Vespucci Beach

January 1st, 2014

"GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING UNDERWEAR!"

A massive bodybuilder towered over Trevor, dangling his dirty underwear in one hand and pushing Trevor away in the other. It was New Years Day, and almost everyone was going to the beach to celebrate. Trevor went too, but to get some weed only, as that was the only legal drug in San Andreas.

"I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME MY UNDERWEAR, I WILL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF!"

Trevor, by now, was fuming mad. He was wearing some swimming trunks that he bought just to "blend in" and his tattoos on his torso was showing. The "R.I.P Michael" tattoo on his arm was still present, along with new tattoos along his arms and body. The bodybuilder, however, remained unamused by the spectacle. Trevor repeatedly threw raging punches at him, and the bodybuilder cheerfully jumped to the side whenever Trevor threw one. His one weakness was his speedos, however. A mistake that he would regret, and Trevor would relish.

Trevor landed a powerful kick to the balls of the bodybuilder, and he flopped to the ground in pain. Trevor reclaimed his underwear, and praised his victory by posing on top of the fallen man. The onlookers of the fight silently backed away while nervously cheering, as to not anger Trevor. He hopped off the man, and proceeded to the Smoke on the Water shop along the beachfront. He plopped in one of the new tools, and queued for a blunt to smoke.

As Trevor sat waiting for his blunt to be rolled and filled, his eyes were peeled to the television out of boredom. A Weazel News broadcast was playing, and Trevor began to watch intently.

"This is Weazel News, confirming your prejudices.

We have a groundbreaking news story coming in from Chicago for all of you today!"

Trevor strained to remember where Chicago was.

Chincago...no, Chicago! In Minnesota...no! Goddamn it, where is it...

ILLINOIS! Hell yeah, score one for Trevor's mind, assholes!

"The Fox has eluded capture for a long time within Chicago; causing peace and chaos within the city. Some say that he is a hero, protecting the innocent from being prey of crime.

Others say that he is a disgrace to keeping the peace, claiming that he is making the budgets smaller and smaller for the police force. All agree, however, that The Fox has recently disappeared from Chicago entirely. No sightings or reports of The Fox have came in in recent days.

Is The Fox dead? Or, has he found a new place to fight crime and displace careers?

Next time, on Weazel News."

Trevor stared at the screen, absorbing all the information. He scratched his cheek unconsciously, thinking about "The Fox"

The Fox? What the hell type of name is that? Has that guy ate a damn peyote? Or is he just batsh-

"Do you want your weed, man?"

Out of surprise, Trevor grabbed the outstretched arm and plunged it into the glass counter, shattering it into pieces and bloodying the man's arm.

"MY ARM! I CAN'T FEEL IT, YOU CULO!"

Trevor ran out of the shop, with the blunt in one hand and a middle finger in the other.

"Hey, you surprised me first, asswipe!"

Trevor darted down some interconnected alleyways near the shop, before sitting down near a garbage dumpster to rest and toke the blunt. Sirens rang on the roads outisde of the alleys, most likely coming for Trevor. He sat there for some time, smoking and coughing, until the sirens ceased their blaring. Then, he got up and took out his phone. He dialed the phone number for Michael, and stood agitated until the phone answered.

"T, I'm busy with something. What do you want?"

"Mikey, do you wanna go bowling?"

The phone hung up.