Carl 'CJ' Johnson.

A man whose name strikes fear deep into the hearts of the inhabitants of the state of San Andreas. A man who went through hell and back, on a quest to save himself, his family, and the streets of his home town. Proud member and co-leader of the most powerful gang in Los Santos, the Orange Grove Street Families, Carl Johnson fears nothing.
He has seen and done it all.

In order to accomplish what no other man could, he did everything life required of him.
He fought gangs. He killed cops. He worked for, and against government agents. He hit various businesses and places, including a mafia casino and several crack factories. He did various odd jobs all around the state of San Andreas, temporarily becoming a firefighter, a pimp, a vigilante, a pilot, a street racer, a cab driver, a paramedic, a courier, an errand boy for the Triad, a hitman for the mob... you name it.
If it exists and can be done by a single man, Carl Johnson has done it.

Prepared for everything, and fearing nothing - not even death -, CJ certainely seems like a man nothing and no one can possibly stop. Nothing, and no one... except maybe what just happened to him.

The young gangsta woke up about an hour ago in the middle of fucking nowhere. Fresh, clean air... trees everywhere, and no sign of the trademark pollution, omnipresent in San Andreas. Wherever he was, Carl knew that it wasn't home, or anywhere close to it.

The last thing he remembered was going to the Ten Green Bottles bar last night with a few homeboys. And, doing what every young male usually does when going to a bar with a bunch of male friends, Carl got shitfaced.
Completely fucking wasted.

So naturally, now that he was sitting up in the middle of a dark, thick forest, Carl was starting to feel nauseous as the entire world seemed to be spinning around him. He clenched his head, somehow hoping that it would help with his pounding headache, a harsh reminder of what he did last night, even though he couldn't actually remember much. Eventually managing to get up to his feet without tumbling or falling, Carl took a look around him.

Where in the fuck was he?

While he did grew up in the ghetto, he also spent quite some time in rural areas. But never in his life had he seen grass that green, or bushes that neatly trimmed, and especially not in the middle of the wilderness. Everything was so flashy and lively... even the trees and the dirt looked clean and colorful. Speaking of dirt, there wasn't a single stain of it on anything. And there was not a single fallen leaf on the ground, either. Everything just looked so perfect, so pristine... did he get so wasted that he actually drove all the way to Vinewood, only to pass out on a movie set or something?
That would at least explain the strange scenery... but that shit ain't the truth.
Carl knew better.

Whatever that place was, the young man knew that it was not in San Andreas.

Taking a few steps forward, Carl managed to keep his balance as he began what he thought would be his long trek back home. While the state of San Andreas is an island per se, he was sure that he could find a way back. Somehow.
Hell, if anything has a motor, he can drive or fly or pilot or whatever it.

As he was collecting his thoughts, something suddenly zoomed past him, causing him to recoil in surprise. Falling back on the ground, and on his ass, Carl grunted and blinked a few times rapidly. He then looked around him, sighing in relief when he saw nothing out of the ordinary, other than the overly luxurious vegetation. While he could have sworn that he had seen a flying thing zooming past him, he simply chalked it up to the lingering effects of alcohol, or whatever the fuck else he had managed to get intoxicated with last night.
Did he smoke or something? He would never forgive himself if he actually went and smoked crack. Not after everything he's been through to eradicate that poison.

The streets, his streets, were clean.

Still, knowing full well that he was pretty damn far from being sober, he figured that there was no point in freaking out. At least not just yet. Whatever was happening, after all, he had seen far weirder shit... mainly when working for Mike Toreno. Considering for a second than it might be all part of an elaborate plan by his former 'employer', Carl shook his head and reached for his pocket, taking out his giant cellphone.

"Aw, shit!" he exclaimed, realizing that there was no network coverage. "Toreno? TORENO? Is that you, man?" he called out as he looked around frantically, trying to spot the devil in a tuxedo. But as he somewhat expected, no answer came.

Carl slowly came to the realization that wherever the hell he was, no one was going to help him. He was stuck here, wherever 'here' was, and it would remain that way until he went and did something about it.
Not that it was anything new for him, though.

"Shit. I been through a lot of shit, man! Ain't no damn forest gonna stop me." he said, mostly thinking to himself out loud. He was determined, and he definitely didn't care that there was no one around to hear him.

After deciding on a random direction, Carl started to walk, hoping that he would eventually come out of the forest, and maybe catch a glimpse of something familiar. Something that would indicate roughly where he was, even if it was on the other side of the planet. Considering the kind of shit he was currently looking at, knowing that he was still on Earth would be a relief at this point.
Looking around him as he walked past a little wooden shack, Carl took a deep breath, inhaling in the pleasant scent of various plants and fruits growing in the wilderness. Despite being much more sensitive to the beauty of a full metal jacket 7.62 millimeter bullet piercing a Balla OG's skull or a nicely pimped low-rider covered in shiny chrome with quad upswept exhaust pipes, he had to admit to himself that nature was really beautiful at times.

About twenty minutes later, and after climbing his way over a literal ocean of overgrown roots, Carl smiled as he jumped on the ground, finally out of the forest. The thick foliage was now replaced by a picturesque clearing with a small stream of water running below a rocky bridge. There was a small, quaint cottage on the other side of the water, with a large garden. He could even see another form of life! What looked like small woodland critters were running around, playing with each other.

Carl raised an eyebrow in surprise, as San Andreas was usually devoid of any kind of animal other than the occasional bird, and a few fish in the deeper areas of the rivers that ran across the state. Rivers he had conquered long ago, collecting oysters and beating the cock dozens of times in epic cross-country triathlons.

He was not in San Andreas anymore, that much was certain.

Surely there was someone in that cottage, right? Someone who could tell him where he was... there had to be.
Deciding to just shoot through and introduce himself, Carl reached for his belt and his heart skipped a beat.

His fingers made contact with the cold leather, and not the expected wooden grip of his two chrome-plated Colt M1911's with custom, gangsta as fuck seventeen-round magazines.
Who the hell took them?

Nobody touches his guns.

Somewhat distraught but definitely not afraid to rely on his fists should the need to fight arise, Carl kept walking towards the small house, only to freeze up when a large brown animal walked out from behind a chicken coop.

Who the fuck owned a bear? And who the fuck let a bear roam free in their garden? While he was an expert in all things related to fighting, killing, maiming, torturing and running people over, that didn't necessarily apply to animals. Especially not to those who could behead him with a single swipe, and especially not while he was unarmed himself.

At least, the fresh, pure air was doing wonders to help him sober up, and his headache was nearly gone, leaving him with a dull nauseous feeling. On the negative side, that probably meant that the possibility of all of this being a very vivid hallucination was out of the window.

"Damn, I wish that nigga Smoke was here... man, that chubby motherfucker sure would have know where to get some' to eat... shit." Carl sighed, staring blankly at nothing in particular. He had never regretted anything he had done in the past, but having had to murder his childhood friend Melvin Harris was something he knew he wouldn't just get over anytime soon.
Or maybe ever.

They were like family...

Shaking his head as if it could help him get rid of those thoughts, Carl caught a glimpse of something in the distance. It looked like some sort of small flying animal. His eyes slowly cast downwards, and below the swift bird-like creature was what appeared to be some sort of small rural town. There were a few houses scattered around, a particularly large tree with a ridiculously thick canopy, and a few round, fluffy clouds hovering above, at very low altitude. He could also spot a giant... whatever the hell that thing even was. Some sort of life sized gingerbread house?

Whatever... this place looked even weirder than the depths of the forest.

And beyond looking weird, it also looked cliché. More cliché than anything he had ever seen in his life, but town meant population. And population could mean help getting his ass back to Los Santos.

'Fuck this asocial weirdo and his bears', he thought. 'I don't need that motherfucker's help! I'm gon' get some' to eat and find a phone or some'. There has to be some nigga willing to help a brother out.'

After walking for about a hundred yards, dread and apprehension were starting to take their toll on the young man. While he was afraid of nothing, 'nothing' only encompassed what existed. And as far as Carl could tell, three feet tall cartoon-ish equines with bright pastel colors, horns, wings, and tattoos on their butts... well, those things didn't fit under the 'existing' category.
Clearly, his body wasn't ready for mindfuck of this magnitude. Just what in the fuck did he do last night?

His six feet stature allowed him to maintain some composure as he entered the town proper, watching in a mix of awe and fear as some of the little creatures went about their day, while most of the others scurried away from him. Carl couldn't believe his eyes, but he was starting to feel pretty sober by now, and everything was so vivid... maybe The Truth was right all along.
Maybe those strange midget horses were government algorithms trying to pick up his brains, or whatever the fuck the hippy had tried to warn him about. Seriously, simply walking around this small town was even stranger than stealing green alien shit while flying his personal sixty million dollar jetpack.

The sight of these creatures running away from him with disturbingly human-like sounds did little to reassure him. Sure, they were scared of him... as they should be. But what if they saw him as a real, imminent threat? As much as he hated to admit it, fist fighting against large groups wasn't Carl's forte, and he knew he wouldn't be able to take on more than three or four of these little horses at once... maybe five, depending on whether they go for the nuts or not.
Even with his badass kickboxing moves, what would he do against dozens of quadrupeds at once, some of which having the ability to fly?

Walking into a (now near empty) marketplace, Carl saw two creatures standing near a stand. One of them was white with purple hair, and the other orange with blonde hair, and with some sort of brown thing on its head.
'Did another flying horse shit on it? That'd put 'em pigeons to shame for sure', he thought, a faint smile forming on his face for the first time since he had left the forest.

And were those... apples? He had never seen such huge, bright red, ripe apples. Goddamn, they looked delicious. Maybe because he was really hungry, but... heh.
Approaching the two equine creatures, Carl tried to look as friendly as he could, but it was a lost cause. He was way too gangsta for that shit. Pure, unadulterated swag was running through his veins, along with ice cold gangsta blood.
While the orange shit-covered horse ran away without even giving him a proper look, the white one didn't, and instead chose to eye him strangely as he came to a stop a few feet away.

Damn, there were so many things wrong with that pony-like thing... besides the obvious fact that standing at roughly three and a half feet, it was more akin to a large dog than to an equine, a lot of other things were off about it.

It had an exaggeratedly curly and unnaturally purple mane. Its tail was similar in color and style, and its body looked soft, almost like a marshmallow. It didn't seem to have any apparent features. Just smooth, white skin... or was it fur? It didn't seem to have visible muscles or actual hooves, either. Just smooth limbs ending in a rounded... something? How did they call the feet of a horse again?
And how did those things even walk around, with these feet?

It also had a small horn, with strange grooves running along it in a spiral pattern, and impossibly large deep blue eyes adorned with eyelashes faker than OG Loc himself. And finally, to top it all off, it had a strange tattoo representing three blue gems of some sort on its butt. On both sides.
How were horses' butts called already? Flanks or something, right?
To his defense, there were no horses in San Andreas.

In any case, it definitely looked female, but Carl wasn't an expert in women. Even though he slept around from time to time, he often had more important things to do. Such as crashing finely tuned multi-million dollar sports cars into random buildings, and killing innocent people with his trusty M134 Vulcan Minigun.
Goddamn, he loved that thing, even though he had to spend months at the gym to even be able to lift it off the ground. Countless hours of sweating and straining his aching muscles well spent.

Giving the hipster midget horse a weird look, Carl crossed his arms over his broad chest as the pony looked up at him, before speaking up in an overly feminine tone.

"Oh, my goodness! What an absolutely horrible, dreadful creature! And your taste in clothing, darling! It is simply... oh, my! I will not tolerate such filth! Such an outfit is an insult to the fashion industry."

Carl raised an eyebrow, putting aside the fact that, well, a fucking cartoon horse just talked to him, and in English. He kneeled down, his dark brown eyes piercing into deep blue ones.
Did that bitch just dis his Binco threads?

"Just 'cause I look nice, you think I ain't for real?" he asked in his usual high-pitched, one hundred percent nigga voice.

By the looks of it, the little horse was the one to freak out at the fact that the other had the ability to talk. Screaming in an overly dramatic fashion, she turned around and galloped away as fast as her legs would carry her.

What kind of shit was that? What the hell was going on? Was there really such a thing as an alternate dimension?
Or was he just in the Pentagon, being probed by aliens in tinfoil hats disguised as government agents?

Fucking hell...
Carl sat up in the grass and a brought a hand to his chin, staring at the ghost town. Almost every single pony was hiding from him, and all doors and windows were shut. He sighed heavily, a particular memory of his childhood coming back to him.

Years ago, when he was still a little boy, he and his brother Brian used to play cops and robbers together, with a little twist. Whenever the robber was caught, he had to invent a story, and explain the cop why he had decided to become a robber in the first place.

Initially, the answers were pretty simple.
'I had to feed my family, officer.', 'I have no job, dude!' and 'Fuck tha police, nigga!' were pretty common answers, as they honestly couldn't think of many other reasons why a man would want to steal. However, as the years went by, and as the perspective of actually having to steal in order to survive became more and more real to the two teenagers, they realized that beyond greed, there were no real reasons why one would want to become a robber... it was more of a necessity. Make a living off stealing others' goods.
At least in Los Santos in that era, it was a necessity for some. For many, in fact.

Obviously, there was the occasional couple of street thugs hitting a liquor store, looking for a cheap thrill... but in the end, the prospect of having to become a petty thug in order to survive wasn't appealing to either of them.

While their older brother Sean seemed to be interested in becoming a gang member, always trying everything he could think of to impress members of the Orange Grove Families, as it was called back then, the two younger siblings didn't want any of that. They quickly realized that two young Afro-American boys growing up in the ghetto in the late seventies, in a city torn apart by gangs, drugs and corruption had very little chance to become something other than small-time thugs, so they began to think about alternate solutions. Potential ways out.

While they never found a viable one, Brian once suggested that they could try to build a machine that would send them into an alternate dimension, where San Andreas would be a beautiful place with jobs and money for everyone. It already sounded stupid in their twelve year old minds, but it still wasn't sounding quite as stupid as having to grow up in these conditions.

Nearly fifteen years later, the idea of another dimension even existing still sounded stupid in Carl's mind, but not quite as stupid now that he seemed to be stuck in one himself. What could he do? Could he ever get back home? Were there vehicles there? Besides the fact that he loved nothing more than jacking a fast ride, getting around on foot would get old pretty quickly.
Was there some sort of police force here, or would he be free to wreak havoc as he pleased?

A grunt stirred him out of his thoughts. Glancing at a bush nearby, Carl saw a light green horn protruding from it. One of those midget horses was spying on him?

Ninja these motherfuckers.

Using his super stealth techniques that Ryder's homie LB taught him a long time ago, Carl 'Clockwork Ninja' Johnson made his way to the bush without alerting whatever was inside. Reaching for the protruding bony appendage, he flicked it and heard a small yelp of surprise from the creature.
As it emerged from inside the bush, the light green unicorn stared at him in awe.

Wait, green?
Grabbing it by the horn and bringing it up to eye level, Carl gave it a confused look, still not willing to admit he wasn't in San Andreas anymore.

"Yo, what up? What you wearin' colors for, dude?"

The creature's look of amazement quickly turned into one of confusion as she brought a hoof to her chin. "Um, I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about, but... oh, my sweet Celestia! You're a human! I knew I was right all along! Ha! Take that, Bon Bon! You stupid hater! Oh my, I can't believe it, you're a human! She's gonna be so jealous! You're... you're real! You're... well, um... you look a little burnt. Are you alright? Did somepony hurt you?"

Ignoring the 'insult' as he dropped the pony in disbelief, Carl scratched his balls. This shit was a whole new level of fucked up. Seriously, he was dealing with shit on a whole other level here. Even waking up in the middle of a cartoon forest in another dimension seemed normal to him now, compared to that mare's behavior.

"Ain't no colors gettin' you no respect if you ain't respectin' yo' colors, man!" he said matter-of-factly, pointing a finger at the aquamarine unicorn. "You's a mark."

Shooting a glance at her flank, Lyra gave the tall alien a strange look. "Um, yes, I have a mark... it's called a cutie mark. Is that what you meant, mister human?"

Carl frowned. "Hey look man, cut the shit, dude! I don't care where you from, what 'hood you be representin' or nothin', I just wanna know where the fuck we at. This... this ain't San Andreas, is it?"

"Um... no? You're in Ponyville, in the kingdom of Equestria... I have never heard of that San Andreas place, but... you're a human! And you're like, real! Oh my Celestia, we need to do human stuff together! Can you teach me? Hey, can I touch you? Please?" the young mare asked enthusiastically as she raised a hoof, which Carl quickly slapped away.

"Hey yo, back the fuck up. I'm gettin' a lil' pissed here." he said, taking a step back. "Now listen, I gotta get back to the 'hood, somebody's gotta be checkin' on shit, y'know? My homies an' shit, they gon' be worryin' 'bout my ass if I'm gone for too long. And where the fuck is Aquastriad? I ain't never heard of no place called like that."

"It's, um, it's Equestria... and well, mister human, I think you must be very far from your home..."

"Yeah? No shit."

"That's, um... t-that's all I can tell you, I'm sorry... My name is Lyra, by the way."

Carl frowned, bringing a hand to his face and stroked his badass goatee. "Damn... say, don't y'all have someone who knows shit?"

Trying her hardest to remember that strange zebra-human hybrid from an old episode of My Little Human, Lyra was starting to understand a few parts of Carl's dialect. "Well, there is this librarian pony, Twilight Sparkle. If anypony can help you, it would be her... I think. She lives in the Golden Oaks library, it's the large tree on the edge of town. You can't possibly miss it."

Half-listening to the green pony, Carl couldn't stop staring at the grooves running along her horn. They looked so... strange. He just had to touch them.

"So um, do you want me to... maybe walk you there? Or I could-" Lyra was interrupted as rough human skin made contact with her sensitive horn. "Eeeep!"

Carl recoiled in surprise, and shot her a confused glance. "'Sup? Did I hurt yo' ass or some'?"

Blushing profusely, Lyra smiled and brushed the back of her head with hoof. "No, no, I'm sorry, you just startled me, um..." she trailed off, trying to remember some more of the strange dialect used by the zebrumans. "So, what up mah dawg?"

Letting out a small chuckle, Carl stood up as he looked at Lyra in a mix of confusion and amusement. "Look, thanks for the help and all, but I'mma go see that Toilet Struggle bitch you be talkin' about. Maybe she can help my ass."

"Um... it's Twilight Sparkle. What's your name, mister human?"

"The name's Carl. Carl Johnson."

"Alright, mister Johnson. I hope you can find whatever it is you're trying to find... it was an honor meeting your kind."

Carl raised an eyebrow at her implication. "My kind? 'The fuck you tryna say?"

"Well, humans, of course!" Lyra replied confusedly.

"Humans? What you mean? There ain't no... aw, shit..." he trailed off, realization dawning on him. "You mean there ain't no humans in Equestria?"

"Um, no... but now there is one! Oh my gosh, I'm so excited!"

"Jeah... whatever you say, man. Look, I'll catch you later, a'ight?" the young man said, turning around as he started to walk away. No humans? That was fucking outrageous. Who was gonna... well, anything. Everything. Carl couldn't quite imagine life without other humans.

"Good luck, mister Carl! I hope you, um..." she trailed off once again, wishing she had brought with her her fanfiction based on the script of the zebruman episode. "Yo, later, playa! I hope y'all gon' be pimpin' 'em hoes, doe! Y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"Damn, you're one fucked up lil' horse, man." Carl chuckled heartily as he raised an arm without looking back at the green mare.

Lyra was boiling with excitement, watching as the young male made his way towards Twilight's treebrary in the distance. "Yes! A compliment! At least it sounded like he was complimenting me... it wasn't negative anyway. That means he must like me!" she managed to articulate through frantic fangirl screaming. Her first encounter with a real human had sure lacked a bit in the romance department, but... it would be all the sweeter in the end, right?
Right?

no

Author's Notes:

I wish I felt sorry for this, but I don't.

8 months later

And retrospectively now, I deeply regret not having had CJ meet Zecora... oh well.