"It's about-"

A loud groan of pain rips through pink, parted lips. Teeth dig into them to silence it, but the noise still escapes. Michael sits, hunched and shirtless, on his bed. A suture gripped tightly in one hand and a fistful of bloody grey towel balled in the other. His chest heaves, and Ray watches as he plunges the tool into the right side of his abdomen again. Ray had offered to fix Michael's self-stitches up, but Michael stubbornly refused anything but a spotter. This happened every time, but that didn't make it any better.

"It's about integrity," Michael says with difficulty, between frustrated huffs of breath. "We don't change for that guy. We make no room for him. We tolerate him but we don't-! God-!" Another frustrated, pained groan pierces the room as he inserts the tool again. "F-fuck."

Ray fidgets in his chair, wishing Michael would let his restless fingers do the work on his wounds. Or at least let him administer some numbing agent. Or hold the towel. At this point, anything but just sit and watch, really. Watching Michael's shaky hands plunge the needle in again and again was getting hard to stomach. "We'll have an advantage with another guy," he assures, not wanting to look directly at his stubborn friend's work.

"We don't need another guy!" Michael asserts firmly, biting back another yelp.

Ray falls silent on his thoughts. Yes, we could use another guy. He can feel his nose throbbing painfully under its quickly-applied wraps. He didn't like the sounds of Ryan either, but, he seemed capable enough. Another guy could have prevented more than one of Gavin's misactions. That kid really needed a sitter. Or a tranq dart.

"Integrity, Ray. We stay as we are," Michael meticulously pulls the last of the sutures into place and cuts the line with his teeth with a sharp snap. His breath begins to return to normal as he wipes sweat from his brow. "We're a balanced team already, and Ryan doesn't have a place here."

"Integrity is having some moral high ground."

"Thanks, did I ask for a dictionary? No, integrity- integrity is being self-contained and self-preserving." Michael sets down his tools and surgical thread on the bedspread and stands. He walks through the apartment towards the bathroom sink, eager to splash some cold water onto his face. "Besides, moral high ground? There is no such thing with Ryan… I'm pretty sure morality isn't a concept that he takes note of."

"So you're saying that our little clique here- our crew of two-bit gangsters- has some, no- any shred of integrity to speak of?" Ray watches as he does, skeptical of his friend's words. They're criminals, not philosophers. Morality wasn't a concept they took note of.

"We're self-contained, three-bit gangsters, Ray," Michael calls back as he stands in front of the mirror, examining his work. Better than before, he thinks. The wound is much cleaner now, and the stitches were more neatly done. The skin still looks bruised and discolored, but its condition had definitely improved. At least he didn't have any more shrapnel to remove. It already felt better to move and stretch. "Don't forget that. We start trusting people like Ryan Haywood, and we won't be self-contained anymore. We'll be splattered all over the walls."

The words hang in the air for a moment as Ray takes them in. Maybe he was right. For an ex-mobster, Michael had some sense in him.

Michael walks out of the bathroom, pulling on a plain red t-shirt. "Well, I'm tentative to say it, but I'm all patched up."

Ray watches as his friend walks across the apartment, and notices a distinct pull and drag in his step. "Not quite. You shouldn't overwork that stitch job, Michael. It'll never heal if you keep pulling them out over and over."

"Yes, boss," Michael snarks, "Don't worry about me, Ray. If Gavin messes us up again, he's going to be the one to need a stitch-up."

"I don't doubt that." There's a beat of silence before Ray asks, "So where is the MVP today?"

Michael shrugs, "We aren't his keepers, are we?"

"Right, that's Geoff's job," jokes Ray as he stands. Michael lets out a snicker as Ray wanders to the window of the Los Santos apartment. The morning sun floods in like a stream, and the gunman squints against the bright beam of light. Cars pass below, a sea of endless metal and human grumbling. "Thanks for letting me bum on your couch last night."

"No problem, man. I take care of my friends."

Two people catch Ray's eye on the street, and he watches the two sharply-dressed men weave in and out of the crowds. "Ahh… Shit," the sniper comments quietly. Michael walks calmly to the window and looks down onto the street. The two men below are dressed in white collared shirts and suspenders. Dark shades cover their eyes and one has a toothpick perched precariously on his lip. Michael hears them speaking quietly below, but can't make out any words. "It's those deadbeat detectives."

"They don't know we're here," comments Michael. Recently the two detectives- Heyman and Burns- were celebrated in the papers for finally picking up leads on the crew, but Geoff insisted that they weren't threats. Michael reassured himself that Geoff was to be trusted on this. They didn't have names or ID's on them. No places of residence or any idea where the garment shop safe house was. Taking care of them would be easy, he insisted back, but Geoff said no. As long as it was these two on the case, they were safe. Dispatching them would mean garnering more attention to the case. Better two lackluster detectives than all of the LSPD on their tail. Ultimately, Michael begrudgingly agreed.

Ray watches as the detectives stand below, one with a small notebook in hand. The other clutches a file folder. "You're probably right," he says offhandedly as the two disappear back into the crowd. "How could they possibly know?"

Michael's phone vibrates in his pocket and he slips the iPhone out. 'Boss' reads the name. He reads the text aloud, "Meet under the Vinewood sign at noon. -G" He checks the time and adds, "If we leave now, we can stop at Taco Bell and we'll still get there about noon."

Ray whoops loudly, excited at the prospect of food. He stands to gather a few things of his from around the apartment. Ray slings a backpack over one shoulder as Michael pulls a jacket over his tee. "What do you think we're doing? Team-building with the newly hired psychopath?" He jokes, but there's a serious tone underneath. He inwardly hopes it's nothing too strenuous for Michael's sake.

"Something of the like," answers Michael, slinging his own pack over his shoulder. Ray grabs the keys to his motorbike off the counter and the two head for the door of the third-story apartment. "Hopefully it's not-"

As Ray turns the door handle, he hushes Michael who quiets with a sour look. He hears deep, unfamiliar voices in the hall and gives Michael a serious expression. Michael waits for a moment to hear for himself before allowing Ray to open the door. "Casual," he reminds quietly.

"So as I was saying," Ray says in a practiced calm, managing to sound pretty genuine, "the movie was terrible! Very much a huge dude movie, and not in a good way." Michael absentmindedly grunts an agreement to the improvised dialogue as he glances back to see the two detectives interviewing an old woman a few doors down and silently prods Ray to move quicker. "It was a pretty bad rendition of the comic, if I do say so-" As they round the corner, a shout of 'hey! wait!' explodes from the far end.

Ray curses loudly as the two boys put an extra quick in their step and vault over stairs three or four at a time. "I don't think they wanna talk about movies with me," jokes Ray, skipping two stairs in a bound. Michael struggles to laugh and feels the strain in his side as his muscles tug and eat at his new sutures, but he pushes on determinedly.

"Well so much for that!" Michael shouts. They are feet from the entrance to the parking garage when a pair of strong hands grips them and pulls them back. Michael shouts in his panic, but he is muffled by the sleeve of a leather jacket. Ray and Michael struggle against the large man as they are pulled back under the darkened stairwell.

Michael takes mental inventory of his weapons. A pistol. A couple IEDs. A knife, somewhere. He struggles against the strong grip of the man, but he can't move at all. He opens his mouth against the leather and bites down as hard as he can. He feels his teeth fail to pierce the material, but he hears a familiar voice let out a pained breath behind his head. Instead of letting go, the grip on Michael is only tightened uncomfortably.

Frantic footsteps echo as the detectives come trampling down the stairs, and Michael quiets. He wasn't sure which he wanted to tangle with: the detectives or the man currently crushing his teeth. The detectives rush into the open mouth of the parking garage and share a defeated, agitated look. Heyman is lanky with somewhat unkempt, black hair. He looks far younger than his actual age, betraying his hard-earned years of experience. In contrast is Burns: a man with a moderate build and neat, well-maintained curls. They curse loudly and one says, "Do you think it was them?"

"Looked like 'em. Why else would 'ey run?" Burns spits his toothpick onto the ground. "Admittance of guilt, pal. They were our guys, or some other crooks. Hard to say without a better look at 'em… It was probably nothing."

There's a beat of silence while Heyman nods. He wears a thoughtful look. "What movie do you think he was talking about?" Heyman asked conversationally.

"Shuddup," Burns grumbles, turning away from him.

The men stand around for a few moments longer before heading back up the stairs to finish interviewing the woman. Michael slips his head upwards as far as he can against the constricting arm as Ray is released beside him. Ray gently surveys his nose and finds new blood dripping from one side. "Christ, Ryan," Michael states with no amount of friendliness as he is released as well.

"Hey, with that tone, I could've let you been picked up by those stupid cops. And you didn't have to bite me," Ryan's voice sounds friendly but with an abrasive edge, as if he is only partially joking. His rifle isn't strapped to him, and that makes Michael feel somewhat more comfortable standing there. "You're going to meet Geoff with me."

"With you? Did Geoff send you to get us?" Michael looks incredulously at the man, rubbing his jaw. He catches a glimpse of the deep indentations of his bite on Ryan's sleeve and looks pleased with himself.

"Well, no," a devious smirk played at Ryan's lips. "I thought I'd pick you up. We are supposed to be friends now."

Ray wipes excess blood on his sleeve and replies in a harsh tone, "Partners. Not the same. Not quite friends."

Ryan winces in mock pain before sharpening, "That's really hurtful, Ray. Get in the car." He gestures to a black Oracle sitting just outside the parking garage. They comply, although begrudgingly. Michael remembers Geoff's words and goes quietly. Ray rides shotgun with Ryan, while Michael sits in the back. He prays that Ryan is a decent driver as the engine turns over.

"Hey Ryan," Ray says slowly. "You like Taco Bell?"

.,::,.

As they arrive under the Vinewood sign, Ray is still dabbing at the new blood pooling under his nose. One cuff on his favorite purple hoodie is now mottled with reddish brown. He takes a moment to mourn his loss. As the car stops, Ryan turns in his seat. "See? You've arrived in one piece."

Michael huffs, "Truly a miracle. We could've gotten here ourselves."

"Without aggravating our injuries," Ray spits quietly, wondering if his nose will ever be allowed to heal properly. There's a beat before he adds, "And you didn't let us stop for Taco Bell, you filthy animal."

"Guys!" The muted voice is almost unheard through the car's rolled-up windows. The three look just in time to see Gavin run at the car. He has a huge, excited smile on his face. He stumbles on a large stone and trips into the gravel in front of the car. There's a quiet, momentary groan from below.

Standing ten feet behind him are Jack and Geoff. The boss holds his head in his palm, resisting an amused smile. "You're a calamity," rumbles Geoff. Jack looks on, perhaps wondering how Gavin has survived to this point of his life.

"Jesus fuckin'-" Ray starts, but Michael's uproarious laughter cuts him off.

Ryan doesn't smile, and instead looks totally unimpressed with the lanky brit. "This guy owns a gun? God help us all." Michael takes a moment to silently appreciate Ryan's statement. Gavin stands, brushing dirt off of his shorts. The trio steps out of the car and Gavin greets the younger men excitedly.

"Yeah, Gavin. I take it you're excited," remarks Ray.

"Aw, Ray. You've gone and banged your nose again," Gavin sounds a bit concerned, but his voice is still filled with his signature sing-songy, cheerful tone. He raises a hand to 'inspect' it, but Ray doesn't let him.

"Didn't really have a choice in the matter," Ray grimaces lightly at Gavin with a slight gesture toward Ryan.

Gavin slaps Michael on the back with a dopey smile, "My boy!"

Michael winces in pain but seems good-hearted about it. "Your boy is still hurting a bit, Gav."

"Oh right. Sorry, Michael." Gavin retracts his gangly arms, then faces Ryan. He looks like he wants to greet the man, but is unsure of how to greet him correctly. Ryan waits with a slight, toothy smile. He looks like he's trying, at least. Before Gavin can say anything, he's interrupted by Geoff.

"Alright, that's enough of the pleasantries. Ryan, thanks for waking the boys up," Geoff seems to be in a good mood based on the playful string in his voice. "Before we can do anything worth doing, you two-" He gestures to Ray and Michael- "have to heal up a bit. Consider this more of an exercise than a job. I don't want to injure you more, so if you're in pain, by all means stop."

Ray and Michael share a glance. Ray's says, "listen to him, Michael." Michael's look replies, "fuck no." A broken nose would at least stay out of the way, but a torn side would hinder any kind of combat or quick escape. Ray sighs inwardly. Jersey boys are stubborn. He doesn't know why he bothers.

Geoff continues, "But it is a little competition… I want you to rob as many small-time stores as you can in the next two hours. Don't get sloppy. Don't get caught. Don't get yourselves killed over convenience store money. Don't lead the cops here. Make it back here with what you've got. Whoever gets the most gets all of it for themselves. It's a little game I like to call 'All for One'."

Ryan's eyes light up with excitement, like a big cat transfixed on its prey. Gavin raises a lanky arm. "Geoff," he squawks.

"Yeah?" All eyes move to Gavin expectantly.

"Can we be on teams?" Gavin asks. Each member groans, dreading the thought of being teamed with Gavin. Ryan, instead, looks perplexed and intrigued. Gavin was alright when he wanted to be, but he wasn't competitive. He uses all his energy on trying to screw up the other teams and accomplishes nothing in the end, in true Gavin fashion.

Geoff seems to think it over in his mind, "Alright, Gavin, we can be on teams." His blue eyes flicker to Ryan and he adds, "Ryan. Since you're new blood, you get first pick."

A small smile creeps across Ryan's face as he scans over the other men. Geoff? No, no. He already had the oldest man figured out. There would be more jobs, and more time to relive past glories with him. His eyes drag over to Jack. A strong getaway driver of few words, if his intel was up to snuff. At least he wouldn't be annoying, but would he be of use during the job? Ryan didn't know.

Michael… The fiery redhead was someone he knew little about these days. Despite his wounds, he seemed as spirited as ever; Ryan would give him that. Although that nasty stitch job would probably slow them down... Ray? Quick-witted, good with a rifle, albeit a touch nasally since Gavin's little show. Could grind on his nerves, he decides.

That leaves Gavin. Did he want Gavin? The brit was lanky and mischievous, with a hint of apprehension in his eyes. Perhaps he would be a good partner for Ryan or, if nothing else, a suitable challenge. An unorthodox partner, but an interesting one for sure. Maybe he'd put up the least fuss. "I choose… Gavin."

Everyone looks dumbfounded at Ryan's choice, even Gav. He turns to Ryan and tries to keep a friendly smile to communicate team spirit, but can't help but feel intimidated by the older, much larger man. Geoff recovers from his surprise, and tries not to laugh though it comes through in his voice, "Well, you heard him, Gavin. Good luck, buddy."

Gavin shoots a look at Geoff. "Right, boss," he says with defeat as Ryan slaps him on the shoulder with a grin. This was clearly not what he was hoping for.

Geoff addresses the group as a whole, "Michael, I want you and me together. Ray, you and Jack. Good luck boys. Remember-" he checks his watch- "be back here at 2:15. That's two full hours. If you're late, you better have been caught or killed. Go!"

The men start to disperse. Michael seems pleased to be paired with the boss, and matches his stride. Ray seems alright as well. Jack was a good match for him. Gavin, on the other hand, looks straight-up perplexed. He looks at Ryan, seemingly studying his features. The slight wrinkles by his eyes, his deep laughter lines, and the advanced furrow of his brow. He looks like a living death, but he looks like he's happy about it. Gavin squints accusatorially, "Why'd you pick me, Ryan? Don't you think I'm a hinderance?"

Ryan turns dismissively and starts to walk towards his Oracle, still running. "You'll argue the least," he answers simply. Before Gavin can find himself disagreeing, he's already getting in the car.

"But why not Geoff? Weren't you mates way back when?" Gavin says as he closes the door behind him with a soft thud noise. Excitement and fear bristle in the back of his head.

Ryan chooses his words carefully. "I know all of Geoff's old tricks. But you're a new dog... "

Gavin doesn't appear to like that statement, but keeps his mouth shut. He didn't want to find out what Ryan would do to someone he considered a bad dog. He quietly clicks his seatbelt in place, praying that Ryan is at the very least a decent driver.

"Maybe I can teach you a thing or two," finishes Ryan. It sounded like he had said it as an attempt at a joke, but it landed more like a threat. Gavin begins to sweat in his seat, and fiddles with the window controls to occupy himself. Although he was originally markedly less wary of Ryan than the others- boy, he was wary now. Ryan, whether he means to be or not, is an intimidating man.

"Um," starts Gavin, as the familiar streets of Vinewood Hills begin to peel away to be replaced with the sand and rubble of the grasslands north of the city. His eyes struggle to focus on a deer in the distance at this speed, and he instead looks down at his dirty converse sneakers. "Where are we robbing, Ryan?" Clearly, he decided, it wasn't his choice.

"An armored car. I know there's one up in these hills."

"But that's not-" Gavin is momentarily silenced by a slight warning look from Ryan, but tries to continue nonetheless. "Um. The boss said we were supposed to rob mom and pop shops. Small-time… places..." A sheepish, embarrassed look grows on his face. Why did he think Ryan cared about his protests? He was either with him or in the way, and in the way sounded like a bad place to be.

"And is the boss here right now?" Ryan asks slowly. Gavin shakes his head uncomfortably, edging closer to the window, to fresh air. He pulls in a breath, and almost can't believe his words. "...Right. How is he to know where the money comes from?"

Nonsense. Gavin's brow furrows deeply as the miles slide away. Geoff was smart. He'd know there would be too much money, Gav was sure… And he'd never deceive the boss. Well, not like this. And yet, something told him that Ryan knew what he was doing. Something told him he'd be better off listening to the man in the driver's seat. Maybe it was those eyes… They did remind him of Geoff's. A contemplative Gavin sits back and slips his handgun from its makeshift holster. "Okay. And how are we gonna do this?"

Ryan's teeth slide over his lower lip. "That's my boy… But put that away for now. I don't trust you not to accidentally fire it in here."

…

Michael presses his nose to the window like a child as he and Geoff roll up to a small store on the edge of the city. A few cars are fueling up outside at the pumps, but the store inside seems barren save for the bored clerk. It's a perfectly unexpected crime. Geoff opens the sunglasses compartment with a click to reveal a small flask and takes a swig of liquid luck. He pulls a pair of colored shades from the compartment as well, and slips them onto his face.

"What's the plan for this one, boss?"

The place was small for Los Santos. A couple pumps, only a handful of employees… Most of which, the boss assured, didn't speak a lick of English. Enough to rob, maybe just. But Geoff said it was a good bet, so Michael agreed.

"You make a fuss with the pump, and try to get as many employees as you can outside. There should only be a couple working. I'll take the cash. No hostages, and no bullets unless we have to," Geoff answers confidently as he kills the engine. "Should be easy picking. We'll be out of here before the cops can react. Security systems in these old buildings are slow and out-of-date, if they have one at all."

"Sounds good," Michael agrees.

Each man exits the car, Michael to the pump and Geoff to the storefront. He opens the fuel door with a soft click, and turns to take the pump in hand. He slips the nozzle into the car, and started messing with the console. Cancel, start. Cancel. Start. Cancel. Assistance. Cancel. He pushes the buttons heavy-handedly, like someone unaccustomed to technology.

Geoff strides to the front of the store, and entered without raising any looks. He might've been a bit too well-dressed for this shoddy little convenience store, but nobody seemed to notice his white collared shirt or bowtie. He made for the back refrigeration units, and pulled a Red Bull out for Michael, who was already creating an unholy fuss outside.

The Jersey-native was now kicking at the gas pump like a wild animal, prompting employees to go outside and ...well, do something. Mostly shout at him. Geoff looked on for a moment, and considered putting the Red Bull back into the fridge. It didn't look like Michael needed any more stimulation. He surveys the store quickly. Nobody but he and the man behind the counter.

He strides over to the cashier and puts the Red Bull on the counter. He pretends to fish for his wallet in his back pocket. The cashier doesn't expect what he's really fishing for. The cashier had been studying Michael with a glazed-over look, but greets Geoff with a friendly, heavily-accented hello.

Before Geoff can pull his pistol on the man, the loud, ear-splitting sound of a pack of police cars roars by. He freezes and jerks his gaze to the window to see the cars fly past the store and out of sight. A boiling anger rises in his throat, and he instead reaches for a crumpled five in his front pocket.

"Keep the change," he can't help but grumble as he tosses the bill on the counter. The man utters something that Geoff cannot decipher as he exits the store.

At this point, Michael had slammed the nozzle back into the pump station. His face, still red, is now calm as he addresses the shocked employees. "Thank you," he utters with a smile. They look at him as if they were looking at an alien, but they hesitantly wish him a nice day. Michael's smile turns to a frown when he meets eyes with Geoff.

Although it's clear the police aren't there for them, the two share a look laced with anger and surprise. A small-time robbery was not enough to warrant so many cop cars. Michael leans over the hood of the car to Geoff. "Already?! We just started!"

Geoff pounds a clenched fist on the roof, causing a small dent to erupt underneath his hand. Patrons of the gas station risk a look to the yelling men. "Either Gavin or that psycho… God dammit!" His voice breaks slightly and turns somewhat shrill. The boss looks deep in thought for a moment, considering leaving them to their devices.

Michael slips out his phone and sends a text to Gavin: "What did you fuck up now? Boss is pissed. -M"

A moment later, the reply comes: "Not a thng! Doin' the job, boi stop faffin abt. -G"

Michael's grimaces. He was absolutely up to something. Geoff, with a tired sigh, decides it best to go save Gavin's hide. Between the pack of patrol cars and Ryan… he might need some help. "I didn't wanna rob anyone else today anyway," grumbles Geoff like a pouting child.

"Sure you didn't, boss," Michael answers sourly as he gets into the car as well. He knew Ryan was trouble.

Geoff hands Michael the Red Bull with a small smile. "Nice work."

"Thanks, boss."

MOMENT'S BEFORE…

Gavin is hanging halfway out the open window as their car races down the highway. Duffel bags full of money rest in the back seat, unopened. Gavin is yelling in victory into the open air, and blood that is not his own decorates his face like splatters of war paint. "We did it, Ryan! I can't believe it. Absolutely mental, that was!"

Ryan, a bit disheveled and bloody himself, smiles slowly over the steering wheel. "Yeah. Me either." They had not-so-gently stopped and cracked opened the armored car. The only thing left behind were the two bodies of the vehicle's previous drivers, which Ryan kindly left in the ditch. "However, we are a little conspicuous now."

The car looks fine in most regards, save for its red-splattered exterior. The duffel bags could be seen piled erratically in the back seat. "You're gonna need a car wash, Ryan," the brit chirps as he plops back down in his seat.

Gavin's phone vibrates in his pocket, and he slips it out. A message from Michael reads, 'What did you fuck up now? Boss is pissed. -M"

The brit snorts audibly and responds with quick, inaccurate motions, 'Not a thng! Doin' the job, boi stop faffin abt. -G'.

As Gavin hits send, Ryan's eyes slide over to the rear view mirror. A bunch of police vehicles are steadily gaining on them, sirens growing with the shrinking distance. "Fuck," mutters Ryan through gritted teeth. "Hang on, Gavin."

Ryan whips the steering wheel to the side, causing the Oracle to skid in a loose half-circle. Taken by surprise, Gavin hits his head on the upper window frame, and sinks deeper into his seat with a groan. They turn back onto the opposite side of the highway through an opening in the bright orange cones that create a makeshift divider and speed off in the other direction. Through his pain, Gavin laughs at the bewildered cops as they slowly navigate the same maneuver, some unabashedly trompling over traffic cones..

"That won't save us much time," says Ryan grimly. "We have to lose them or cut down their numbers."

"Alright," agrees Gavin as he handles his pistol in every wrong way; his head still swimming. "No promises on my accuracy."

Ryan almost laughs. Almost. "Jesus. In a moving vehicle? You'd be better off spitting at them at this range. Please aim outside the car."

Gavin phone jingles again and he momentarily forgets his weapon. Another message from Michael: 'Where the fuck are you? -M'. With a grunt, he types back: "Handlin it! gr8 ocean hwy headin north". He pauses before hastily adding, "dont worry boi got u a present -G".

"Listen to this. ''Is the present all of the LSPD! -M'," Gavin reads aloud, but is interrupted by a police car ramming the back end of the car. The phone flies out of Gavin's hand and lands on the floor. The grinding sound of the impact between the two cars is gut-wrenching, and the whole vehicle seems to tremble after the hit. Ryan growls as he steadies the car, and for the first time since they emptied the armored car, Gavin is starting to doubt his safety. He steals a glance at his crewmate, and sees a fire in Ryan's eyes that is truly terrifying. Gavin makes sure his seatbelt is secure with a small, shaky gesture.

"Ryan, how are we-!" But the brit is too slow. Ryan has already calculated their escape. The vehicle makes a sharp movement to the right, and Gavin shuts his eyes tight after seeing what's ahead: a steep slope. This guy was bloody mental! His head hits the glass of the window, and pain blossoms in his forehead. His hand flies to his face, but he quickly forgets about his injury. He feels the vehicle pull up on his side, and it feels like a flip is coming. Maybe it'll be quick. Painless, he hopes. He can feel his stomach free-falling as he makes a feeble attempt to brace himself within the moving structure. His seatbelt pulls on him hard, unsettling his stomach further. But the impact doesn't come. There's a moment of weightlessness and the sirens are drowned out by the roar of the engine. Gavin forces an eye open as the vehicle lands with a screech and a loud assortment of thuds. The tires scrabble for purchase on the sloped dirt for a moment, but the vehicle is propelled forward. "Oh my god. That was mental! What did you just bloody do?"

Ryan's smile makes it obvious he's proud of his driving. He sounds somewhat offended by the fear and astonishment in Gavin's voice. "What? You missed it? We're doing a little off-roading." The car has slowed tremendously, but it continues to climb the slopes, to Gavin's surprise. It must've looked incredible from the highway.

Gavin pulls himself halfway out of the car window to get a better look at the miserable scene behind them. He cranes his neck backwards and sees the police cars struggling to surmount the slippery dirt ramp that Ryan just surged up. It looks like they got spooked. They lost their momentum- and all hope of getting up the slope. They probably didn't think Ryan was going to make it and slowed to avoid the same collision. Hell, Gavin didn't think that Ryan could do it either. The sound of sirens and yelling police melts away quickly. "What luck that was," he yells over the wind.

"Please, luck's got nothing to do with it." Gavin casts a glance over his shoulder at Ryan with a touch of admiration in his eyes. He's a lot like Geoff is some ways, but not at all in others. Gavin settles back down in his seat, and retrieves his phone from the floor of the car.

"Nah boi! you'll see. 15k easy. heading back -G," he sends his reply to Michael with a contented sigh.