Lester set the “interview location” in an abandoned movie theater in Vinewood.
He said it had “style”—but really it was because it didn’t require rent, and the back door led directly to an alley, making it easy to escape.
Michael, Franklin, and Richard sat in the first row, with a folding table and three folding chairs in front of them.
A stack of resumes lay on the table—”candidates” Lester had screened from prison and unemployment databases.
Lamar was in charge of keeping watch at the door, while also selling popcorn (the slow-moving stock from Jimmy’s Counterfeit Empire).
“First one.” Michael picked up the top sheet and read, “Name: Chester Malone.
Age: 34.
Priors: Theft, burglary, illegal possession of weapons.
Specialties: Lockpicking, safe-cracking, parkour.”
“Parkour?” Richard became interested.
“This is good, useful for escaping.”
“But he broke his leg because of parkour and now walks with a limp,” Lester’s voice came through the earpiece.
“I saw it in his medical records.”
“…Next.”
The second one to walk in was a bald, burly man with a dragon tattoo on his neck, wearing a tight tank top, his biceps thicker than Richard’s thighs.
He plopped down on the interview chair, which let out a painful groan.
“Name’s Tyson,” he said in a muffled voice.
“I can bend steel bars with my bare hands.”
Michael asked, “Have you ever fired a gun?”
“Yeah.
Last time I fired, I hit a guy’s toe from three meters away.”
“…Was that intentionally hitting the toe, or did you miss your aim?”
“A bit of both, I guess.” Tyson grinned, revealing a gold tooth.
Richard wrote in his notebook: “Poor aim, but can act as a meat shield.” Michael took one look and crossed it out.
“Thanks, we’ll consider it.”
Tyson stood up, and the chair was finally relieved.
As he walked out, he bumped into the doorframe, nearly knocking it askew.
The third person to enter was a thin, small white male wearing glasses and a plaid shirt, looking like a programmer.
After sitting down, his first words were: “My name is Kevin.
I’m not a criminal, but I really need money.
I saw your job advertisement online—’High salary, adventurous spirit preferred.’ I think I’m a great fit.”
Michael frowned: “When did we post an ad online?”
Lester’s voice came through the earpiece: “I posted it.
On Craigslist, with the title ‘Bank project hiring temporary workers, $500/day, no experience needed.’ I thought it might attract some interesting people.”
“Are you crazy?
The police will see it!”
“I used a fake IP; they can’t trace it.”
Richard covered his forehead and looked at Kevin: “What skills do you have?”
“I know Excel.” Kevin pushed up his glasses.
“I can create pivot tables and use VLOOKUP functions.
Do you need financial analysis done?”
“We’re here to rob money, not analyze it.” Franklin said, expressionless.
“Then…
I can help drive.
I have a driver’s license, although I haven’t driven much.”
“What kind of car have you driven?”
“The Santana from driving school.
Manual transmission.”
Michael glanced at Richard, his eyes saying, “Is this guy here to be funny?” Richard suppressed a laugh and said: “Kevin, thank you.
If we ever need an Excel expert, we’ll contact you.”
Kevin stood up, shook hands with everyone very seriously, and then left.
When he reached the door, he turned back and said: “I know you think I’m not up to it, but I will prove myself.
Just you wait.”
“Right, we’ll wait.” Michael waved his hand dismissively.
The fourth.
The fifth.
The sixth.
A fat man came in claiming to be a “former Navy SEAL,” but when Franklin asked him “What is the Navy SEAL motto,” he froze, stammering “Charge forward.” The actual answer is “The only easy day was yesterday.” After being exposed, the fat man slunk away.
A middle-aged woman in a wedding dress arrived, claiming she “specialized in seducing targets.” Michael asked her, “Who have you seduced?” She said, “My ex-husband.” Franklin asked, “Did it work?” She said, “It did, he left with nothing.” Richard wrote in his notebook: Negotiator candidate?
Michael crossed it out again.
A man with a parrot came in.
The parrot could say things like “Robbing the bank!” and “The cops are here!” Richard thought this was quite useful—it could serve as an “early warning system.” But the man demanded a share of the money for his parrot, and the parrot needed its own nut meal.
Negotiations broke down.
After interviewing over a dozen people, all three were slumped in their chairs, exhausted.
“Isn’t there a single normal one?” Franklin complained.
“Normal people don’t apply for a robbery,” Michael said.
Richard flipped through the remaining resumes and suddenly stopped on one page.
The photo showed a young Black man in work clothes with a serious expression.
Work experience: logistics company driver, warehouse manager, forklift operator.
“This guy has no criminal record,” Richard said.
“Then why did Lester let him in?”
Lester’s voice rang out: “Because he was recently fired from his logistics company for ‘refusing to transport illegal goods.’ I checked; his boss asked him to transport a shipment without customs declarations, and he refused.
This shows he has principles, and he knows what ‘illegal’ means—such a person is actually reliable during a robbery.”
“Makes sense,” Michael said.
“Call him in.”
When Dwayne walked in, his gait was steady, and his eyes didn’t dart around.
After sitting down, he placed his hands on his knees, his back straight, like someone interviewing for a proper job.
“Mr.
Jones,” Michael mimicked an HR tone, “why do you want to work here?”
“Because I need money, and I’m good at driving and moving cargo.” Dwayne’s voice was steady.
“Whatever you’re planning to rob, someone has to drive it away and someone has to load it.
And I’m that person.”
“You don’t mind doing illegal things?”
Dwayne was silent for two seconds: “I do mind.
But I mind my mother dying because she can’t afford medical bills even more.
She needs surgery, and insurance won’t cover it.
You give me 200,000, and I’ll do the job for you.
After that, I’m out, and I’ll never touch it again.”
Richard looked into Dwayne’s eyes and knew he was telling the truth.
In games, this type of NPC is usually the most reliable—they have clear motivations and aren’t crazy.
“Can you drive a truck?” Richard asked.
“Yes.
Semi-trailers, box trucks, flatbeds, I’ve driven them all.”
“Can you lose the cops?”
“That depends on how close the police are.
Within 100 meters, it’s difficult.
If they’re further than 100 meters, I’m confident.”
Michael and Franklin exchanged a glance.
Franklin nodded slightly.
Michael extended his hand: “$1,000 a day, plus a bonus after this big project is done.
Are you in?”
Dwayne shook Michael’s hand: “I’m in.
But I have one condition—don’t make me kill anyone.”
“We don’t kill people.” When Richard said this, even he didn’t quite believe it, but Dwayne did.
After Dwayne left, Lester said in the earpiece: “I checked his background three times; it’s clean.
He can be hired.”
Richard wrote the first name on the list: Dwayne Jones—Driver/Mover.
When the twenty-third interviewee walked in, Richard almost fell off his chair.
It was a white boy who looked at most twenty years old, wearing a wrinkled suit, a crooked tie, and holding a kraft paper envelope.
As soon as he entered, he bowed deeply and said in English with a heavy accent: “Hello!
My name is Jason Brown, I just graduated from Los Santos Community College this year, majoring in Business Administration.
Here is my resume!”
He handed the envelope to Michael with both hands.
Michael opened it to find a printed resume, beautifully formatted, but the content…
left much to be desired.
Skills: Proficient in Office suite, strong teamwork skills, leadership abilities (former group leader for university assignments)
Internship experience: Worked as a barista at Starbucks for two months
Self-evaluation: I am a diligent, honest, and ambitious young man, hoping to contribute my strength to your esteemed company.
“Esteemed company?” Franklin read the words out loud and nearly laughed out loud.
“Yes!” Jason’s eyes sparkled.
“I saw your recruitment ad online—’Bank project hiring temporary workers, $500/day.’ I thought, isn’t this the financial industry?
I studied Business Administration, it’s a perfect match!”
Richard took a deep breath: “Jason, do you know what this ‘bank project’ of ours actually involves?”
“I don’t know.
But I’m not picky about work.
As long as I can gain experience, anything is fine.”
“When you saw the words ‘no experience needed,’ didn’t you find it strange?”
“Not really.
Many companies write ‘no experience needed’ and then train you after you get in,” Jason said with a naive expression.
Michael was slumped over the desk, his shoulders shaking—he was holding back laughter.
Franklin turned his face away, pretending to look elsewhere.
Only Richard managed to keep a straight face.
“Jason,” Richard tried to make his voice sound normal, “this job of ours…
has some risks.”
“I know.
Every job has risks.
Starbucks has risks too—burns, dropping cups, encountering difficult customers.”
It’s…
legal risk.”
Jason blinked: “You mean…
this bank project isn’t legal?”
Richard hesitated: “Yes.”
Jason was silent for five seconds, then his expression became very serious: “Then has your esteemed company considered…
making it legal?
I can help you create a compliance plan.
I studied business ethics in school and got a B+.”
Michael finally couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.
Franklin laughed along too.
Richard covered his face, not knowing whether to cry or laugh.
“Jason, thank you.
But we don’t need a compliance plan for the time being.”
“Then what do you need?
I can learn!
I’m a fast learner, I got a 78 in Calculus last semester!”
“78 isn’t that high…”
“The class average was 65!
I was in the top 30%!”
Richard looked into Jason’s sincere, hopeful eyes and suddenly felt unable to reject him outright.
This kid really wanted a job, really wanted to survive in this city.
He had come to the wrong place, but his heart was in the right place.
“Jason,” Richard stood up, walked over to him, and patted his shoulder, “listen to me.
You’re a good kid, but this ‘company’ of ours isn’t for you.
Go find a job somewhere else, you’ll definitely find something better.”
Jason’s eyes dimmed for a moment, but they lit up again quickly: “Do you think I’m not qualified?
That’s okay, I can start from the bottom!
Moving things is fine too!
I might be thin, but I have determination!”
“It’s not a question of determination—”
“I can prove it to you!” Jason suddenly pulled a folding chair out of his suit pocket—Richard didn’t know how he managed to fit it in there—unfolded it, placed it on the ground, and started doing push-ups.
He did three, and his face turned red.
By the fifth, his arms started shaking, and on the seventh, he collapsed onto the floor.
“I…
usually…
can do ten…” he said, panting.
Richard helped him up, helped him fold the chair, and stuffed it back into his suit pocket.
“Jason, you’re good.
You’re really good.
But this job isn’t for you.
Not because you aren’t excellent, but because…
our industry has no room for advancement.”
Jason nodded, seemingly understanding, picked up his resume, bowed, and left.
When he reached the door, he turned back and said: “If you change your mind, contact me anytime!
My phone number is on the resume!
My phone is on 24 hours a day!”
The door closed.
The cinema was silent for three seconds.
Then Michael, Franklin, and Richard burst into laughter simultaneously.
Lamar poked his head in from the doorway: “What’s up?
Why did that kid in the suit run away crying?”
“He didn’t cry.
He just got slapped in the face by reality.” Richard wiped away the tears from laughing.
The phone vibrated: Hidden event [Bizarre Interview] record complete.
Achievement unlocked: [HR Nightmare]—You have interviewed over 20 people unfit to be criminals.
Recruitment progress: 1/4 (Dwayne Jones has joined).
“Only one?” Richard looked at the progress bar and sighed, “At this rate, we won’t fill the slots by next week.”
Lester’s voice came through the earpiece: “Don’t rush.
I have a few more ‘heavyweight’ candidates for tomorrow’s interviews.
One of them is a female helicopter pilot, and another is a retired explosives expert—not the wild, amateur type like Demolition Dan, but regular military.”
“A female pilot?” Michael’s eyes lit up.
“Is she pretty?”
“Michael, your wife hasn’t divorced you yet,” Franklin said.
“I’m just asking.”
Richard shook his head and wrote down tomorrow’s interview list in his notebook.
The night in Los Santos descended once again, and their “team” was only just beginning to come together.