A/N Thanks ro reviewers!

It felt like only seconds later when Dylan awoke, the hard ground now a lumpy mattress and the bustling street replaced by a quiet room. He tried to open his aching eyes, the intense light limiting his vision only to a blur, and raise his stiff fingers to the aid of his swollen face.

'I wouldn't touch that if I were you,' rang out a high voice from somewhere in the blur, his un-tuned senses unable to tell if it was a familiar tone. He lay in a limbo for another minute, trying to handle the mix of numbness and pain emitting from his face. As his vision came into focus he realised he was in a hospital ward, full of glum looking patients and visitors. He saw the owner of the voice, and attempted to smile.

'Police station, Hospital…where will we meet next?' said the beaming face of Katie Zhan now dressed in a nurse uniform.

Dylan tried to move his mouth to speak, but the joint screamed at him to stop.

'Urh,' was all he managed.

'Broken jaw Dylan, eating and talking will be a bitch for the next few weeks,' she paused, sounding if she was about to offer some encouragement. 'You lost a tooth aswell'

'Shit,' mumbled Dylan through gritted teeth.

'Look on the brightside…you made the paper,' she handed him a tabloid, he took it gingerly and cursed again.

DOUBLE MURDER AT TOWN HALL

Yesterday afternoon at approximately 1.20 in front of City Hall two shots were fired resulting in the death of the famed reporter, Christian Romano and an ex-policeman Adrian Barker. Forensics revealed that the bullets belonged to a DMR sniper rifle and were fired from a range of 50 metres. Witnesses claim that a man, dressed in Urban Camo pants and a black hooded jacket fled from the scene but closely followed by a possible accomplice dressed in a Pizza Stack uniform, a fight ensued between the two resulting in the uniformed man knocked unconscious, he is currently being treated in Santa Flora hospital and awaiting police questioning. Documents were found detailing drug links inside a LAPD narcotics division, the seriousness of the allegations will be investigated in due course…

'A possible accomplice, I was trying to catch the sonavabitch!' yelled Dylan angrily, regretting it instantly as pain surged across his face.

'The cops want a word with you,' said Katie woefully.

'You mean they want to arrest me,' mumbled Dylan. Katie sighed, and dropped her voice to a whisper.

'There arriving in 15 minutes, you've got time to get out,' murmured Katie, checking her fob watch, 'There's a toilet window on this floor leading out onto the roof, it easy to get down into the street.'

'I wonder how long until people notice there's a man running around the rooftops in a patient gown,' Dylan considered sarcastically.

'Don't get sarky with me, I was about to say a Mr Goldlinger came round with a change of clothes for you,' replied Katie vexingly.

'He didn't hit on you did he?'

'Yes'

'I'm sorry' Katie laughed and passed him a plastic bag, he opened it, fearing it was one of Malcom's charismatic outfits, it turned out to be a pair of jeans, black trainers, a plain white t-shirt and strangely enough a black bandana.

'Why the hell did he give me a do' rag? ' muttered Dylan, swinging his aching limbs out of the bed, and waited for Katie to check the ward and corridors for any lurking doctors. He saw himself in the bedside mirror, a grim face stared back at him, his brown hair now stuck out at all angles and he hadn't shaved in days, but the huge purple- red swelling spread across his cheekbone domineered the dogged appearance. The missing molar didn't help either.

'Damn, I look like a fugitive,' said Dylan aloud.

'You are a fugitive,' said Katie from behind him.

'How long will it take to heal,' he said, running a hand across the bruise, ignoring Katie's quip.

'Completely… 6 weeks, you're lucky it's a minor fracture or you'd be eating soup for months…here take these, they'll relieve the pain,' she handed him a plastic container.

'Thanks…where's this toilet then?' he asked.

'Take a left, walk down the corridor, there will be signs,' she said. Dylan glanced at all the other patients, none of them were paying any attention.

'I'll see you around then,' said Dylan turning away.

'Fire station next time huh?' she said smiling, watching him go.

He left the ward and walked slowly and casually, nobody gave him a second look as he entered the toilet. He saw the window, a gateway to some sort of distorted freedom. He emerged from a cubicle fully dressed, checked that he was still alone and hoisted himself up steadily onto the wide window ledge, his muscles stiff and slow. He quickly turned the window latch, listening out for any movement behind him. It opened outwards, and as Katie said, a flat, black roof 2 meters beneath him connected the two hospital skyscrapers. He shuffled himself into a better jumping position and threw himself down the gap landing neatly on his feet, the cold slapping wind caught him off guard and he stumbled over adding another bruise to his collection. Bringing himself up, he adopted a crouching posture, he was only two floors up and if a civilian strayed their eyes they would clearly make out a standing figure. He cautiously crept to a door leading out on to the roof. If that was a fire exit then there had to be a fire escape. He was right, rusty metal stairs zig- zagged to the ground below, smiling at his luck he descended the first step, then broke into a run.

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His face appeared in the newspaper the next day as a wanted man, but that seemed trivial to what else the papers were saying.

'Los Santos Police department found no truth in the allegations that the report claim…' repeated Dylan the fourth time to himself, Tenpenny's kept the investigators on the take alright thought Dylan angrily.

'Shit!'

What was he going to do now? He was fugitive in Los Santos and San Fierro. Carl Johnson wants his blood. He could give himself up to the police, explain to them… no he would end up in a cell for the murders of Adrian Barker and Christian Romano, and Tenpenny would still walk free. Another reporter? No they would all be spooked.

There was one more option…hit Tenpenny directly. Though he had no idea where Tenpenny was…but Carl Johnson might…he probably hates the bastard. Dylan headed to his wardrobe and began packing a small bag. He donned the black bandana and a pair of shades, slung the bag over his shoulder and headed downstairs.

'Hey Dilbert your in the paper!' laughed Malcolm.

'See you Malcom,' said Dylan, shoving some green notes into his hands.

'Uhh…bye'

He exited through the garage and headed to the nearest tram station.

He got off the cramped vehicle outside a station and turned to face the tram, it sped away leaving Dylan staring at what looked like a deserted garage, he crossed the busy road and walked towards the open garage door.

'Hello?' gulped Dylan, he was bringing himself to the enemy, not in any sort of fighting condition and he wasn't even armed. None of it made sense. He jumped as a figure slid out from under a familiar red Lowrider.

'Yeah?' said Cesar, he got up and wiped his hands on a dirty cloth and looked at Dylan, no glimpse of recognition in his face, just a bored casual look. Dylan took off his shades and watched as the realisation seeped back into his features.

'Dylan, what the fuck are you doing here? What happened to your face?...shit homes!' cried Cesar disbelievingly.

'Hey Ces-' Dylan began, but Cesar cut him off with more of his ramblings.

'I saw you in the papers…shit' he trailed off.

'Look…is Carl here?' said Dylan.

'Why the hell you lookin' for Carl?' said Cesar, frowning at Dylan wide-eyed

Realising that he wasn't going to get anywhere, he tried a different approach.

'Cesar for fucks sake, yeah everythin' is pretty screwed up…look what arrangement do Carl and Tenpenny have?' said Dylan. Cesar opened his mouth to argue, but he sighed heavily.

'I don't know much, but 'pparently Tenpenny framed him for murdering a pig, though they'd keep quite about it as long as Carl would do favours for them,' said Cesar wearily.

'Am I one of the favours then?' said Dylan.

'Fraid so, from what I've heard' replied Cesar.

'Why doesn't Carl take Tenpenny out?'

'Carl doesn't know where Tenpenny is, Tenpenny comes to him only for business and this can be any time,' said Cesar.

'Carl would if he could right?' said Dylan.

'For sure…' he frowned, 'what you thinkin'?'

'I don't know…' replied Dylan, shaking his head collapsing into a nearby chair. 'Look Cesar, I need to know where Carl is…he's my only link to finding Tenpenny,' he finished the rest was up to Cesar.

'Well…if you get your head blown off, it's not my fault homes!'

'Yeah whatever man,' Dylan laughed.

'He's set up some casino business with a Chinaman,' said Cesar, a tint of bitterness set in his tone.

'Las Venturas?'

'Si,'

'How much d'you reckon flights are?' said Dylan. Cesar thought for a moment.

'Well…I don't fly… more of a car man myself,' mused Cesar.

'No kidding'

'But I think your lookin' at ninety dollars,' he said.

'I can't afford that,' muttered Dylan.

'Woah…you in a lotta shit,' said Cesar unhelpfully.

'Thanks…well I'll see you around Cesar,' said Dylan.

'Good luck homes,' he replied turning back to his prize possession. Dylan's next goal was to find a good hitchhiking spot.