LOWKEY FROM BE QUIET CREW

[sh4sh]

"LOWKEY"

AGE: 16

PLACE OF BIRTH: LOS SANTOS, SAN ANDREAS (COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL)

NEIGHBORHOOD: LOS FLORES

AFFILIATION(S): BE QUIET CREW

Quote

Lowkey wasn’t always Lowkey. Before the spray cans, before the stolen hoodies, before the hazy nights of graffiti and street dreams, he was just another kid stuck in the chaotic pulse of the Firmona Street Projects in Los Flores, Los Santos. Born into a world of cracked sidewalks, rising crime rates, and constant tension between neighborhoods, Lowkey learned early on that the world didn’t give a damn about him, so he’d have to make a name for himself if he wanted to survive.

 

His dad? Well, Lowkey didn’t have much to say about him. The guy was a ghost in his life—more of a shadow that sometimes appeared in a drunken haze, mumbling about the days when life was "better." His addiction to pills, crack and meth had drained the man of whatever pride he had left. He was in and out of jail, in and out of the picture. By the time Lowkey turned six, his father was a fading memory, and his mother, an overworked waitress, had to become both the protector and the provider.

 

But the love of an absentee father? The kind of support other kids had? It never came. Not from him. Not from anyone.

 

It wasn’t until later that Lowkey, known to most in the neighborhood by that name, understood how that absence shaped him. Growing up in Firmona wasn’t exactly a suburban dream; it was concrete, cracked streets, the sounds of sirens, and the smell of weed that wafted through the vents of his apartment. His friends weren’t kids who played baseball on the weekends or went to the mall for fun. His friends were the ones who smoked joints behind the laundromat and tagged the walls of abandoned buildings.

 

Lowkey found his first escape through street art—graffiti. He wasn’t one of those kids who just sprayed whatever, tagging his name for attention. No, Lowkey had an eye for it. He studied the big names in the city: the legends of East Los Santos, the crews from Jefferson, and the old-school writers from Las Colinas. The smooth lines, the layers of paint, the wild-style masterpieces hidden in plain sight. He could stare at a blank wall for hours, seeing shapes, colors, and words that nobody else would.

 

His first real piece came at the age of 13. It was simple, almost childish—his tag, LOWKEY, in white and black, across a rusty train car. But the moment the spray paint hit the metal, a spark went off in his head. This was it. This was his identity. Lowkey was born that day, not just a name, but a brand—a statement.

But street art wasn’t the only thing that drew Lowkey in. Hip-hop and punk rock fueled his soul. He’d skip school and just chill at the park or under the freeway, listening to N.W.A, Beastie Boys, and old-school punk bands like Black Flag and The Misfits. There was something about the raw, rebellious sound that matched the chaos in his heart. It was his anthem—the soundtrack to his defiance.

 

His crew, the BE QUIET CREW, became his family. They weren’t just about tagging; they were about a culture—being loud in a world that tried to keep them quiet. They were the outsiders of East Los Santos, always looking for the next spot to leave their mark. Together, they rolled through Jefferson, Los Flores, and even Las Colinas, hitting rooftops, alleyways, and the hidden corners of the city no one else dared to touch.

 

They didn’t just do graffiti; they lived it. They smoked joints between walls, popped pills to feel the rush, and talked about revolution with the kind of intensity only a group of lost teenagers could muster. It wasn’t always glamorous; in fact, it was often gritty, grimy, and dangerous. They boosted clothes from the local shops, ran from cops, and dabbled in flipping whatever they could get their hands on—whether it was weed, pills, or stolen electronics. Money was tight, but the streets were always ready to provide.

 

Lowkey didn’t care about school. Hell, he barely made it through middle school. Who needed algebra when you had paint cans and a crew that had your back? He’d skip classes, telling his mom he was "at a friend’s house," and instead spend his days either tagging with the crew or hanging out in abandoned buildings. School was just a system that wanted to keep him in a box, a box he never planned on fitting into.

 

But despite all the chaos, there was a side to Lowkey that few saw. He had a sketchbook—an old, worn notebook filled with drawings of abstract characters, angry faces, and designs that blurred the lines between punk rock, graffiti, and surrealism. It was his quiet place, his retreat from the madness. When things got rough or the pressure from the street caught up with him, he’d disappear into his art. That was the side of Lowkey that stayed Lowkey.

 

Despite his rough-and-tumble lifestyle, Lowkey didn’t always fit the stereotype of the street kid. There was a certain sharpness in his eyes, a quiet intensity that suggested he was capable of more than the projects had given him. But every time he tried to think beyond the streets, the weight of his reality pushed him back. His mom was struggling, his friends were barely scraping by, and the streets seemed like the only place that made sense.

 

It was in those late-night sessions of spray-painting with the crew, though, that Lowkey began to see something else. The tags, the murals, the collaborations with other crews—it was all more than just rebellion. It was a way to leave a legacy, to make a mark on the world even when the world had no intention of letting him in.

 

One night, as Lowkey and the BE QUIET CREW hit the streets of Las Colinas, tagging under dim streetlights and between the cracks of crumbling walls, the thought crossed his mind. Maybe he didn’t have to be the kid from the projects forever. Maybe there was more out there. Maybe the art, the culture, the lifestyle could be his escape, or even better, his future.

 

But for now, it was just about living in the moment, marking his territory, leaving a legacy in a city that never cared. Lowkey wasn’t just a name—it was a statement. A way of being. And as long as Lowkey held a spray can in his hand, he’d make sure the world knew it.

 

Edited November 6, 2024 by sh4sh

[sh4sh]

 

[sh4sh]

Quote

This is a character-development thread following an impoverished Irish-American vandal in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood of Los Flores. I aim to create something unique and fun for myself as well as others who want to participate. I will be keeping my character's identity hidden in all screenshot for immersive purposes, to fit in with the anonymity that comes with the graffiti world. If anybody is interested in creating a character or creating roleplay in this fashion, do not hesitate to PM me. Thank you for checking this thread out!

 

[sh4sh]

Edited November 6, 2024 by sh4sh

[sh4sh]

 

[sh4sh]