4:28p.m., Mr. Fuk's Rice Box, Chumash, Los Santos County
The restaurant reeked of fresh wood and Korean barbeque, and large congregations of smartly-dressed people were standing in circles, conversing about business or about the last time they snorted coke off a bathroom sink at the Bahama Mamas. Franklin, who did not like being associated with such people, instinctively walked away, pushing and shoving his way towards the entrance, guarded by two Merryweather operatives.
Along the way, Franklin observed a very vintage oddity in the row of parked cars. It was a classic repainted yellow-gold Truffade sports coupe with Art Deco style trims and lights, and stood out majestically from all the other generic sports cars. It was the same car that Franklin had stolen from Chad Mulligan a few months ago, and was now under Weston's ownership.
Shouldn't have brought this whip along, Devin. Smiled Franklin secretly. You just making it harder for yourself.
Inside, Franklin looked around the restaurant carefully, ignoring the other patrons and the catering crew who were delivering freshly barbecued Bulgogi to the banquet tables. The restaurant itself was quite dimly-lit, and there were altogether two floors, the upper one having a balcony with three Merryweather guards standing still at each corner with guns, observing the ground floor.
Gotta remember about those dudes. Thought Franklin, eyeing up at the guards.
After much navigating, Franklin finally got to Devin, guarded by two of his bodyguards, who was standing and talking to three other men in suits. Checking his pockets to make sure that his guns were still functional, Franklin calmly made his way towards his target.
"…And that's my story on how I fucked my first secretary!" Shouted Devin, laughing away with the other men.
"Jesus, Devin. You should be a comedian!" A businessman said. "Ain't laughed that hard since last week at the Split Sides!"
"Glad you enjoyed it, kid!" Replied the mogul with a smile, sipping a glass of wine.
Taking notice of one of the only few African Americans in the restaurant and recognizing him immediately, Devin greeted his former worker with open arms.
"Ahh, slick! It's good to see you again!" Smiled Devin. "So, how are things catching up, huh? Killing any more people?"
"I killed Michael, ain't nothin' else I'm going to say." Replied Franklin with a hint of anger, getting nervous looks from the businessmen.
"Wait, wait, wait! I know what you're thinking, you still want yo' paper for all those cars, right, homie?" Guessed Devin, trying to imitate Franklin's speech.
Franklin simply gave him an annoyed look.
"Heh, relax slick! Follow me, it's in my personal VIP room!" Beckoned Devin, Franklin slowly following him from behind.
While walking, Devin turned back to the businessmen and apologized.
"Sorry about that, folks! I've got some business to handle."
The businessman simply waved at him, while Devin's bodyguards tagged along.
The room was relatively large, and came with a wide-screen television and karaoke set, with large Chinese style paintings placed strategically around the walls, looking a lot like the setting to an Asian action kung fu movie. Placing a large briefcase on the table, Devin shifted it over to Franklin, who was sitting right in front of him, while the Merryweather guards stared at him vigilantly, not wanting him to pull off anything to hurt their client.
"Open it!" Said the billionaire joyfully.
Pressing the clips on the side of the briefcase, the inside of the briefcase was nothing but a large pile of green, stacks of unmarked bills lay on top of one another and next to each other, forming a large cash forest.
"Molly, God rest her soul, did tell you that I was going to invest it." Continued Devin. "You can thank me later, slick."
The money was huge, even for Franklin. Hell, it was probably worth more than his take of the Big Score. His mind was telling him that he didn't have to kill Devin, take the briefcase and go back home and break the news to Lamar and Lester. It all seemed so tempting.
And then the thought slapped him right back in the face.
No, I ain't gonna take this green. I'm still doin' it for M and T.
Suddenly, Franklin stood up, pointing his submachine gun directly at Devin, the cold barrel of the gun pressing against his right temple. The Merryweather guards, seeing this, likewise pointed their guns at Franklin, demanding that he drop the piece immediately.
Devin was unfazed.
"What's the matter slick?" Said Devin calmly. "Money not good enough for you?"
"It ain't about the money, asshole." Replied Franklin. "You fuckin' used me, Michael and Lamar and you had the old dude killed! And not only that, you paid these motherfuckers to do your dirty work for you, you spineless ass bitch!"
"Hey, I wasn't the one, who PULLED THE FUCKING TRIGGER ON MICHAEL!" Snapped Devin. "His blood is on your hands, slick. You're the one who made the decision! You CHOSE to follow the option that I suggested, so don't come running back to threaten me when it was entirely your fault!"
Pulling the hammer back, Franklin had only a few words for Devin.
"This time, your blood's gone be on my hands!"
"Big mistake, slick!" Said Devin, walking away from the room, looking at both of his guards, pointing at Franklin. "Guards? Put him to sleep."
The guards began to fire at Franklin, missing him and instead shooting at the briefcase, causing wads of green paper to float in the air.
Franklin immediately ducked over behind a nearby table, firing his SMG at both of the guards, causing them to fall on top of each other.
Hearing the gunshots coming from inside the VIP room, the people inside the restaurant instantly panicked, running for the front door quickly, pushing and shoving their way out. Chaos ensued inside the restaurant as platters of barbequed meat and drinks spilled on the floor, staining the carpets.
Bullets were sprayed all over the ground floor by the guards upstairs, injuring a few patrons and barely grazing Franklin, who immediately took cover.
Aiming for the balcony, Franklin fired several shots at the Merryweather guards upstairs, causing two of them to slump and fall over the balcony, landing with a sickening thud. Taking cover behind a pillar, Franklin peeked out to open fire at the last guard upstairs, bullet entering directly into his skull, creating a red-pink mist from the point of entry.
Running outside, Franklin gunned down a couple more Merryweather before dashing towards the parking lot. The Z-Type was gone, having just left for the freeway, tire tracks and fumes spread across the asphalt.
Shit. Thought Franklin. Need to find a fast car.
His wishes were finally granted when came across a dynamically superior and visibly attractive car parked outside the restaurant, along the freeway. It was a carbon black Grotti Carbonizzare with a hardtop, a hidden gem in the city, with it's engine still running.
Getting in, Franklin speeded onto the freeway, chasing the golden Z-Type, narrowly avoiding a Merryweather roadblock. Soon enough, Franklin heard gunfire coming from behind, progressively getting louder each time.
Two Merryweather Mesas were tailing him from behind, firing their rifles at the sports car.
Turning behind, Franklin rested his SMG on the seat and performed a drive-by shooting at the driver of the first Mesa, landing directly between the eyes, causing the jeep to overturn and roll off the cliff.
The next Mesa, however wasn't so easy. Quickly picking up speed with the Carbonizzare, the guard poking through the sunroof began firing at the car's interior. Instinctively, Franklin fired his SMG at the guard, causing his body to fly backwards, landing violently across the asphalt of the freeway.
The gun was now completely out of ammo, and quickly Franklin threw it out of the window. Making a sharp turn leftwards, the sports car rammed against the side of the jeep with immense force, causing it to swerve onto the oncoming lane, colliding into a large truck.
Franklin quickly peered behind, relieved that there was no more Merryweather coming after him.
Turning back to chase the yellow piece of shit on the road, Franklin felt an excruciating, sharp pain coming from around his abdominal region. Exerting pressure and removing his right palm, Franklin soon realized that it was colored a deep shade of red.
It didn't look good for him, at all.
Franklin was rapidly shifting in and out of consciousness, his vision of the freeway getting increasingly blurred from the loss of blood. The Z-Type was slowly stretching away from his line of sight. It just seemed like Devin could easily escape by now. Pessimistic thoughts filled Franklin's mind.
Man, I can't die just yet!
A sudden surge of motivation and adrenaline filled Franklin, desperately giving the energy to exert his force on the pedals, springing the Carbonizzare forward. The Z-Type was getting closer with each hard step.
After much driving around , the Carbonizzare soon came right behind the Z-Type, fishtailing the vintage vehicle. Over the windows Franklin could clearly see the face of Devin Weston, who was panicked and afraid for his life. Turning his head over to face Franklin, Devin's jaw was agape, and his eyes grew large, out of shock and disbelief.
"Goodbye, Devin!" Shouted Franklin, turning his sports car towards the left, performing a PIT maneuver against the Z-Type, causing it to spin out madly, making full frontal collision with a pile of rocks, effectively stopping the car for good.
5:15p.m., Chiliad Mountain State Wilderness, Blaine County
Franklin stopped right in front of the site of the car crash, and realized that the driver's door was open, a trail of blood followed to the left side of the area overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Sunset was about to approach Los Santos, the sky painted with a stunning palette of main and complimentary colors, creating a vivid, unforgettable scenery, as seagull cries resonated softly around the cliffs, the sound of seawater splashing against the white sands.
Opening the car doors, Franklin found himself slumping forward onto the dusty grounds below, clutching painfully onto the bullet wound below his chest. Mustering whatever strength he had left, Franklin slowly stood up on his knees, pulling out his combat pistol.
Slipping slowly towards the edge of the cliff, Franklin finally saw Devin, standing by the edge covered in blood, blabbering tearfully, begging for his life to be spared.
"Ain't so tough now without security, huh Devin?" Shouted Franklin angrily, coughing up a bit.
"P-please, slick!" Begged Devin, palms clasped together. "I-I run this fucking town, if you want anything, you'll get it! Just name it!"
Raising his gun at the billionaire's head, Devin attempted one last bargain with the gunman.
"Hey, how about this, huh?!" Continued Devin anxiously. "I'll give you half of my stock portfolio, a rare collection of cars from the 60s… YES! The 60s! And I'll let you own some of the finest establishments in LS! You're gonna be a big fucking billionaire, just like me! I'll do that, and c-could we call it even?!"
Franklin, placing both hands on the pistol's grip, pulled the trigger, a bullet landing directly into the mogul's heart, causing him to spew a bit of blood from his mouth as he clutched the wound tightly, making him stumble backwards.
The gulls perched by the rocks, startled by the gunshot, began to take off over the waters.
"Now we even." Said the shooter immediately, smoke rising from the muzzle of his pistol.
With a shocked expression on his face, Devin leaned over backwards, falling over the cliff before rolling against a few rocks, making a perfect landing into the turquoise waters. He was now history.
Looking over to the waters, Franklin saw Devin's limp body floating helplessly on the surface, tuxedo painted completely red and a maroon dye gathered around him in the water. For the first time ever, Franklin felt a sense of relief that he had never felt before, relieved that the entire clusterfuck of a situation was finally resolved. A sense of immense satisfaction overwhelmed him, making him smile. At least it was all over now.
"…Just like what Michael and Trevor would have done." Said Franklin with a faint smile, who was half bleeding to death, looking down at Devin's floating corpse below.
Ending Song: Living Days-Little White Lie
"…Take this from me~….,
…My hands are clean~…"
Franklin slowly looked over to the ocean, right palm slowly shifting away from the wound. He inspected his murder weapon for one last time, before throwing it over the cliff, landing in the water with a small splash.
Finding a suitable spot to spend his last moments, Franklin gently sat down, his back resting against a large boulder, taking one last, good look at the breathtaking Los Santos Sunset over the horizon. Shifting his gaze towards the sun and placing his right palm on the bullet wound, the criminal took his ultimate and final breath.
His conscious was finally clear.