Michael looked at the reel. Then at the setting sun. Then at his two friends—a psychopath and a thief, the only honest people he knew.
Trevor stared. Then he howled with laughter—a raw, genuine sound. "You magnificent bastard."
Below, a police cruiser skidded off the road, chasing a ghost. Ahead, the Vinewood lights flickered to life—a city of illusions, built on lies and gold. Grand Theft Auto V
Trevor’s eyes were wide, wet, and wild. "Supposed? Mikey, there is no supposed. There's only doing and dying . And I ain't dying until I watch that weasel Steve Haines cry on live television."
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Michael looked at the reel
He tapped out a reply: "Who's driving?"
Michael leaned back, closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, smiled. Trevor stared
As they lifted off, the LSPD choppers swarmed. Trevor opened fire, shredding one, then two, laughing as the wreckage spiraled into the city below.
Michael tossed the reel out.
A moment later, a bright yellow Banshee 900R screamed around the corner and slid to a halt, inches from the boardwalk railing. Behind the wheel, Franklin Clinton leaned out, grinning.