11:38p.m., Palomino Freeway, Los Santos County

"...Well I guess we lost him… S'all good, s'all good. How can you be mad when you live in Los Santos? The most amazing city on Earth. It's so beautiful… damn!"

The sounds of the Araabmuzik remix of Kaskade's 4AM began to fill the Buffalo S's interior as Franklin pressed his foot on the gas pedal, propelling the car forward on the freeway, taking over many other automobiles on the road. The intensive trap beat of the song blended fantastically with the soft, female vocals, complimenting well with the night drive, thus making the journey seem faster than it really was. Feeling a buzz in his jacket, Franklin swiftly pulled his phone out. Revealing the call to be from Steve Haines, Franklin promptly dropped the call.

I'm going for your ass first, motherfucker. Franklin schemed. For Trevor.

Franklin had to admit, in many ways, that Trevor was saner than the rest of Los Santos by a longshot, not to mention his undying loyalty to everyone he worked with, no matter how crazy he was. He made sure that everyone had payday, and that if you had any enemies, he made sure that they experienced a pain worse than hell. In contrast to Michael, who snitched out to the FIB Witness Protection back in '04, followed by Franklin himself, who betrayed them both.

In fact, had both Michael and Trevor been still alive, they would have taken the fight up to Devin and his cronies, ending this whole mess. Instead, Franklin was overcome by his own will to survive, seeing them both as obstacles, Franklin did the unspeakable.

"I thought I had the one Judas! Now I'm surrounded by them!" The pain in Trevor's voice was something that could never escape his mind, for as long as he lived.

It was almost midnight, the traffic was easily one of the easiest to bypass in all of his years driving in Southern San Andreas, with no more than five cars driving along at one time. Excellent, less time to waste.

4AM began to decrease in pitch and tempo, courtesy of Flying Lotus, lightening up the stressful atmosphere. Franklin was now able to mentally plan out what he wanted to do.

First, he needed to ask Lamar for some help, probably jack some old ass car that won't be spotted by them five-oh and use it for later.

And then, he needed to call Lester to ask about the whereabouts of both Steve Haines and Devin Weston.

Attaching a silencer, Franklin reloaded his pistol, planning for use against Haines later.

12:01 a.m., Forum Drive, Strawberry, Los Santos

"Ey yo, Lamar! It's me, dog! Open the door!" Shouted Franklin, knocking on his homie's door loudly, getting ugly looks from the neighbors.

"Ey, cut it out, nigga!" Shouted back Lamar before opening the door. "Niggas be sleepin' right now, nigg-ah!" Dragging the last word slightly.

"I feel you man, but this is important."

Stepping into Lamar's crib, the pair quickly copped the chairs and sat down. Franklin, taking yet another deep breath, explained the whole situation directly into his friend's face, who immediately expressed shock and disdain for his actions.

"Man, that's cold." Lamented Lamar sadly. "So the old dude killed the crazy motherfucker, an' then you iced the old dude, yo' mentor? That's story of your life, nigga!"

"Not really." Said Franklin, taking a huge gulp of a forty ounce. "It ain't something I wanna live with, you feel me nigga?"

"So you're tellin' me, you're gonna cap Devin Weston, AND Steve Haines?"

Franklin gave a small smirk.

"That's right, dog."

Franklin felt yet another buzz from his phone. This time, it was a message from Amanda.

"I found about what you did to Michael, you piece of shit. I hope you burn in hell. Stay away from my family."

Franklin was momentarily at a loss of words, ignoring what Lamar was saying at the moment.

"Hey, dog. You alright?" Asked Lamar, worried about Franklin's expression.

"Nigga, it's nothing, dog. So you were saying?"

"So where do I come in, nigga?" Said the lanky gangbanger enthusiastically. "What 'chu want me to do?"

Ten minutes later…

12:13 a.m., Downtown Los Santos

The car was a disheveled, generic gray tone Vapid Stanier, one of the most common cars in the city of Los Santos and perhaps the state of San Andreas. Both Franklin and Lamar had just stolen it from some crackhead from around the block, and were waiting for Franklin's next move.

Franklin opened up his list of contacts, and selected the name 'Lester'.

"Who is this? Stop calling this number!" The man from the other line spoke menacingly, with a hint of paranoia.

"Relax, L. It's me, Franklin."

"… I've got nothing to say to you." Said Lester, audibly upset. "You have your money from the score, don't you? Now leave me alone. I don't wanna be your next target."

"Man, hold up!" Shouted Franklin angrily. "I wanna make it up for Michael and Trevor, I just need one last favor, dog!"

"So now you're trying to atone, huh?"

"If you put it like that, yeah!" Continued Franklin. "Those two dudes might not be the best people in Los Santos, but at least they tried to help me dog! They taught me many things about life and shit, got me out of the hood, man! And the money shows!"

Lamar chuckled a bit upon hearing this statement.

"Looks like Mr. Gold Card's bragging about his high life and shit-!"

"Nigga shut up! Anyway, Lester. Just tell me where the fuck Haines and Devin are, an' I'll by on my way, I promise I won't bother your ass again!"

"Give me a moment."

After a brief moment of silence, the phone began to sound again.

"Agent Steve Haines, FIB, last seen at Del Perro Pier, just finished filming an episode of 'The Underbelly Of Paradise' and is probably on his break right now. My guess is that, he's at the bar there, drinking."

"And what about Devin, dog?"

"…Nothing on him yet, I'll call you back if I'm picking up anything. We have to hang up soon. And Franklin?"

"What?"

"Good luck."

Franklin hung up the call quickly, and returned the phone to his jacket, with Lamar on the wheel to Del Perro Pier.

"Nigga, Steve Haines is FIB, you know we gonna get heat on us!" Said Lamar, visibly scared.

"That's why we gotta do it discreetly, nigga!"

"Nigga, 'discreetly' is when we end up in the morgue, fool!"

"C'mon, he's the reason why T's dead, dog! Tell you what, I'll think of something when we get there, so chill dog, I got this!"

Lamar paused for a second.

"Hope you right, homie. Then maybe after that we can peek at them bitches over at the Unicorn!"

Accelerating the sedan across the now quiet streets of Los Santos, the duo make their way to Del Perro Pier.