The man screamed as Trevor brought down the wrench on his knees. Gasping, his legs broken, Trevor ripped off the gag. The immaculately dressed man who had walked in was carrying 3 large duffel bags. The man being tortured on the floor of the garage knew that they contained money. Lots and lots of money. It was his job every day to protect large amounts of money; he served as an armed security guard. And these guys got the drop on him, chose HIS van to attack. The man looked around at his partner, lying dead on the floor, hog-tied, shot execution style in the back of the head by the well-dressed man. And he knew the person now torturing him very well; he was Trevor Phillips, a drug-addicted, out-of-control psychopath who basically ruled Blaine County with an iron fist. His business of drug and gun running had caused many problems for law enforcement over the years.

“T, you won’t believe the take!” the man shouted, grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah? How much?” Trevor grunted, lifting his hapless victim back up onto the chair, the man whimpering through a gag, bloodied. “3 and a half million!” smiled the man. Trevor stopped what he was doing, turned to stare, wide-eyed, at the man. “Shit Mikey…” Trevor said, “a few more like that and you can go back to retirement!” “Yeah, my wife can continue spending my money and fucking her yoga instructor, my son can keep being a fat slob and my daughter can keep snorting coke with porn stars” grumbled the man known as Mikey. “Awww you miserable old bastard” Trevor sneered, “if you hate them that much, come and fucking join me in Sandy Shores!” “Uhh… thanks, but no thanks T” smiled Mike, “I love them, it’s just that… ya know, I wish that they would use my money more wisely, ya know? I still gotta pay that prick spook off once a month still! Now, what to do with this one…” he said ominously, kicking the captive guard in the head with his foot. The guard stared at them, wide-eyed and terrified; he knew what was coming. Trevor, as usual, didn’t waste any time. Picking up a silenced handgun, he put the gun to the guard’s head, and opened fire. Blood and brains went everywhere, none of it touching Trevor. “T, grab the money, I’ll start the clean up” Mikey offered, grabbing a nearby jerry can full of fuel. Trevor grabbed the duffel bags and exited the small storage shed under the freeway; dumping the bags in the back of the stolen SUV that their partner, Franklin Clinton had acquired, Trevor started smoking the last of his crack, thinking that he would drop in and buy some off the Mexicans on the way back home.

A car pulled up, a nice, shiny black sedan. Trevor looked over in interest. Out stepped his and Mike’s partner, Franklin. A well-dressed, confident, cocky young man, he was accompanied by someone else; a short guy covered in tattoos, with a Mohawk. “Who’s that Franklin, your whipping boy?” Trevor slurred out druggedly. “Man shut the fuck up you crazy weird bastard!” sneered Franklin, “I found a little business opportunity for us.” “Oh yeah?” Trevor said, thumping up to them, looking a stark contrast with his dirty, redneck appearance compared to the two cleaner-looking men standing in front of him. “Yeah Mr Phillips, though I can always just take Franklin and your friend Michael over there and just kill you right here… and leave you in the storage shed that is currently burning down in front of us” the Mohawk guy , pointing to Michael walking over to them with the jerry can now empty, the shed now in flames. “Who the hell’s this?” Michael snapped sharply, pointing at the Mohawk guy. The guy stood impassive, arms folded, as Franklin introduced him. “This right here is Johnny Christ. He say he got us a bit of work where he comes from… big money too. We’re talkin’ hundreds of millions.” Both Michael and Trevor immediately stopped treating the newcomer with hostility and were immediately curious. “Where you from kid?” Michael asked, extending his hand, which Johnny shook. “I come from a place that’s a while away from here” Johnny informed them, “I come on behalf of our Honourable King James, who needs a group of hardened criminals like yourselves. People to carry out things which he doesn’t want himself or his inner circle to be connected to. In essence, if you accept, King James is prepared to pay you each $50,000,000 up front. You will be required to carry out covert ops against all of the King’s enemies. Will you all accept?”

Michael, Franklin and Trevor were flabbergasted at what was said. 50 million each! It was perfect for them; Los Santos was getting too hot, they were all under surveillance… it was only a matter of time before they slipped up and had an army of SWAT guys kicking down their doors to kill them. Each of them, however, had slight predicaments; Michael still had his family to worry about, Trevor was keeping hostages in a basement somewhere, and Franklin was worried about his neighbourhood coming under attack from rival gangs. As if the short man knew what they were thinking, Johnny spoke up; “not one of you needs to worry. Michael, your family is in good hands, we have arranged for a certain amount of your earnings to be directed into your wife’s account every month, your family will not starve. Trevor, we have found your hostages and taken them to where we are going, they are being kept prisoner in the King’s dungeon. Franklin, you no longer need to worry about the Ballas. Most of their members were killed this morning in a warehouse fire, we made sure no-one escaped.” All 3 men turned and nodded to each other; Michael spoke up- “sure, we’ll come along. ”Perfect” said Johnny, “the King’s personal plane is waiting at the airport. We must go, we are on a tight schedule”.