(I postponed the writing of this due to writer's block, but now I'm typing. So that's cool. Remember to leave your praise or constructive criticism, and enjoy!)
The whir of blades and the whine of police sirens did not cloud John's decision making. He pulled back on the stick and the helicopter ascended. Franklin sat in the back with an assault rifle, picking off cops.
"Hey! Steady now, dawg!"
"I'm trying!" John gritted his teeth. He had never been under so much pressure. "Where do I fly us?" he wondered aloud.
"Ey homes, top of the Maze Bank building. We'll wait it out up there."
John had never flown before. It felt unnatural, yet he liked the feeling. His life had been in the hands of helicopter and plane pilots time and time again. This somewhat sudden responsibility of guarding Franklin's life gave him the respect for people who flew for a living. One jolt of the stick would send Franklin to his untimely demise.
"We got ourselves a tail! Damn! Turn us right, ok dawg?"
John slightly edged the throttle and the helicopter along with it.
"A'ight! A'ight... I got a bead... Closer to the head..."
A shot rung out, instantly afterwards was a sound of breaking glass. John took a look at the helicopter following them. An LSPD officer slumped dead. It was the pilot. Blood stained the fragmented cockpit. At first, the helicopter hovered in its spot. Then, it started corkscrewing and wobbling around, one of the SWAT personnel falling from the side to the ground below. He actually may have been luckier than those inside the doomed aircraft. The rotors smashed and broke off in the FIB building; the bulk of the vehicle tumbling downwards to its doom.
"Nice! Got 'em!" Franklin said, in a calm manner.
"Obviously." John sighed. How many killers had he gotten in deep with because of a stunting accident? One is one more than enough, and now he had at least two on his hands.
He flew up to the top of the Maze Bank building.
"Looks like we ain't bein' tail no mo' homie." Franklin said.
"Great..." said John, dejected.
"Cheer up homes, Trevor didn't eat you. And he must like somethin' yo doin', because he said to hand you his phone number. So here," he handed it to John, who grimaced at the thought of having to deal with these people again. Franklin frowned. "...But what he likes obviously ain't yo charisma. Keep the choppa' dude. I been practicing basejumpin' after my run-in wit' some cray dude, y'know? I got a chute."
With that Franklin jumped off the building. What a day, John thought. He didn't want to leave quite yet, he had to process what had just happened. He sat on the edge of the building, smoking a cigarette, taking in the fumes.
(Not awful, just wanted to finish up John's initiation. He'll meet Michael soon, probably not next chapter though. He's still 2-3 away. Remember: Review, Follow, and Favorite!)