"HATE"

That was the only word the Canadian with the dark hair could muster. Hate word was the only word he could use to describe Los Santos. He hated the plastic and silicon women, the stupid men, the accents, the hipsters, the celebrities, the noise, the… the everything. He desired quite strongly for this city to disappear. He didn't know how this hell on earth would disappear, but he knew for sure that he wanted it to.

Presently the Canadian was sitting in his Bodhi, outside of the strip club he had … acquired from the previous manager. It was hot. He was sitting in an un-air conditioned car at noon in L.S. He did not care. He was used to heat; his trailer was in Sandy Shores. He was far away from that torrid paradise he called Sandy Shores.

The heists were over he had mad forty-two million dollars from the UD. That was two months ago. He had nothing to spend it on. He had planes, cars, and all the whores he could want. He did not need that money.

He was bored. Very, very bored.

Boredom was not an emotion Trevor could handle well, For Trevor, boredom begat restlessness, restlessness begat recklessness. Recklessness meant injuries any citizen caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would have gone to Maude for another job, but the only criminals left in Blaine County were associates of his. He would have made a few weapons runs for Guzman, but the business was slowing after Ammu-nation expanded into Canada and Mexico. Wade was gone. He got rid of the clownface after several weeks of hearing about horrorcore.

"I could go and make some meth. No, Chef always gets all jumpy. Don't need no 'xplosion. Fuck! MY LIFE IS SHIT! TREVOR, THINK OF SOMETHING TO DO!"

He was getting fidgety.

He turned the key, and the dirty, red pickup moaned to life. He pulled out on to Strawberry Avenue. He still did not know what to do but he felt a drive around San Andreas would help him think. He drove north, choosing that direction because he wanted to drive for hours. After an hour, Trevor was stopped on Whispymound Drive about to ascend the hill where Franklin's house was.

Suddenly he felt shaking. He thought it was the truck at first. He turned it off. The tremors continued and grew. The cars windows were rattling, the rear-view mirror was falling out of place. The quaking grew harsher. Trevor looked downtown the Maze Bank Building was on fire in the distance. The shaking was showing no signs of stopping. Trevor finally got the strength to say what this was. This was the big one.

"EARTHQUAKE!"

The truck was starting to roll down the hill. Trevor had not set the parking brake. He turned the truck back on hoping that Franklin's home survived and that its owner was still in it.

" Franklin," he was shouting up the hill to get the other's attention. He parked the car in Franklin's driveway. He turned off the truck and hopped out of it in one swift motion. Within a second he was ringing Frank's doorbell. Franklin answered the door.

"Shit dawg, I'm glad you okay come in." He ushered the Canadian in. "You call Mike yet. After a muthafucka like that, we gonna get a tsunami or some shit."

Trevor nodded no.

"Lemme get him on speaker then. Turn on the TV. My backup generator kicked on." Franklin scrolled through his contacts and dialed Michael. He put the phone on speaker

"Frank, thank fuck you're alive! We're all good down here we don't need any help."

Trevor turned around. "Not so fast pork chop, the weather service is predicting 150 foot a tsunami and Rockford Hills is too low. You gotta pick up Lester the Molester and bring him up here. Bring as much food as you can, preferably in cans. Bring as much gas as your cars can too."

"Thanks for the heads up T." CLICK

"Did you call you boy Lamar yet, Frank? What about your aunt?"

"Thank God, he in L.C. with his cousin Malc or something like that. My aunt is in West Elizabeth doing some colonic pelvic floor pussy clenching class or some shit." Trevor blinked rapidly wondering if Franklin was exaggerating. Franklin, ignoring the other man's exasperated face, continued, "How 'bout your boy Wade and that conspiracy guy on the radio."

"I was getting tired of Wade in the strip club so I sent him back up to Sandy Shores. I don't know if the Alamo Sea is high enough. Don't know if the wave'll come up Cassidy or the Zancudo River." He dialed Ron on the cell phone.

"Yes boss," the nervous man answered.

"Ron, collect Wade and Chef and fly a helicopter to the coordinates that I'm 'bout to send you land on the roof. It's flat enough an it'll support the weight. Bring as much gasoline as you can for the generator. Bring those satellite phones too. Actually, two choppers can fit on the roof. Tell Chef to pilot the Maverick. Get moving that big ol' wave will be here in five hours."

"You got it boss"

Franklin was astonished. He thought "Damn, when you give T something to do, he focus.

Two hours later Amanda pulled up in Michael's car with Jimmy and Tracey. She knocked on the door and the calmer of the two men, the owner of the house on the hill answered the door.

"Come on in Mrs. De Santa. Where's Mike?"

"He went to get Lester and some supplies. Speaking of, you and Jim should unload them from the car. We brought all the cans we had in the house, all the medical supplies and all the booze we could find. And call me Amanda."

"'kay, Amanda, I got four bedrooms in my house. I don't know how we gonna situate but we gonna do it."

"Hell, thanks for opening up your home. You did only God knows what with my husband, but we really appreciate this. Don't we kids?"

"Yeah, ma," said the roly-poly redhead.

"Yes we do, Franklin," said Tracey, batting her eyes.

Thirty minutes later Michael arrived in Amanda's convertible with Lester in tow. He had a box of files and on top of that a box of electronics. All four men of action want to Franklin's bedroom for a powwow.

"That tsunami is on the way, Frank," said Lester. "Now, how much cash do we have on us?"

"I got $5,500," said Trevor, "the rest is in the Bank of Liberty, but I've got the other 1.5 billion in the bank. Thanks for the investment tips Frank."

"You really gotta thank Lest for that. I got $12,000. I hope Fleeca has my muthafuckin' money insured ," replied Frank.

Michael had $7,200 on him. He was the most frightened of all. The Maze Bank Tower and Arena would send Maze Bank's stock to hell.

Lester thought for a moment and started outlining some options. "The way I see it, we've got three options. I heard Trevor's got his boys on the way here with a couple of helicopters. We could load everybody up and fly to Fort Zancudo. I tapped into their coms. Those army pussies can't even stay around. They're all evacuated. Well 90% of them are gone. You're all well armed, so that shouldn't be a problem. So we would go there grab a plane and fly to the mainland, to North Yankton. We would have to hide there to avoid suspicion. There might be some heat but you and Mikey can take care of that easy enough. Option two, we hijack a boat that's big enough for all ten of us. The only one I know of is at the Merryweather dock in Paleto Bay. That means we'll be fucking with Percival, again. That presents a problem because the boat would have to have enough gas to get to the mainland, again we have to go to a place as to avoid suspicion. A Merryweather transport would be the only boat that could get us back. Option three, we hunker down here. I have in that box a generator powered by water. Don't ask. I'm a good thief. It decomposes the hydrogen from the water and can give us perpetual power, one rescue gets here we take them out. We can't have them identifying us together, as we match the descriptions of the suspects from that… thing that happened. None of these are ideal but these are our options. Since it's your house we're using as base, it's you decision kid."

"Fuck, I don't like this. I guess I'll go with option …