“You know, this is nice. Just us two, hanging out. No Trevor, no bullshit, no nearly dying from crazed government officials of eccentric billionaire psychopaths.” Michael turned the corner, nearly running over an old lady, who started cursing out his name before he flipped her off behind his back, his middle finger clearly seen in the open air of the convertible he was driving. “Yeah, this is great, don’t you think, Franklin?”
“Shit, man, I’m just glad I haven’t been riddled with bullets for an entire week straight,” Franklin said, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest and sinking into his seat—the most expensive leather money and good connections could afford. “Been tired of that shit happening every fucking day.”
“Yeah, I hear ya.” Michael swerved the car out of the path of a drunk homeless man throwing empty beer bottles at other vehicles. “Huh. Strange. Usually that guy is only out on Tuesdays.”
Franklin glanced to the side at the high-rise skyscrapers of Los Santos, glittering in the sun and lost in a haze of overbearing summer heat. On the streets the extremely wealth flashed their status with fast cars, expensive clothing, unhealthy for the body but not the eyes plastic surgery, and of course a score of sleazeball bimbos falling their every step. All in all, typical Los Santos.
Stretching and grunting after his spine cracked several times, Franklin asked, “So, where you wanna go? Movies? Strip club? Bar? Everything in that order?”
“Anywhere, man. As long as we have a good fucking time. And for once, without Trevor.” Michael smirked, nonchalantly cruising through red lights and swerving in and out of passing cars. “Now we don’t have to worry about burying a dead body at the end of the night… again.”
“Speaking of Trevor, where he been?” Franklin asked. “Haven’t seen that crazy fool in ages.”
Michael shrugged. “Last I heard he was lying low. You know how he is. Probably paranoid that some heat is still after him. Or he’s fucking excited for it.” Michael sighed and shook his head. “You can never tell with that guy.”
Before Franklin could respond, Michael’s phone started ringing. Withdrawing it from his pocket and hitting the call button, Michael said, “Hello?”
“Michael! Shit, Michael, I need help!”
Michael frowned. “The hell is this?”
“It’s Chef! Y’know, Chef, Trevor's meth cooker. I helped you with that heist one time?”
“Oooh, right, Chef. Nice to hear from you, man. How you holding up?”
“Not fucking good right now. Oh god, Trevor, and the store, the explosions… fucking cannibals!”
Michael rolled his eyes, smashing his car into a motorcyclist that was edging far too close for his comfort. “Chef, Chef, just calm down. Tell me what happened from the beginning.”
Chef gulped on the other side of the line. “W-Well, Trevor had just arranged a huge meth deal with some mountain crazies he’s dealt with in the past. I told him it was a bad idea, but he wouldn’t listen! Then they showed up with guns a-and started shooting up the place!” Chef paused, cursed a few times in the distance, his mouth no longer near the receiver, then he was back and said, “Fuck, Michael, it was bad. There was an explosion and Trevor disappeared! Like, I couldn’t find his body or anything. And when I went to his trailer, it was gone, and Ron with it! Fucking burned to the ground!”
“Whoa, hold up, Ron was burned alive?” Michael asked.
“What? No. Well… I’m not exactly sure. All I do know is that someone put the hit on Trevor during the deal, burned down his trailer, and possibly either murdered or kidnapped Ron. Which… in hindsight this all seems like it was bound to happen eventually. I’m actually surprised it took this long.”
“Listen, Chef, just stay put and me and Franklin will be right over. Who knows, maybe we’ll find Trevor or some clues to where he’s at.” Michael swerved the car around in a full u-turn and put some weight to the gas. “Think you can handle that?”
“Yeah, sure, sure, I can definitely do that. Jesus Christ, this has just been too fucking much.”
“Tell me about it. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Michael hung up the phone, then turned on the radio station and started whistling to the rock song that was playing.
Franklin leaned forward in his seat and started at Michael’s unworried face with a mix of disbelief and scowling. “Whoa, the fucking hell? Trevor’s fucking dead and you don’t even care? Jeez, and here I thought you two managed to bury the hatchet. So fucking what for that then.”
“Hey, Chef couldn’t find the body. That gives me good reason to believe Trevor is alive. In fact, I’m almost positive he is. You know how tough that bastard is? He’s probably off somewhere, killing whoever put the hit on him. And then fucking their skulls.”
Franklin nodded slowly while rubbing his chin. “Yeah, yeah, that does sound like him all right.”
“See? So there’s nothing to worry about.” Michael stopped at a red light for the first time since their trip started, apparently only as an excuse to stretch out in his seat. “He’s probably just fine.”
“Yeah. Pro—” Franklin’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped like an anvil from the sky. “The fucking hell?”
“What?” Michael asked, looking at Franklin’s shocked appearance out of the corner of his eye.
“Just… just fucking look.” Franklin pointed to the street.
There, draped in the color of traditional green, was a Families member, one of the biggest gangs in Los Santos, and with this menacing hulk of gang-related violence was someone sporting the color purple, a Balla. Both of them were together, drinking… tea, at a table in front of some pretentious hipster coffee shop. They were drinking tea and laughing and knocking elbows into each other like old friends.
Michael blinked several times, then finally wiped at his eyes with the back of his end, but it was to no avail. What he was seeing now was completely real.
“Oh Christ, don’t the Ballas and Families hate each other?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, or at least they used to. But… this,” Franklin waved his hand in the air, like he wanted to wipe away the image of the tea drinking bloodthirsty gangsters, “this doesn’t fucking happen. Ever.”
“Well, that is certainly strange… but hey, I’ve seen stranger.” Wanting to leave the awkwardness that had cemented itself from the scene, Michael pressed the brakes without even checking to see if the light had turned.
In doing so, he ‘accidentally’ ran over a random pedestrian, who unfortunately for him and Michael was stuck underneath the wheels of Michael’s car, thus making it impossible for Michael to floor it. Sighing, Michael backed the car up, thus running over the pedestrian a second time.
“Well, isn’t this fucking great,” Michael grumbled, waiting for the pedestrian to get up or to hit the gas pedal once more.
Struggling to get to his feet, the bruised, battered, and altogether horrible mess of injuries pedestrian gave Michael and Franklin a thumbs up and shouted, “Don’t worry, I’m alright! My bad! Have a nice day!”
And with that the pedestrian walked off, right before he was ran over by a racing ambulance that was tearing up the streets.
Leaning his torso outside the window to get a glimpse of the passing ambulance, Franklin asked, “What about that, huh? Was that stranger than what you’ve seen before?”
“Fucking Christ, a pedestrian actually apologized. Apologized to me.” Michael rubbed at his eyes and sighed. “What’s happening with this world?”
Franklin’s head tilted back, his eyes only grew wider by the second, and if his jaw could fall any lower it could practically fall out and walk off on its own. “Uh…”
“What?” Michael asked, turning around in his seat as well.
Both of them then observed what could only be described (without sounding completely psychotic) a flying white horse being pursued by several military helicopters. Just when the horse passed by overhead, a helicopter dipped down close and attempted to spray it with machine-gun bullets, instead only succeeding in nearly riddling Michael and Franklin with holes.
“Goddamnit! What’s going on here?” Michael covered his eyes to protect them from the spray of broken glass from the car windshield.
“I don’t fucking know, man!” Franklin tapped on Michael’s shoulder, pointing behind the pair where several black vans and armed vehicles were pushing aside rush hour traffic to make their way towards the duo. “But I don’t wanna find out. What’s the plan?”
Michael growled under his breath, stared to the skies at the helicopter and horse chase currently being conducted, and then glanced back over his shoulder at the fast approaching vans.
“First, put a seatbelt on.” Michael’s foot hit the gas pedal with such a resounding force he could feel the bones being rattled by it, the car’s speed immediately sending both Michael and Franklin to be pushed into their seats. “And now let’s follow that horse!”