Two Hours Later. Route 68. Blaine County.


Marcus was riding away from the beach, getting himself on Route 68. He just wanted to take the Hexer out for a ride before he went back to Trevor's trailer. But as he drove south, he saw something in his rear-view mirror...

Several bikes were behind him, all with guys on both the driver and back seats. He saw that some of the guys on the bikes had baseball bats, knives, pistols, and even an RPG.

"Shit... Fucking Lost..." Marcus muttered, reading his Uzi.

Marcus saw one of the bikes approach, and it had a passenger with an aluminum baseball bat on the backseat. It pulled up alongside Marcus, and the passenger laughed as he started trying to hit him with the bat.

"LOST MC! LOST MC! LOST MC!" The passenger shouted, a rallying cry.

Marcus growled as he pulled up his Uzi, aiming it at the front wheel of the bike. Both the driver and the passenger went wide eyed, knowing what Marcus was about to do to them.

"Get lost." Marcus retorted.

Before the passenger could hit Marcus with his bat, Marcus shot out the front tire. Marcus then sped ahead as the driver began losing control of his bike, causing it to fall over and then hit a Towtruck in the rear bumper. The driver landed on the side of the road as passenger flew over the Towtruck and landed in the asphalt, where he was quickly ran over by one of the other Lost motorcycles.

Marcus couldn't help but smirk at the results, seeing that the Lost motorcycle was taken down by the passenger's corpse. The remaining four bikes approached him, with the RPG gunner standing up on his seat. He fired a rocket at Marcus, but it missed and hit a nearby police cruiser, sending it into the air in a fiery explosion.

Shit.

After the gunner fired off another rocket, (which missed and hit a mini-van), several Blaine County police cars arrived on the chase. Surprisingly, they were only focusing on the Lost bikers, as Marcus had already taken off his Lost jacket before he even got on Route 68, placing it in a saddlebag that was on the rear of the Hexer.

Honestly, for the first time in his entire life, Marcus Thompson actually LIKED seeing the police around.

"I never thought I'd ever say this, but 'thank god, it's the cops'." Marcus muttered to himself, wide eyed.

But as Marcus kept driving away from the scene, he felt a sharp pain in his right arm. He looked at it, seeing that he was apparently shot by one of the bikers. He saw blood pouring out of his gunshot wound, and he knew he needed medical help RIGHT NOW.

"Fucking Lost..." Marcus growled, clutching his arm, seeing the blood was landing on the Hexer and on the highway.

Marcus knew he needed to get medical help, and he couldn't go back to Sandy Shores in the meantime because he was sure the Lost would be waiting in the town for him. He knew an old friend of his down south in Los Santos...


"JIMMY DE SANTA, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!"

In Rockford Hills, Forty-something year old Michael De Santa was pissed. REALLY pissed. His wife Amanda was wanting to just have a relaxing day alone in their mansion, (what she forgot to mention was that it was having lots of sex with her tennis coach.), and she already sent their daughter Tracey out to do as she pleased.

Michael, however, wanted to spend a little quality time with his twenty year old son, Jimmy. But Jimmy was refusing, because he was in the middle of a multiplayer match on "Righteous Slaughter 5", or some video game like that. All Jimmy usually does is smoke pot, masturbate, play video games, or smoke more pot. The lifestyle choice wasn't good for his heath, and Michael always tried to get him on a bikeride or jogging or sports or something.

"Go away Michael! I'm in the middle of a match!" Jimmy replied from the other side of a locked door, disrespectfully using his father's first name.

Michael growled, kicking the door with his anger building up. He had a little bit of an anger problem...

"OPEN THIS DOOR!" Michael shouted.

"Just go away! Get laid, get high! I don't care! Just go do whatever without ME." Jimmy replied.

That's when Michael kicked open the door to Jimmy's room, breaking it off of its hinges. Jimmy had a shocked look as Michael walked over to Jimmy's video game console, picked it up, and smashed it against a wall, violently.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!" Jimmy shouted.

Michael threw the remains of the console at Jimmy, a furious look was on his face.

"YOU DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Michael shouted back, furiously.

Michael then realized how his anger problem just affected his son. He sighed and shook his head, seeing Jimmy with a furious and hurt look. Michael honestly didn't know what he could tell his son...

Michael sighed and tried to speak. "Look, Jim, I-"

But Jimmy simply tossed his controller to the ground and walked out of the room, even walking out of the house. He was going to go cool down and head down to Strawberry, going to a car dealership to check out an awesome yellow SUV he had his eye on. Michael, however, sighed and did what he always does to cool down. The middle-aged father went into his kitchen and got a bottle of whiskey, then going into his living room to sit around and watch some old movies...

He also had chips and a nice Cuban cigar...


After watching "Shoulder of Orion II", Michael was getting a little bit bored. When the FIB let him turn states against criminality, he thought Los Santos would be an exciting place filled with things to do, places to see, even movies to make...

It was all just a pipe dream to him. Michael put his half-smoked cigar in an ashtray, put the cap back on his bottle of whiskey, and he turned off the TV. He figured maybe driving down to the marina and looking at his boat Jacqueline, and maybe going to Del Perro Pier afterwards.

Michael stood up and got changed into his red polo shirt with some beige shots and sandals, figuring a grey suit would obviously not be a good choice at Vespucci beach. He then walked out the front door and straight to his black Obey Tailgater sedan, unlocking it... But Michael noticed the gate to his mansion open suddenly, with a man on a Hexer quickly driving through.

"What the fuck?!" Michael asked.

He saw the wounded person crash right into his car before the bike fell over with the man, causing Michael to grab his nine millimeter Beretta out of his waistband, furious as he saw the damage to the bumper and now-broken headlight.

Michael walked over to the man, pointing the gun right in his face. But then Michael noticed the man looked familiar... He kept thinking for a moment or two before he went wide eyed, knowing this man.

Marcus Thompson.

"Mark?! What the fuck are you doing here?!" Michael asked, full of disbelief.

Marcus weakly stood up, blood now freely flowing from his arm and the fuel tank on his Hexer completely covered in his own blood. But Michael was more shocked at the fact that Marcus actually got out of jail after the bank job in Liberty City. Michael actually wanted to be the one to go to the job but Ivan and Bryan both wanted Marcus to be the one for that...

Now he knew why Ivan and Bryan ended up taking ALL of the money and running off... They wanted Marcus to end up as the scapegoat, maybe frame him as a rat or something and act like he was talking to the police.

"Can we please worry about this shit later?! I'm bleeding out!" Marcus growled.

Michael wasted no time. He put his pistol away and helped Marcus off of his driveway, quickly helping him back into his mansion. With a heaved sigh, he set Marcus down on his couch, quickly seeing it was a mistake since Marcus was bleeding all over it. Marcus coughed, still bleeding heavily.

"I- I need this to be fixed!" Marcus stated.

"What the fuck can I do?! I'm not a doctor!" Michael protested.

Amanda De Santa then walked in through the doors in the kitchen, flanked by her tennis coach Kyle. The coach had a smirk on his face after Amanda did a lesson where she 'worked her wrists and a little of her mouth' down at the tennis court. That lesson was common between the teacher and student.

Amanda gasped, almost screaming when she saw Marcus bleeding on their couch. Kyle, however, shrieked like a little girl and immediately ran out of the front door of the mansion.

"Marcus?!" Amanda asked, shocked to see him.

Marcus rolled his eyes. He never liked Amanda, and he didn't even go to Michael and Amanda's wedding. He HATED her a little, actually.

"Hey, Amanda... Still stripping? Or did you get a promotion and become a full-fledge whore?" Marcus asked.

Amanda had a furious look as she put her tennis racket on a nearby table. Her anger intensified as she saw Michael was smirking at what Marcus said. Michael and Amanda couldn't stand each other anymore, and their kids both hated their parents because of the dysfunctional lifestyle their family had.

Anyway, Amanda was pissed off enough to head straight towards the stairs, glaring at Michael before she started going up. He and Michael knew it was to pay a visit to her dear old friend "Mr. Vibrator".

"God, she's such a BITCH." Marcus said.

"I'll agree with you on that..." Michael agreed.

Marcus snickered for a few seconds before he suddenly cringed, growling with pain as he clutched his arm.

"God, this hurts... You know anyone who can patch this up?" Marcus asked.

"No, but I got a first-aid kit in the kitchen." Michael offered.

Marcus nodded, taking the offer.

"Get it, please." Marcus replied.

Michael quickly went into the kitchen. He got the first-aid kit he kept in there and walked back to the living room, seeing Marcus was still clutching his wounded arm. "You know how to sew? I don't wanna drive all the way back north with a bullet in my arm." Marcus informed.

Michael shrugged, setting the first-aid kit next to Marcus.

"I don't, but I know you do." Michael replied.

Marcus sighed, nodding in agreement. He remembered that Michael didn't know how to sew up wounds, surprisingly. But then Marcus's phone rang. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket, seeing who was calling...

Trevor...

"Who's calling?" Michael asked.

"Just the guy I'm working for in Sandy Shores." Marcus replied, shrugging.

Michael nodded and turned on his TV as Marcus answered the phone, bringing it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Marcus asked.

"Kid! Where are you? I got a few things I need to do and I could use a little backup." Trevor said.

"I'm in Los Santos, I've got shit to do." Marcus replied.

There was a long silence from the other end of the line. Marcus eventually heard a chuckling noise after a few minutes of nothing but silence.

"You're fucking a guy, aren't you?" Trevor chuckled.

"WHAT?! NO!" Marcus replied.

Trevor then proceeded to start laughing.

"You're fucking a guy? Why can't I join in?" Trevor laughed.

"No, I'm not fucking a guy!" Marcus protested.

"Whatever! You enjoy the cock fest you're in, and call me once you're back at Sandy Shores!" Trevor laughed again.

Before Marcus could protest about Trevor's assumption, Trevor hung up and disconnected the line... Marcus simply hung up and put his phone in his pocket, growling with pain as he opened the first-aid kit...

Michael, meanwhile, went into the kitchen and poured some more chips into a bowl and got another bottle of whiskey. He came out to see Marcus had a look of extreme pain as he started sewing up his gunshot wound. Michael simply sat down in a chair, lit his cigar, and started watching another old movie. "Nelson in Naples"...


After a few hours the movie was over, and Marcus successfully managed to sew up his own wound. Michael put his now-empty bowl in the sink and put the half-drunk bottle of whiskey back in the cabinet where he got it front...

But then he heard a scream.

Michael went wide eyed. He pulled out his Beretta and ran into the living room, quickly snickering at what he saw. Tracey was holding up a lamp in defense after she walked in and saw Marcus sitting on the blood-stained couch, and Marcus was curiously looking back at her.

"This your daughter?" Marcus asked.

"Daddy! Who is this guy?!" Tracey asked, worried and frightened.

Michael put away his Beretta, loving this moment.

"Tracey, put down the lamp. This is just an old friend of mine, Marcus." Michael replied.

Tracey reluctantly put down the lamp. She then frowned as she saw Michael and Marcus's matching smirks.

"What? I thought he was a robber!" Tracey protested.

"What robber would bleed all over your couch?" Marcus asked.

Tracey rolled her eyes, flashing a glare at Marcus and Michael before she started walking upstairs and going straight into her bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. Michael sighed and sat down next to Marcus, smiling and happy to see one of his old friends.

"So, what're you doing here man? I thought you were in jail?" Michael asked.

"I got broken out. Some people broke out this Russian guy and I got out in the confusion. I started working for this guy up in Sandy Shores. I'm back in the game." Marcus replied, choosing not to say Trevor's name.

"That's good. I'm happy to see you again... Hey, tomorrow you want to grab a beer with me? I've got to go to my shrink anyway." Michael offered.

Marcus smiled and nodded, actually wanting to see his old friend.

"Yeah, that can be good. I could use a look around the city anyway, maybe find somewhere to live." Marcus replied.

"I can help with that if you want. You can use the guest room if you want, or just crash on the couch, or just go back to wherever you came from. If Amanda has a problem then just do what I go. Don't give a shit what she thinks." Michael replied, smiling.

"Cool. Thanks Mike." Marcus replied.

Michael nodded as he and Marcus started watching TV. In truth, Marcus HATED the old movies that Michael always watched, but after the day Marcus had, he just simply didn't give a shit on what he watched...


(REVIEWS ARE LOVE!)