10:25p.m., Murrieta Oil Fields, Los Santos

The Bodhi blew up into several parts and debris flew in all directions with just a single bullet into the pool of gasoline, igniting it and ending Trevor's misery for good. The smoke billowed violently into the sky and across Franklin and Michael, covering their eyes and faces with the darkness. Coughing madly and closing their eyes, the pair quickly scattered away from the wreckage.

"YOU ALWAYS LIKED GASOLINE, TREVOR!" Screamed the dead man's former partner.

Franklin, shocked by Michael's response to Trevor's death, immediately berated him.

"Man, he was your best fucking friend!"

"…Fuck you."

Panting like a traumatized and mentally exhausted war veteran, the recidivated bank robber took a deep breath, pressing the sides of his head, trying to compose himself.

"You know what tough guy? It's…it's about time you grow the fuck up." Said Michael calmly, pointing at his protégé.

"I mean… I admit, I'm a bad piece of work. But that guy? That piece of shit?!"

Michael took a few more strides forward before continuing with his tirade against Trevor.

"No boundaries! No sense of when to back off! No nothin'! 24-7 insanity! Day in, day out! ALL THE TIME! ...Never regretted nothin', cared for nothin'! Well fuck him!"

Michael took several breaths again, yet again trying to comfort himself.

"Well… There's gotta be a limit, kid… Y'know where even to the point where assholes like us say 'Enough is E-Fuckin'-Nough'!"

Michael placed his finger against Franklin's chest.

"…Human stew. That's my limit… I know that now…"

Michael stepped forward into the less industrial parts of the oil field, Franklin following along.

"I guess that's that, then…" Said the younger man sadly.

Walking away from Michael, Franklin suddenly remembered something that bothered him for a while. It was what Devin told him when he came into his house.

Devin was a man who Franklin assumed to have many connections with the high and elite in Los Santos, which perhaps include the chief commissioner of the LSPD. With Michael still alive, the end of Devin's bargain was not met. Franklin, who had made and earned so much throughout the course of this journey, was bound to lose everything, his new house, his money and probably go back into the big house and do some hard time. And Devin, based on Franklin's experience with the car thefts, was not a man to be trusted. Franklin suspected that he might eventually turn on him again in future.

There was only one other way to end this bullshit.

Without thinking, Franklin pulled his gun back out, pointing it at his mentor, taking a step closer to him. Michael, took notice of this, quickly gave his protégé a puzzled look.

"What's the matter, kid? You're feeling suicidal?" Said Michael, trying to bring up his poor sense of humor at a very inappropriate time. "I know I am, but now's not the time. You should go back home and wash up."

"I'm not. And this ain't personal, M. I'm really sorry."

Pulling the hammer of his pistol back, Michael immediately knew that Franklin meant business.

"I was going to lose everything, M. All that I made." Said Franklin, trying to fight back tears, shaking while pointing his gun at Michael. "I ain't gonna let that happen. I'm sorry."

"You fucking piece of shit." Said Michael, the tone of his voice clearly heartbroken and betrayed. "After all I've done for you, and you call this 'not personal'?!"

Quickly removing his pistol from the holster, Michael soon realized that the magazine was empty, and only a 'clicking' noise was heard from his piece.

"Sorry."

Turning his face away from his mentor, a shot was fired in the middle of the night, landing directly into Michael's forehead, causing him to collapse instantly on the ground, fresh blood slowly rolling out of the wound.

"Shit!" Franklin turned around, instantly regretting his decision. Two of his friends were now dead, and there was no way to bring them back up.

Taking a large gulp of air, Franklin began to reevaluate the entire situation carefully.

It was going to be a long night.