"This brat... he causes me trouble every single day he draws breath."
Michael slammed the door of the red convertible, the engine already roaring. As Jax and Franklin dropped into their seats, the car lurched forward with a violent surge of torque that pinned them against the leather.
"If I'd known it would be like this," Michael growled, weaving through the winding roads of Rockford Hills, "I should've left him on the wall back at the hospital twenty years ago."
The manicured lawns and palm trees of the heights blurred into a green and gold streak. Jax watched the scenery recede, a bitter thought crossing his mind. If Los Santos wasn't a sun-drenched deathtrap, it would be the perfect vacation spot. But between the stray bullets and the predatory gangs, it was a city best viewed through a bulletproof window.
"With these two kids around," Michael continued his tirade, "my blood pressure never stands a chance."
Jax rubbed the bridge of his nose. He couldn't imagine the sheer mental exhaustion of being Michael De Santa. "But honestly, Mike," Jax said, his voice level, "you're the one who poked the hornets' nest yesterday."
Franklin, leaning between the seats from the back, looked confused. "The hell happened yesterday?"
Michael gave a grim, three-sentence summary of the Bullworth brawl. Jax listened, but his mind drifted back to his "meta" knowledge of this world. In any timeline, Jimmy De Santa was a magnet for disaster. Even without the Mexican Gang, the kid probably would have tried to sell the boat to a cult or trade it for a rare skin in a video game.
The sedan was a crimson bolt of lightning on the asphalt, the screech of brakes echoing off the coastal cliffs. Unlike the stories Jax remembered, the yacht wasn't being towed down a highway; it was still anchored off the sparkling coast of Los Santos Beach.
They arrived to a scene of pure chaos. A dozen men in white undershirts, heavily armed and looking frantic, surrounded the yacht. On the deck, a group of terrified students were huddled together. Jimmy was on the floorboards, a dusty boot pressed into his soft stomach.
"Where is it, you fat sack of shit?!" one of the Bullworth tracksuits from yesterday screamed, punctuating the question with a kick.
"I... I don't know!" Jimmy wailed, his voice cracking. "My dad... he took the stash!"
Jimmy had come here to play the big man, hoping to impress his classmates before he started his "job" at the clinic. Instead, one of his so-called friends had sold him out to the gang. A tall, thin kid with glasses stood over him, looking down with a mix of pity and greed. "Don't take it personally, Jimbo. It's just business."
On the edge of the sand, Michael killed the engine.
"Open the trunk," Michael commanded, reaching under his seat to pull out a suppressed handgun.
Jax stepped out, popped the latch, and let out a low whistle. "You just keep a mobile armory in the back of this thing?"
Franklin scrambled out, his eyes widening as Jax pulled out a pair of compact submachine guns. "Holy shit! Those for us? Man, I've never touched anything that wasn't a rusted-out Saturday Night Special."
"Consider it a loaner," Michael joked, slapping an extended magazine into his pistol with a heavy clack. "These cost more than your car, kid. Don't lose 'em."
Jax handed a SMG to Franklin, the metal cold and purposeful in his grip. The three men shared a look—a silent pact of violence.
The wheels spun, churning up sand and white smoke as Michael floored it toward the yacht.
"You want to see the door of opportunity, Franklin?" Michael shouted over the wind. "This is it. Don't blink."
As the car skidded across the beach, Jax leaned out the window.
[Super Dynamic Vision: Activated.]
The world froze. The panicked movements of the gang members became slow-motion pantomime. Jax raised the submachine gun, the muzzle flashing in rhythmic, orange bursts.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Bullets tore through the air, finding the lead gang members before they could even draw. Crimson blossoms erupted on white undershirts. The survivors scrambled, but on the open sand, there was nowhere to hide.
"We're under attack!" the Mexican captain roared, but his voice was a deep, slowed-down bass to Jax's ears.
Jax adjusted his aim, firing in controlled, lethal bursts. Beside him, Franklin was laughing—a wild, manic sound—as he sprayed the remaining cluster of men. It was like harvesting wheat. In seconds, the beach was silent, save for the groans of the wounded.
Click.
Jax's weapon ran dry. He pulled back into the car, his heart thumping as the vision faded and the exhaustion crept in.
"Jimmy! Get your ass off that boat!" Michael screamed.
Jimmy didn't wait. He vaulted over the railing, stumbling through the surf and scrambling into the back seat next to Franklin.
"Go! Go!" Jimmy shrieked.
Michael didn't look back. He floored the gas, the convertible screaming away from the shoreline.
On the deck of the yacht, a blonde girl in high-end sportswear slowly stood up, looking at the carnage on the beach with a cold, calculating gaze. She glanced at the receding red car, then jumped into the water.
BOOM.
A split second later, the yacht vanished in a towering pillar of orange flame and black smoke. The shockwave rolled across the water, flattening the girl and sending a rain of debris into the ocean. A black SUV screeched to a halt on the sand, and two women in tactical gear rushed to pull the blonde girl from the surf.
Inside the car, the sound of the explosion was a dull thud in the distance.
"Mike," Jax said, looking over his shoulder at the black smoke rising behind them. "Your boat just became a bonfire."
Michael slammed his fist against the steering wheel, his face a mask of fury. "Those goddamn animals! That was a custom build!"
Jax ignored the ranting. A familiar blue light flickered in the corner of his eye.
[Notice: Your pet, Bruce, is recruiting new subordinates and requires financial support.]
[Required Amount: $10,000]
[Accept?]
Jax didn't hesitate. After seeing what Dynamic Vision could do in a gunfight, ten grand was a bargain. He tapped [Yes] in his mind.
[Funds Deducted.]
[Recruitment Successful!]
[Congratulations! You have obtained...]