Trevor disappeared in the Desert for three days.
During these three days, Ron kept calling him, texting him, and even used a drone to look for his trailer, but found nothing.
It was as if Trevor had evaporated; he didn’t return to the Desert and didn’t go anywhere he knew.
On the fourth day, Ron’s computer received an encrypted message.
There were only four words:
Los Santos.
Car.
Ron understood immediately.
Trevor wanted to enter Los Santos, needed a car that wasn’t too conspicuous, and needed a map—marking the location of Michael’s house, nearby police stations, hospitals, and escape routes.
Ron spent two hours preparing all the materials and then sent them via courier to an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of Los Santos.
The recipient was written as “Philips Brothers Company.”
Trevor arrived at that gas station at 3:00 AM.
He was driving a stolen gray sedan, wearing a wrinkled plaid shirt and a baseball cap.
He took the materials out of the courier box and sat on the hood of the car to read them by the streetlights.
Michael’s address: 4 Tower Street, Rockford Hills.
A white Mediterranean-style villa with a swimming pool and a three-car garage.
Family members: Amanda De Santa De Santa (wife), Tracey De Santa (daughter), Jimmy De Santa (son).
Trevor looked at that family photo—Michael standing in the middle, smiling very fake-ly, like an actor trying hard to play a “good husband.”
“You’ve changed, Michael.” Trevor folded the photo and shoved it into his pocket.
“But I haven’t.
I’m still the lunatic who will stab you in the back—oh~~ no no no, I stab you in the front.
Because I don’t do sneak attacks.”
He started the car and drove toward Los Santos.
Meanwhile, Richard received a call from Michael in the safehouse.
“I’ve made up my mind,” Michael’s voice was hoarse.
“I’m not going to find him.
And I’m not running.
I’ll just wait for him at home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure.
If he comes, I’ll talk to him.
If he wants to kill me…
then let him.” Michael gave a wry smile.
“I’ve lived long enough and tired enough these past nine years anyway.”
Richard heard the exhaustion and despair in Michael’s tone and felt awful.
He knew that in the original plot, Michael and Trevor eventually reconciled—but that was after a series of gunfights, explosions, and fighting enemies together.
Now the plot had deviated, and he couldn’t guarantee the same ending.
“I’ll be keeping watch near your house,” Richard said.
“Franklin and Lamar will come too.”
“Don’t let them come.
This is between me and Trevor.”
“If you die, they’ll still seek revenge on Trevor.
Then it won’t just be one person who dies.”
Michael was silent for a few seconds, then sighed.
“Suit yourself.”
After hanging up, Richard immediately contacted Franklin and Lamar.
He didn’t say who Trevor was, only saying, “Michael has a very dangerous old friend coming, and he needs help.” Franklin agreed without a second thought, and although Lamar complained about “having to work overtime again,” he agreed too.
The trio met at the street corner opposite Michael’s house.
Richard brought a pistol he bought from the black market, Franklin brought that borrowed gun, and Lamar brought a baseball bat.
“You’re just bringing a baseball bat?” Richard asked.
“My aim is bad; I feel more secure with a bat,” Lamar said seriously.
At 4:00 AM, a gray sedan stopped at the entrance of Tower Street.
In the moonlight, Trevor Philips’s shadow was stretched long.
He was wearing a leather jacket and a baseball cap, carrying a plastic bag in his hand—inside was Johnny’s head (already rotting and stinking, but he didn’t care).
He walked step by step toward the door of Michael’s house.
Richard was watching from the street corner, his palms full of sweat.
“He’s here!” he said.
Franklin gripped his gun tight.
Lamar raised the baseball bat.
Trevor walked to the door, didn’t ring the doorbell, and kicked the door open.
The sound of the wooden door shattering exploded in the quiet neighborhood like a gunshot.
“Michael!” Trevor’s voice was hoarse and furious.
“Michael Townley!
Get your ass out here!”
The lights on the second floor turned on.
Michael was wearing a bathrobe, standing at the top of the stairs, looking at that friend from nine years ago downstairs.
“Trevor!” Michael’s voice was shaking.
“Oh?
You remember me, you fat fuck?” Trevor smiled, that smile uglier than crying.
“I thought you were dead.
Oh wait—is it that you thought I was dead, or that you thought I deserved to die?”
Richard rushed into the door, blocking the space between Michael and Trevor.
“Trevor, wait—!”
Trevor looked at Richard and tilted his head.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Michael’s friend.
Please calm down first—”
Trevor punched Richard in the face.
Richard stumbled back two steps, his nose bleeding, but he didn’t fall.
He wiped the blood and looked at Trevor.
“I’ve been shot; this punch doesn’t hurt.”
Trevor was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“Interesting!
Michael, when the fuck did you make friends with a death-defying Richard guy?”
Michael walked down the stairs and stood beside Richard.
“Trevor, I know you hate me.
But hear me out.
After I’m done, kill me if you want.”
Trevor threw the plastic bag on the ground, and Johnny’s head rolled out, scaring Franklin and Lamar into taking a step back simultaneously.
“Speak,” Trevor said, crossing his arms.
“I’ll only give you three minutes.”
Michael took a deep breath and began to speak—
Nine years ago, North Yankton, the FBI line, Dave’s deal, the faked death, the witness protection program, Los Santos, the mansion, the family, the lies.
He spoke for ten minutes, and Trevor didn’t interrupt.
When he finished, Trevor was silent for thirty seconds, then asked one question:
“What about Brad?
Is he dead too?
I was always writing him letters.”
Michael lowered his head.
“…He’s dead too.”
“Did you kill him?”
“It was the FBI.”
“But you survived. This story is hosted at g.com.
You chose to live and let him die.” Trevor’s voice was very soft, but every word was like a knife.
“Do you know what Brad was to me?
He was the only person I was still willing to call ‘brother’!
You and Brad, you two—you were my family!
And then you killed one and abandoned the other!!”
“I didn’t kill Brad—”
“You chose to let him die!” Trevor roared, punching the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall.
“Do you know how I spent these nine years?
Every night I dream of North Yankton, dream of you calling my name in the snow, dream of you falling down—and then I wake up and find you didn’t fucking die at all!
You’re living in a mansion in Los Santos, driving sports cars, eating ice cream with your wife and kids!”
Trevor’s eyes were red.
Michael’s eyes were also red.
Two grown men stood at the shattered doorway, one in a bathrobe, one in a leather jacket, like two children abandoned by the world.
Richard, Franklin, and Lamar didn’t dare to make a sound.
Finally, Trevor took a deep breath, wiped his nose, and his voice returned to that hoarse, manic tone.
“I won’t kill you today.”
Michael looked up.
“Not because I don’t want to kill you.” Trevor pointed at Michael’s nose.
“It’s because I want you to live, to know every day—that I, Trevor Philips, am in Los Santos, and I can come take your life at any time!
You fat fuck, drinking beer all day, pretending to be a rich man in Vinewood!!”
He turned and walked toward the door, pausing when he passed by Richard.
“You, Richard kid.
You’re interesting!
But next time we meet, don’t stand in my way.
I don’t give a second warning!”
Trevor left.
The gray sedan disappeared into the night.
Michael slumped to the ground, shaking all over.
Richard walked over and reached out his hand.
“Get up.
He’s gone.”
Michael looked at Richard’s hand, took it, and stood up.
“…Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.
Next time he comes, I might not be able to stop him.”
Franklin and Lamar also walked over.
The four of them stood at the shattered doorway, watching the night sky of Los Santos slowly brighten.
Lamar whispered, “So…
can someone tell me, who the hell is this lunatic?”
Michael replied, “An old friend.”
Lamar scratched his head.
“How come all your friends are so weird?”
No one answered him.
But on Richard’s phone, the system popped up a new notification:
Quest [Lies and the Lunatic] phase complete.
Trevor Philips Favor +5 (Current: 5).
New area unlocked: Blaine County Desert.
Warning: Trevor’s patience is limited.
He may change his mind at any time.
Next stage mission: [Brothers’ Reconciliation]—Before Trevor acts again, find a way to truly reconcile him and Michael.
Time: Unknown.
Richard turned off his phone, looking at the predawn light in the east.
A new day had begun, but the story of Los Santos was just entering its wildest part.