I do not own the Grand Theft Auto or Uncharted games in any form. This is a work of fanfiction.
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I do not condone violence against police at all. Portions of this fanfic will include violence in such a manner to keep true to canon with the games.
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Trevor stumbled awake in an alley, still drunk from the previous night of partying and still holding the last bottle he drank. He threw the bottle to the side, which broke when it hit the pavement. "Ugh, a lesser man would think he'd been abducted by aliens." He muttered to himself as he staggered toward his truck.
He paid little mind to the blood or mangled bicycle stuck in the brush guard, as this was not strange to him anymore, and he was still drunk. He started the truck and began driving. His erratic driving caught the attention of the city police, who gave chase. No stranger to pursuit, Trevor put the gas pedal to the floor and started pulling away from them. His truck was heavily modified with a turbocharger, PCM tune, performance transmission and suspension. He also had the foresight to have bulletproof tires and composite armor panels installed, so he wasn't going to be easy to catch.
He flipped the bird to the police, which only enraged them. They attempted a pit maneuver, which only partially succeeded. All it really did was turn his truck broadside, which was a mistake. He pulled his Micro SMG and opened fire, shooting out the tires on the police cars. He put the gas pedal down and tore off again.
More police had joined the pursuit, but they didn't faze him. He started tossing grenades from the truck, cooking them so they detonated near the police cars. One of the grenades had its intended effect, detonating close enough to rupture the gas tank, which made the car flip over in flames. The police backed off, waiting until the helicopter was in position. When it arrived, the sharpshooter was instructed to shoot at his tires. Each shot met a tire, but didn't blow it out. "You pricks need to learn who you're dealing with!" Trevor shouted, turning to fire at the helicopter.
He emptied a whole clip from the SMG into the tail and tail rotor, which caused enough damage to the rotor to force the pilot to make an emergency landing. The pursuit continued onto the freeway. His truck was able to keep a solid lead on the police, thanks to its modifications. Wanting to shake them before getting too close to the airfield, Trevor drove into oncoming traffic, making other drivers slam on their brakes and swerve to avoid getting hit. The police fell back, not wanting to follow him into the opposing lanes.
When his dirt road exit came up, he cut over fast, causing more drivers to swerve and run into each other. The city police had called ahead to the sheriff's office in Blaine county to advise them about Trevor. Anticipating the sheriff's response, he dropped the truck into neutral and put the transfer case into four wheel drive. He put it back in gear and drove off the road and over the hill, trying to remain out of sight until the police decided to terminate the pursuit.
His tactic worked, as the police cruisers were not able to climb the hills in the area. He kept stopping and looking around, watching to make sure he was out of sight. After staying hidden long enough, the scanner came alive again. "Field units unable to locate suspect, recommend discontinuing pursuit."
"Field, this is dispatch. Affirmative, return to base."
Content that he had lost his police tail, he drove back onto the road and headed for the Sandy Shores trailer park. He picked up his phone and dialed Ron. "Trevor, how're you doing, boss?" Ron answered.
"I'm hungover and hungry. Make me some coffee or I'll cut your arm off." Trevor replied in his typical fashion.
"Sure thing. Want something to munch on too?"
"Uh, yeah. Microwave that thing in the fridge."
"What, the chili?"
"Yeah, chili. That's exactly what it is."
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Michael was making use of his tennis court with his wife. They lobbed the ball back and forth, going steadily until the game had a winner. They went into the house and hit the shower. Not long after cleaning up, Michael walked out to his garage, about to get in his less than legally obtained Truffade Adder and go to a lunch meeting with Solomon and some producers from the studio.
Since the information about the Adder was scrubbed when he took it to Los Santos customs, he didn't have to worry about the police pulling him over. Even if they did, they couldn't hope to keep up. The car came stock with an 1,100 horsepower twin turbocharged V12 engine, a 7 speed automated transmission and all wheel drive. He had it modified, with bigger turbos, PCM tune, racing transmission and a few other goodies. The Adder was far beyond anything the police had available.
He had become accustomed to powerful and fast cars in recent months, since he got back into the game. He still spun the tires at Green lights, banked around turns fast and even ran a few red lights. He didn't do it to get the police on him, he just didn't care anymore.
Michael soon arrived at the restaurant for the meeting, and he was directed to the back, to the VIP club area. "Michael, you magnificent bastard! Get over here and let's get started." Solomon said, greeting his assistant.
The meeting went well, and everything was fairly standard. Contract negotiation, script changes and the like. After the Union Depository job, Michael didn't really need to work anymore, but he enjoyed working for a movie legend like Solomon, so he didn't really consider it to be work.
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Franklin and Lamar were hanging out partying with people from Grove Street, playing loud music, drinking whisky and passing blunts around. The neighbors came over and knocked on the door, which Lamar answered. "What up, you comin' over to get lit? We got plenty to go around." He said.
"Um, no, but thanks. Is there any chance you could turn the music down?" They asked.
"Um, no. You're welcome to come in here and chop it up with us, though."
Defeated, the neighbors went back home. The party continued into the late hours. Everyone was passed out and wouldn't wake until the next day. Franklin had left to pick up some things from the store right around the way. He rode his motorcycle, which was obtained back when he was doing repo jobs for Simeon. He owned a Los Santos customs franchise, so he could very easily and cheaply have his vehicles modified. Just like the others, he had the bike fully modded with engine and transmission upgrade, custom exhaust, custom leather saddle bags, turbo, xenon lights and high performance brakes.
Franklin picked up some light snacks and non alcoholic drinks to help flush out some of the whisky and other stuff. He put everything away and headed back home.
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The next morning came and Trevor woke up slowly. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge to start his day. Before too long, Ron came over with some news. "Hey boss, I've got a line on a big job, if you're interested."
"Eh, why the hell not. What ya got for me?"
"One of my contacts put me in touch with someone who is looking to pull a huge score. He'll need help from seasoned professionals like yourself."
Trevor looked at his bank balance on his phone, which was still well into the millions. "You do know I'm still gold rich, right?"
"Boss, this promises to be a big enough score to dwarf the UD job."
"Hmm, you have my attention. Who's looking for the assistance?"
"A former Navy man who just calls himself Sully."
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