Grand Theft Auto CXV
Michael decided that this was a major waste of time, not that he didn't have a lot of time to kill anyway.
"Well, that was not a smart thing Trevor did." Lester rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, well, T has always done things first, thought about it later. Almost always because of his temper." Michael retorted.
"...Yeah... you're right."
The two men continued for a while, not speaking for the entire ride back to Lester's house.
Once Michael stopped at Lester's house, the two looked at each other.
"Alright Lester, you need help?"
"No, no, I'm fine Michael."
"You sure? Your legs aren't what they used to."
"Yeah, go fuck yourself." Lester opened the door of the car and crawled out as Michael chuckled.
"See you, Lester." Michael waved goodbye as he began to drive off.
"You too Michael." Lester took his cane and began his climb up the stair to his house.
"Man, I can't believe I went to T for shit like that. Shit!" Franklin shook his head as he drove to his high-end mansion in Vinewood hills on his motorcycle. The mansion was a gift from Lester for doing a 'favor' for him.
"Wonder what Trevor's doing? Probably killing dudes or carjacking or something."
Trevor opened the car door of a nearby car, shot the unwilling driver with a silenced pistol, threw him out and drove out. This car would do, he'd blow it up when he got to Sandy Shore, but hell, he'd have a little fun before he got home.
"Welp, let's go run over some assholes." Trevor jerked his wheel to the side and began driving on the sidewalk, right into a group of several people, all whom ended up getting killed or severely injured as a result. Trevor smirked at this and drove off.
"Hope the cops don't notice this." Trevor had a look that seemed thoughtful, then scoffed. "Ahh fuck it, I'd have fun either way."
Michael drove into the driveway of his home, took out a cigarette, and lit it up. He took a long drag of the nicotine-laced stick of tobacco, and then exhaled.
"Sometimes Trevor does things that make things worse for all of us without thinking."
He took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled.
"I should prob..."
*BRRRP!*
"THE FUCK!" Michael got out of his car and saw a faint glowing in his house that faded out, and then screams from his family.
Michael ran inside, taking out a handgun, burst through the doors and looked around.
"Ah fuck, stop hitting me with that fucking thing!"
"Y-You just appeared out of nowhere!"
"No shit, fatass, stop... ah... not the golf club, AH, DAMMIT! FUCK YOU, BITCH!"
Michael found himself going into his room, where he saw his son Jimmy hitting some man with his bong, his wife Amanda using a golf club, and his daughter Tracey throwing pillows at the man. Michael just lowered his gun.
"The fuck is going on here?"
"These stupid assholes are... AHG, stop hitting me with that shitty... whatever the fuck that is!"
"It's a bong, retard." Jimmy reeled back and prepared to strike down, but Michael grabbed his hand.
"No." Michael said sternly.
"But..."
"No! Amanda, dear, put the club down."
Amanda tighten her grip on the golf club, and simply let go.
"Urrg... thanks."
"Yeah, I have a first aid kit in the bathroom. Just sit down, and rest up."
"Yeah yeah... fucker."
Michael sighed, and was preparing to shoot himself.
But then again, he always would do something like that when Trevor was involved, which he wasn't, thankfully.
Franklin pulled over to his mansion, put his bike into the garage, and walked into his home. He docked and turned on his music player and went to his couch, turned on the TV and just chilled.
*BRRRP!*
"What in the heck!" Franklin took out his handgun, and went downstairs, when the noise came from.
"Hey! Whoever you are... it ain't funny that you made that damn noise! It ain't funny at all!"
No answer. He slowly inched towards his bedroom.
"Yo, you ain't trying to trip on me, are you, dog? 'Cause if you are, you gonna get capped!"
Still no answer. He got close, and went in.
A man, unconscious.
"Shit, the hell this dude come from?" Franklin decided not to ask, hefted the man, and carried him to the couch upstairs.
"Shit, you heavy as fuck."
After he place the man on the couch, he turned off the TV, which was good, that stupid thing involving those three mastubating monkeys was on again.
"Is this what's entertainment about now? Man, no wonder America's fucked up."
Trevor did it, he made it to his run down, filthy, potentially hazardous pigsty of a home without that much of a hitch.
Aside from the fact that The Lost MC found him again.
"And then Trevor Phillips has won his battle against the asshole force that is a bunch of pissed off, dumbasses that is... hold for the non-existent applause... The Lost, fucking, MC!"
"Now where's the beer?" Trevor looked around his trailer, and found the pack of Pißwasser beer.
*BRRRP!*
Trevor raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged.
"Whatever that was, I don't wanna do it without a good reason."
*BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG*
"Nope!"
"Uh, hello, can you let us in? We're stuck in zis place." A high-pitched, hammy voice said.
"How about a fucking motel?"
"We have no money, fucking stripper took it all." A deeper voice yelled in response.
"Vell, for you at least, Nikolai."
"Yeah yeah... fuck you, it's my vodka..." The man snored, and Trevor simply opened the door, flipped the bird at the two men, and slammed the door. He only took a few steps before one of the men kicked down the door, and pointed a gun at Trevor.
"Zat vas not nice."
"Well..." Trevor turned around, and took out a Micro SMG.
"Neither are you."
Gunshots rang through the night, and even worse, sheriffs were right next to the trailer.
"Dammit, it's Trevor again."
"Well then, how 'bout we pay 'im a little visit and finally end it all?"
"Heh, I'd say you're fuckin' retarded, you retard."
"Fuck you, Ah'm ending T, Ah don't care if Ah lose mah jarb." He go out of the car.
"You're gonna die!"
"Yer a pussy!" The foolhardy sheriff took out a shotgun, and prepared to go against the methhead, and end him, once and for all.