3:06p.m., 3671 Whispymound Drive, Vinewood Hills, Los Santos

Nearly ten hours had passed by since Lamar and Franklin came back to the crib, and nearly twelve hours after the messy disposal of Agent Steve Haine's body. News reports and gossip columns filled the local radio, frantically detailing the agent's sudden disappearance after the filming of 'The Underbelly Of Paradise'. Memorials and quick biographies filled the television screens across Los Santos, lamenting the just-around-stardom FIB agent's disappearance. Lamar and Franklin just went to a pizza kitchen around the corner from lunch just two hours earlier, and the long-awaited phone call from Lester has yet to be received. They had nothing to do at Franklin's crib, other than watching TV, drinking and smoking, talking about old times and stockpiling their weapons.

They were preparing for the last stand against Devin Weston.

Taking a swig of red wine on the table, Lamar threw over a submachine gun in Franklin's direction, causing it to nearly fire a blank shot.

"Fuck, nigga!" Shouted Franklin, pissed with Lamar's carelessness. "I ain't gonna get killed before getting to Devin!"

"Chill, dog! It's just a gat!" Replied Lamar, still smiling.

Suddenly, the phone on the table began to vibrate loudly, the words 'Lester' appearing on the front screen.

It was about time.

"Yo, it's Franklin." The man immediately picked it up. "Where's Devin?"

"Devin Weston, wealthy billionaire and playboy, he's over at the recently-opened Mr. Fuk's Rice Box, which he personally financed, over at Chumash. He's hosting some sort of soiree party there for Los Santo's wealthy and miserable. Expect a lot of boring and coked-up socialites and businessmen there."

"Got it, dog."

"Wait, there's something really important that I have to tell you!"

Franklin paused to let the man over the phone talk.

"My source detects that there's going to be a lot of Merryweather bodyguards around the premises. When I say a lot, I mean-"

"Yeah, dog. I got it."

Lester took a deep breath over the phone.

"…You don't want to do this, Franklin. Trust me, it's suicide for you and your friend."

Franklin stopped. Lester was perfectly right. This was going to be one of the riskiest things that he would ever do in his whole criminal career, and it would most likely cost him his life, if not prison time.

Then he remembered something very important.

He remembered all the times he had working with Michael and Trevor, going around on exciting heists, playing a part in different roles, all aiming towards a common goal. All of them faced through the bad times, as well as the good, showing him that even with their differences, they could still make it big, not to mention vivid memories of the Big Score, which was easily one of the most exciting moments in Franklin's life, even for him. He realized that this was the only way that he could redeem himself for both of those men, to make up for their loss of friendship during the night at the oil fields. Franklin paused, before opening his mouth to speak.

"…I'm doing it, for Michael and Trev."

"…I guess that's that, then…" Replied Lester solemnly, sadness reaching over to the other line. "See you around in the next life, Franklin."

"…Yeah, it is. See you, Lester."

Hanging up the phone, Franklin slowly turned over to Lamar, who was half asleep.

"Yo, Lamar. Let's go." Said Franklin, bringing the SMG and holstering his combat pistol. "We going to Chumash."

Lamar opened his eyes, looking very sleepy.

"…We goin' already?" Yawned Lamar, picking up a shotgun. "Nigga, it's about time!"

Taking all his keys with him, Franklin started up the Buffalo S, causing its V8 engine to roar ferociously, before leaving with Lamar through the hills, and speeding off to Chumash.

4:25p.m., Outside Mr Fuk's Rice Box, Chumash, Los Santos County

Traffic in Los Santos was very merciless, as always, with the pair constantly taking the fast lane across the freeway to save time, only to be caught up with another snake of cars. Franklin was constantly checking on his watch, afraid that the soiree party might have ended early, and that Devin might already be on his way back to his lair in wherever it was, with that smug look on his face. Lamar was asleep, his snoring quickly becoming a hindrance to Franklin, who had all of his mind on the job.

He simply couldn't fuck this up.

Franklin started to think about Lamar. He didn't like the fact that a silly gangbanger from Strawberry like him should even be caught up with all this mess, a mess that Franklin created for himself. He didn't like the fact that he was constantly tagging along with him to what clearly appeared to be a suicide mission, just because he was a homie for life.

Franklin finally made up his mind.

After about an hour's worth of traffic jams, the Buffalo S screeched to a halt in front of the seaside town filled with rich people and college students on their break. The restaurant, adjourned with all kinds of Asian decorations and cues with a minimalist, West Coast touch, had all kinds of fancy fast cars parked outside it, with large congregations of people gathering outside it.

'1759(Outro)' by Richard Spaven was playing softly from the car's speakers, it was a hauntingly appropriate yet beautiful song that matched the mood of the two gangsters, who they knew that they weren't going to survive in there after killing Devin.

Great. Franklin thought. Thought I was gonna be late for the party.

Lamar, who felt the car stop for a while, blinked a few times before regaining consciousness, smiling at his best friend, bringing up the shotgun.

"That fool Devin's inside that bitch, let's go in an' cap that motherfucker!"

Just before exiting the vehicle, Lamar felt a pull on his T-shirt. Franklin quickly took out several keys from his pocket and placed it on his left palm, and gave him his iFruit phone.

"That one's the keys to my crib, an' that one's the keys to the Mexican's bike." Said Franklin without emotion. "Call Lester for the cash from the score, an' you can keep my ride."

Lamar was at extreme disbelief, he simply couldn't break down what Franklin, his only best friend since diapers, just said to him. He began to laugh nervously.

"Haha… I thought we was homies for life?" Said Lamar, his cheerful demeanor slowly going on the brink of sadness and worry. "We gonna go in together and end that fool?"

"We are homies for life, nigga." Said Franklin firmly, clenching his fist. "Always are, always will be. But this job is important to me, Lamar. I mean, all the shit that happened to us both, it was because of me! I mean… I let two of my homies die cause of him-!"

"Bullshit, homie!" Shouted Lamar uncharacteristically, clearly very upset and worried for his best friend. "If you gonna die today, best we die together!"

"…We could, Lamar. We could." Comforted Franklin, looking down. "But this is personal. I wanna prove my loyalty to my homies, you feel me? And I don't want to let you get killed over this."

Turning his body to the left, Franklin had a few things to say to Lamar before departing, permanently.

"…Look out for Tonya, Tanisha, Tavell if he ever comes back. Hell, even look out for my aunty! That's gone be my last request."

Lamar was still trying his best to smile, and yet, he found the thought of his best friend dying and never returning to be quite overwhelming.

"...C'mon, nigga... Don't go alone..."

Lamar placed his palm over his mouth, sniffing a little. Coming to terms with the fact that he would never see his friend again, Lamar headed over to the other side of the car.

"…Sure, dog." Said the tall gangbanger before moving over to the driver's seat of the Buffalo S.

"Good luck, Franklin. We always homies for life."

The two gangsters gave each other one last dap followed by a pat in the back.

Before moving to the restaurant, Franklin had one last thing to tell Lamar. He turned around and spoke through the car door.

"You know, when you told me about the concept of friendship an' all? You were right, homie."

Hearing this, Lamar gave a silent nod, before rolling up the windows, revving up the engine and driving on the freeway. In seconds, the Buffalo S was nothing more than a white dot on the road, slowly disappearing into the horizon.

Holstering his SMG, Franklin calmly walked towards the restaurant, keeping his focus on Devin Weston.