[Reward Settlement Successful.]
[Acquired: Super Dynamic Vision.]
The world didn't just change; it slowed to a crawl. The cars screaming past Michael's convertible seemed to drag through invisible syrup. Jax leaned forward, his eyes locking onto the distant bumper of the white 9F sports car. The license plate, once a metallic blur, snapped into crystalline focus: FC1988.
What the hell? Why now?
Jax blinked, the sudden sensory overload making his head throb. He remembered the System's fine print: rewards were triggered by the pet's progress. He slowly turned his head toward the back seat.
"Are you kidding me?"
Perched on the leather headrest, directly above Bruce's smug face, was a juvenile Bald Eagle. Its wings were partially tucked, its talons gently kneading the upholstery.
Jax called up the interface with a thought.
[Pet Profile]
Name: BruceConstitution: 5 (Human Average: 10)Abilities: Animal Affinity, Dynamic Vision.Follower: Bald Eagle (Unnamed).Note: Next follower slot requires $10,000.
Jax tapped the Animal Affinity icon. A brief description flickered: Any animal, upon first contact, receives a +10 favorability boost. The math was simple. Bruce's natural idiocy was apparently so non-threatening that even the national symbol of America figured he was a safe place to land.
Suddenly, the vibrant clarity vanished. A wave of bone-deep exhaustion washed over Jax, making his limbs feel like lead. The world sped back up to its frantic, noisy reality.
It's like Michael's focus, Jax realized, rubbing his temples. It drains the battery. I can't keep that running for long.
"That... pet of yours," Michael's voice broke through the haze. He was glancing at the rearview mirror with a look of genuine confusion. "He's something else. I've lived in Los Santos a long time, Jax. I've never seen a wild eagle treat a dog like a personal sofa."
"He's just Bruce," Jax replied, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. "Animals have always liked him. I think they just realize he's too dim-witted to be a threat."
In the back, Bruce let out a huff and bumped his head against Jax's seat in a clear protest, though he didn't stop the eagle from preening his ears.
As they drove, Michael shifted into "mentor" mode, though his advice was colored by a decade of domestic misery. He spoke at length about the dangers of Los Santos, focusing specifically on the predatory nature of the local divorce courts.
"Don't get hitched too fast, kid," Michael muttered, lighting a cigarette. "Especially to the ones around here. They'll cling to you like leeches. Hundreds of thousands in alimony, every year, just to keep them in yoga pants and wine."
Jax nodded. Back in his old life as a vet, he'd seen enough bitter custody battles over Golden Retrievers to know the 'alimony line' was a real killer. He wasn't looking for a ring, anyway. In a city like this, a clean break was always better than a long-term contract.
"We're here."
The car stopped, but not at the sprawling Rockford Hills mansion Jax expected. They were in front of a clean, mid-rise apartment complex in a decent part of town.
"Property your father held onto," Michael said, pushing open the glass lobby doors. "Clean, quiet, and paid for. For now."
The unit was high-end for Los Santos standards—modern lines and a view that didn't immediately feature a gang war. Michael tossed the keys to Jax and headed back toward the elevator.
"Get your stuff settled. You're staying at my place tonight, though. I haven't had time to get furniture in here, and I'm not letting you sleep on the floor."
Jax didn't argue. He grabbed Bruce—and the eagle, which refused to budge—and followed Michael back to the car.
"Just a heads up," Michael said, sparking another cigarette as they pulled into his estate. "You'll have to put up with the garage. Things are... tense with Amanda again."
Jax took the offered cigarette and lit it. He knew the story. Amanda and the tennis coach were likely already making a mockery of the marriage out by the pool.
"It's fine," Jax said.
The estate was beautiful, but the atmosphere was thick with resentment. Michael pointed Jax toward a yellow SUV parked in the shadows of the expansive garage.
"Sleep in the Beejay tonight. It's comfortable enough. Call me if you need anything."
Jax climbed into the back seat, wrapped himself in the red blanket Michael tossed him, and fell into a heavy, system-exhausted sleep.
He woke hours later to a jarring metallic click and the low hum of an engine. The car was moving.
Jax sat up, his vision blurry and his heart hammering against his ribs. In the driver's seat sat a young man in a white tank top, his silhouette framed by the streetlights of Rockford Hills.
"Who the hell are you?" Jax rasped.
The driver slammed on the brakes, the SUV fishtailing slightly. "Who! Who's back there!"
The man turned around. It was a face Jax recognized instantly: Franklin Clinton.
Jax didn't waste time with introductions. He knew Franklin was muscle for a predatory dealership, and in this neighborhood, a break-in usually meant trouble. His hand swept across the floor mats, his fingers closing around a cold, heavy grip.
A Glock.
Jax raised the weapon, pointing it squarely at the back of Franklin's head.
Neither of them noticed the empty mag well.
Franklin's tough-guy facade vanished in a heartbeat. He dropped the steering wheel and put his hands up, shrinking into his seat. "Hey, man! Easy! I'm just doing a job. Repo work, that's all! Don't pull the trigger!"
Just as Jax opened his mouth to speak, the roar of a convertible echoed behind them. Michael's car screeched to a halt, blocking the road.
"You damn bastard!" Michael shouted, lunging out of his car. "Jax! You okay in there?!"
Michael had been watching from the shadows the whole time. He pulled open the rear door of the SUV and climbed in beside Jax, his face a mask of cold fury. He reached out, took the Glock from Jax's hand, and slapped a loaded magazine into the grip with a heavy clack.
Franklin's jaw dropped. "Holy shit! You mean that thing wasn't even loaded?"
Michael leveled the now-deadly weapon at the back of Franklin's skull.
"It is now," Michael growled. "Keep driving, kid. And you're going to tell me exactly where we're headed."
Jax sat back, the adrenaline finally starting to fade. He knew exactly where they were going.
Simeon Yetarian was about to have a very bad night.