Jump to content

Was It Worth It? - Ending D


LowTierDude

Recommended Posts

LowTierDude

Author's Note: I've originally posted this on Fanfiction.net under the handle OptimisticNihilist back in February 2016 but I thought I'd post it here as well. I had to be about 15 or 16 at the time and it was the first GTA-related fanfic of its kind that I've ever written so there's some bits of it that I'm not too proud of. I've changed elements of the dialogue and writing to be a bit more true to the characters and world.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

CHAPTER 1: Aftermath

 

[10:35p.m., Murrieta Oil Fields, Los Santos]

 

The yellowish tint of the Los Santos smog persisted stubbornly across the colorless, windy night sky as monotone, glossy silo tanks stood tall, bright red lights strobbing on and off from them at random intervals. The smoke coming from the Bodhi had begun to rapidly subside, leaving the charred remains of Michael's former partner, lying lifeless on the asphalt.

 

Beside what was left of him was the now limp body of the father of two, with blood slowly rolling out of a bullet hole lodged above his forehead, painting the ground red. His protégé, a young, ambitious man from South Central LS whom he had shared his knowledge of the criminal world with, remained still, thin line of smoke smoldering from the muzzle of the pistol, held loosely in his right hand, contemplating what he just did. He knew there and then, he f*cked up bad, taking advice from the likes of Haines and Weston.

 

"Sh*t. Was it worth it?" That was the only question that popped in his head.

 

Soon, the man, without warning, placed his left hand into his jacket, pulling out his iFruit phone, browsed through the contacts and finally dialed in a number.

 

A pre-recorded voice message was activated.

 

"What up, what up? This is your boy LD, leave one!" A familiar voice played from the phone.

 

The man took a deep breath of the putrid, freezing air, before continuing.

 

"Hey Lamar, it's me homie." The man stopped for a moment.

 

"Look, I was calling to see how you was doin', dog. Uh, maybe we could hang out or something."

 

The man turned back to take another glimpse at the bodies of his former partners in crime.

 

"Man, I know I've been kinda caught up in this sh*t, man but sh*t been real crazy, homie. But it's dealt with now. f*ck man, you know how it is homie. You just start runnin' and sh*t, then all of a sudden, your legs give in and you can't just run no more. Anyway, just hit me up dog. We brothers for life homie, alright?"

 

The last part of the sentence made him sweat. Calmly, the man began to retrace his steps. All he could remember was first, a phone call from Steve Haines as well as Devin Weston. Somehow later that day, he took part in a wild goose chase against Trevor across half of South San Andreas and to the oil fields. Michael, looking into Trevor's rage-filled eyes that screamed of betrayal by his former friends, was the one who delivered the final shot, setting his body ablaze. And then after that, the next thing he knew was that Michael was on the ground, dead by his protégé's hand, karma striking back on him at full speed.

 

"Loyalty sure is a bitch, ain't it?" The man thought to himself.

 

The cycle of betrayal had finally caught up to him, and Franklin did not enjoy the feeling of it, one bit. And deep down, he knew that he himself was a selfish hypocrite who only did such things to roll out of sh*t's creek, unharmed. Stabbing his friends in the back to save his own sweet ass from getting killed.

 

The man quickly shifted his thumb away from the 'End Call' button and eminently rephrased his words.

 

"You know what? f*ck it dog. Actually, I'm gonna head over to your crib, we need to talk."

 

Walking over back to his heavily-damaged Buffalo S, the man never turned back to look at the bodies of his former partners. Twisting the key against the ignition, springing the muscle car to life before setting the GPS to Forum Drive in Strawberry. He knew that something had to be done with both Haines and Weston.

 

They needed to pay for all the bullsh*t they done did.

Edited by kobeni
  • Like 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

LowTierDude

Chapter 2: Haines - Planning

 

[11:38p.m., Palomino Freeway, Los Santos County]

 

"...Well I guess we lost him… S'all good, s'all good. How can you be mad when you live in Los Santos? The most amazing city on Earth. It's so beautiful… damn!"

 

The sounds of the Araabmuzik remix of Kaskade's 4AM began to fill the Buffalo S's interior as Franklin pressed his foot on the gas pedal, propelling the car forward on the freeway, taking over many other automobiles on the road. The intensive trap beat of the song blended fantastically with the soft, female vocals, complimenting well with the night drive, thus making the journey seem faster than it really was. Feeling a buzz in his jacket, Franklin swiftly pulled his phone out. Revealing the call to be from Steve Haines, Franklin promptly dropped the call.

 

"I'm going for your ass first, motherf*cker." Franklin schemed. "For Trevor."

 

Franklin had to admit, in many ways, that Trevor was saner than the rest of Los Santos by a longshot, not to mention his undying loyalty to everyone he worked with, no matter how crazy he was. He made sure that everyone had payday, and that if you had any enemies, he made sure that they experienced a pain worse than hell. In contrast to Michael, who snitched out to the FIB Witness Protection back in '04, followed by Franklin himself, who betrayed them both.

 

In fact, had both Michael and Trevor been still alive, they would have taken the fight up to Devin and his cronies, ending this whole mess. Instead, Franklin was overcome by his own will to survive, seeing them both as obstacles, Franklin did the unspeakable.

 

"I thought I had the one Judas! Now I'm surrounded by them!" The pain in Trevor's voice was something that could never escape his mind, for as long as he lived.

 

It was almost midnight, the traffic was easily one of the easiest to bypass in all of his years driving in Southern San Andreas, with no more than five cars driving along at one time. Excellent, less time to waste.

 

4AM began to decrease in pitch and tempo, courtesy of Flying Lotus, lightening up the stressful atmosphere. Franklin was now able to mentally plan out what he wanted to do.

 

First, he needed to ask Lamar for some help, probably jack some old ass car that won't be spotted by them five-oh and use it for later.

 

And then, he needed to call Lester to ask about the whereabouts of both Steve Haines and Devin Weston.

 

Attaching a silencer, Franklin reloaded his pistol, planning for use against Haines later.

 

[12:01 a.m., Forum Drive, Strawberry, Los Santos]

 

"Ey yo, Lamar! It's me, dog! Open the door!" Shouted Franklin, knocking on his homie's door loudly, getting ugly looks from the neighbors.

 

"Ey, cut it out, buster!" Shouted back Lamar before opening the door. "Two-thirds of South Central be hittin' Zs right now, nigg-ah!" Dragging the last word slightly.

 

"I feel you man, but this is important."

 

Stepping into Lamar's crib, the pair quickly copped the chairs and sat down. Franklin, taking yet another deep breath, explained the whole situation directly into his friend's face, who immediately expressed shock and disdain for his actions.

 

"Man, that's cold." Lamented Lamar sadly. "So the old dude killed the crazy motherf*cker, an' then you iced the old dude, yo' mentor? That's story of your life, nigga!"

 

"Not really." Said Franklin, taking a huge gulp of a forty ounce. "It ain't something I wanna live with, you feel me man?"

 

"So you're tellin' me, you're gonna cap Devin Weston, AND Steve Haines?"

 

Franklin gave a small smirk.

 

"That's right, dog."

 

"You one cold ass, ballsy ass motherf*cker." Laughed Lamar. "But that's what I like about that plan, nigga."

 

"That it's stupid as f*ck?"

 

"Shiyeeet nigga it was you that said that not me."

 

Franklin felt yet another buzz from his phone. This time, it was a message from Amanda.

 

"I found about what you did to Michael, you piece of sh*t. I hope you rot in hell. Stay away from my family, and don't even think of calling back."

 

Franklin was momentarily at a loss of words, ignoring what Lamar was saying at the moment.

 

"Hey dog. You aight?" Asked Lamar, worried about Franklin's expression.

 

"Nigga, it's nothing, just some old ghosts comin' back to haunt me and sh*t. So you were saying?"

 

"So where do I come in, man?" Said the lanky gangbanger enthusiastically. "I gots to at least do sum'in while your bum ass runnin' around playin' Inigo Montoya!"

 

Ten minutes later…

[12:13 a.m., Downtown Los Santos]

 

The car was a disheveled, generic gray tone Vapid Stanier, one of the most common cars in the city of Los Santos and perhaps the state of San Andreas. Both Franklin and Lamar had just stolen it from some crackhead from around the block, and were waiting for Franklin's next move.

 

Franklin opened up his list of contacts, and picked the name 'Lester'.

 

"Who is this? Stop calling this number!" The man from the other line spoke menacingly, with a hint of paranoia.

 

"Relax, L. It's me, Franklin."

 

"… I've got nothing to say to you." Said Lester, audibly upset. "You have your money from the score, don't you? Now leave me alone. I don't wanna be your next target."

 

"Man, hold up!" Shouted Franklin angrily. "I wanna make it up for Michael and Trevor, I just need one last favor, dog!"

 

"So now you're trying to atone, huh? Well I ain't a confession booth, so we should probably call it quits-"

 

"If you put it like that, yeah!" Continued Franklin. "Those two dudes might not win any Nobels, but at least they tried to help me dog! They taught me many things about life and sh*t, got me out of the hood, man! And the money shows!"

 

Lamar chuckles.

 

"Looks like Mr. Gold Card's bragging about his high life and sh*t-!"

 

"Nigga could you let the big dogs talk for a second? Anyway, listen Lester. I f*cked up, big time. Least you could do is just tell me where the f*ck Haines and Devin are, an' I'll by on my way, I promise I won't bother your ass again!"

 

"Give me a moment."

 

After a brief moment of silence, the phone began to sound again.

 

"Agent Steve Haines, FIB, last seen at Del Perro Pier, just finished filming an episode of 'The Underbelly Of Paradise' and is probably on his break right now. My guess is that, he's at the bar there, drinking."

 

"And what about Devin, dog?"

 

"…Nothing on him yet, I'll call you back if I'm picking up anything. We have to hang up soon. And Franklin?"

 

"What?"

 

"Good luck."

 

Franklin hung up the call quickly, and returned the phone to his jacket, with Lamar on the wheel to Del Perro Pier.

 

"Nigga, Steve Haines is feds, you know we gonna get heat on us!" Said Lamar, a hint of worry in his voice.

 

"That's why we gotta do it discreetly."

 

"Nigga, 'discreetly' is when we end up in the morgue, fool!"

 

"C'mon, he's the reason why T's dead, dog! Tell you what, I'll think of something when we get there, so chill dog, I got this!"

 

"You sure it ain't because of you?"

 

Franklin goes silent, Lamar notices and changes his tone.

 

"Hope you right, homie. Then maybe after that we can peek at them bitches over at the Unicorn!"

 

Accelerating the sedan across the now quiet streets of Los Santos, the duo make their way to Del Perro Pier.

Edited by kobeni
  • Like 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

LowTierDude

Chapter 3: Hit 'Em

 

[12:30a.m., Out Of Towners, Del Perro Pier, Los Santos]

 

The long-awaited second episode of 'The Underbelly Of Paradise' has now concluded filming, and the FIB agent and his camera crew now able to enjoy fresh, ice cold bottles of Logger while looking on to the fantastic skyline of nighttime Los Santos from the balcony. It was finally time to celebrate. Loud rock music was heard all around Del Perro Pier, scaring the hobos away.

 

"Now!" Shouted Steve Haines proudly, carrying a bottle on his right hand. "I would like to thank you all for your contributions to the long-awaited second episode of my show, wouldn't have done it without you guys! Drinks... Are on the catering company!"

 

A raucous laughter was heard from the crew.

 

"Does this mean I get a raise, Steve?" Said a young cameraman, perched on the back seat, glass of Pisswasser in one hand and raising the other.

 

"Why, of course not, kid!" Responded the star of the show immediately, getting a few laughs from the crowd.

 

"Now let's give it up to the whorish, haggard face of the future, a face that no mother would love!"

 

Raising the bottle high, the rest of the crew followed suit, before chugging down on the liquor quickly.

 

Feeling the gurgles on his stomach, Steve Haines clenched his abdominals in complete agony, giving the crew a very frustrated facial expression, much to their amusement.

 

"Yo Steve, you alright, dude?" One of the crew members asked with a worried look.

 

"Ugh… I need to drop a deuce, right now…" Responded Steve anxiously. "Could you point out where the john is?"

 

"Uhh, there's only sinks here, nearest bathroom would be at the parking lot… if that's fine with you."

 

"You gotta be f*cking kidding. Who the f*ck designed this place?" Steve Haines quickly left the balcony in a hurry, without telling the rest of the crew.

 

"This sh*t's gonna kill me..."

 

Around the same time…

 

"This is where Lester said he be, keep your eyes peeled, dog." Said Franklin with a serious look on his face.

 

"F*ck that sh*t, nigga. We going in strapped to the hilt and going in loud! We can fight them FIB fools too! It be like that ball movie, man! Anythin' is possible!"

 

Loading a fresh magazine into a Micro-SMG with a silencer, Lamar quickly opened the rusted door of the Stanier, only to be stopped by his homie.

 

"Lamar, the f*ck you doing, you dumb bird brain ass motherf*cker?! You trying to get both of us killed?!" Shouted Franklin angrily, pulling his homie back by the shirt.

 

"Nigga, I thought we were in this together!" Rebutted Lamar. "An' you wanna back out now? Nigga, you a straight up busta!"

 

"I thought we was trying to do this sh*t discreetly!"

 

"You hear that?" Laughed Lamar.

 

"Just the night sea breeze, what'chu gettin' at?"

 

"It be my Apache ancestors tellin' my ass to get in there an' scalp that motherf*cker Haines!"

 

Just before Lamar got out, Franklin could see the figure of a fit, redheaded yet smug-looking white dude dressed in a purple polo and smart jeans, rushing into the bathroom hurriedly. Lamar, upon seeing thing, remained in his position.

 

Seeing this as an opportunity to snuff that arrogant piece of sh*t, the pair quickly made their way outside the bathroom, taking cover outside. "Nine Is God" played loudly across the speakers, with its loud, noisy surf guitars effectively walling over the pier, making it the perfect opportunity to silence Haines.

 

Lamar, gripping onto the grip of the gun tightly, was extremely eager to pierce lead through the FIB agent.

 

"Nigga, let's just go in an' drop his ass!" Shouted Lamar over the music. "I'm tide of seeing the ads for his motherf*ckin' show! Can't a nigga just watch America's Next Top Hooker in peace and without seeing his ugly mug pop up every 15 minutes? Now that's some straight up bull-"

 

"Hold it, dog! He ain't out yet!" Stopped Franklin preparing to enter the bathroom.

 

"Hallelujah!" Shouted the agent proudly as he exited the toilet door, before going over the the sink to wash up his face. "That, ladies and gentlemen, was a full tank!"

 

It was time.

 

The first verse of the song began playing.

 

Giving Lamar the signal, the pair quickly ran up to confront Haines at gunpoint.

 

Steve Haines, slowly looking up, looked like he was about to sh*t his pants, again.

 

"You-you… I thought you killed him!" Stammered the FIB agent.

 

"I did." Said Franklin, pointing the silenced pistol towards his forehead. "But you know what? If I had been a little wiser, he WOULD have killed yo' ass already!"

 

"You're making the biggest f*cking mistake of your whole, insignificant life, kid." Shouted Haines loudly over the loud music, gaining some courage in the face of two gun barrels. "YOU KNOW WHO THE F*CK I REPRESENT?-"

 

Without letting the agent finish his sentence, both Lamar and Franklin opened fire, bullets quickly piercing through his flesh and exiting through the holes, causing his bloodied body to collapse on the ground with a thud. Agent Haines was now out of commission.

 

"I'll clean the blood, you drag his ass to the trunk." Said Franklin, putting on a pair of gloves and taking out some disinfectant and cloth, before doing the honors, while Lamar simply nodded his head before pulling the lifeless body by the shoulders.

 

"Damn! You a big dude, "Special" Agent Steve Haines!" Commented Lamar, dragging his body towards the Stanier. "How tall you reckon this nigga is, man? 6'1, 6'2? Sh*t, he can't be taller than me though."

 

"Ey, make sure nobody sees your crazy ass, nigga!" Reminded Franklin.

 

"Nigga, I'd ice 'em already! Sh*t, with all that racket going on? Ain't nobody walking around the pier at this hour!"

 

Adding the disinfectant all over the now clean floors of the bathroom, Franklin gave it one last scrub before getting up and running back to Lamar.

 

Lamar was already halfway to the Stanier, having some trouble with Steve's body.

 

"Gonna need some help here, dog!" Shouted Lamar. "This motherf*cker been eating good!"

 

Grabbing the body by the legs, Franklin winced, looking over at the agent's mangled face.

 

"That's some nasty ass sh*t, dog!" He thought to himself.

 

"Shiiit! His brain matter riverin' out! You could spread that sh*t on a hot dog or somethin'!" Laughed Lamar, much to Franklin's annoyance. "Mmm, mmm, mmm!"

 

"Nigga, save that talk for the next swap meet and just hurry it up and get the trunk open."

 

Reaching over to the trunk, Lamar opened the trunk without breaking a sweat before dumping the body inside, closing the trunk immediately after that.

 

"Rest with the fishes, uhlee bitch ass nigga." Said Lamar darkly.

 

"I know a place where we can dump his ass, let me take the wheel, Lamar."

 

Jumping into the driver's seat, the pair make their way to the cliffs of Paleto Bay.

 

There was one thing that was to be certain about, it was that justice had been served for Trevor, in the form of blood.

Edited by kobeni
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 1 month later...
ToniCiprani

This is gold

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • 1 User Currently Viewing
    0 members, 0 Anonymous, 1 Guest

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using GTAForums.com, you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy.