should—”
“Yeah—” he agrees, hopeful, eager.
They hover in that fragile almost — a heartbeat too long.
Then the city shifts.
A car door slams, the sound cracking through the quiet like thunder.
A shadow cuts across the curb. Measured, deliberate steps.
Black on black — a trench coat whispering against the cold, polished shoes clicking like the slow countdown before a storm. His expression unreadable behind tinted glasses.
He doesn’t look at the man. Not once. Just passes by —
and the air drops colder.
“Hey—what do you think you’re doing?” the date calls, voice cracking.
He doesn’t answer.
The door slams, hard.
Kyouki barely twists the key before the black blur moves past her — inside.
Her eyes widen. He’s already there, already closing the distance.
His hand finds her wrist, firm. Possessive. Pulling her behind him, the motion absolute.
The gift bag slips from her hand, falling to the brownstone steps like an afterthought.
The door shuts.
And then he’s kissing her — no words, no pause, just months of silence unraveling in a single strike of heat.
He stops only long enough to remove his glasses, eyes bare now — sharp, burning — before his mouth finds hers again, slower, heavier, like a promise she can’t quite refuse.
She pushes at his chest, breathless, pulse stuttering. “Johnny—”
He stops, but only just.
His voice is low, dangerous in its calm. “Why?”
“Why what?” she breathes.
He leans close enough that she feels his words on her lips.
