I'm back and stuff. Here's chapter 8 and all of my efforts to not make this a boring one. You guys can message me and stuff. I don't bite. Hard.

Chapter 8

"Ugh…" Trevor groaned as he finally came to. The morning sun was entirely too bright for his liking causing him to try and shade his eyes. "Fuck. Turn it off!" He yelled out knowing that nothing would be down to make the light go away. He stumbled to his feet still feeling groggy and began to survey the area. "Heh, must have been one helluva party." His eyesight finally adjusting to the morning sun's light, he discovered what he assumed to be dead bodies of people he may have met on his late night adventure. "What ever happened, I didn't do it." He looked down and smiled. "Well that's improvement!" He exclaimed. Somehow, he had woke up with all the same clothes he blacked out in. "I told everyone I was getting better."

Trevor stood there for a minute trying to wake himself up before pulling out his cell phone. "Where am I anyway?" The gps app was up in a matter of second. He ended up in Paleto Bay, which he shrugged off immediately before heading toward a parked car near a discount clothing store. Trevor had no idea what the name of the red sedan was and honestly, he didn't give a damn. "This will do for now seeing as my car is no where to be found." Trevor did a quick search to make sure no cops were around before his fist connected with the driver side window and shattered it with relative ease. He jumped in the seat, pulled the panel under the steering wheel off and hotwired the car rather quickly. After he got on the expressway he pulled up his phone once more and punched in Ron's number.

"Hey, Trev-" Nervous Ron answered but was cut off quickly.

"Shut up, Ron. I've got a mean hangover." He said in his usual aggressive manner. "I just need to know how my baby is doing?"

"W-who?" Ron asked cautiously.

"My business! Trevor Philips Incorporated!

"I thought we changed it to Trevor Philips Enterprises?"

"Answer the question Ron!"

"Sorry boss!" Ron apologized quickly. "Trevor Philips Incorporated is still the strongest in San Andreas!"

"That's good work, Ron. Now where is my truck?"

"You left it at the Unicorn, sir."

"Perfect! Call Wade, tell him to get his ass up, and clean my truck for when I arrive. I should be there in about 4 hours."

"Yes sir! Anything else, Trevor?" Ron asked sounding more lively.

"Keep my business going strong! Don't screw it up because I really don't want to have to bury you. Got it?"

"You can count on my, Boss."

"Good." Trevor hung up his cell phone and put his focus back on the road before switching on the radio to drown out the quiet.

Michael opened his eyes to the sight of the sun shining through his living room window. "Awe man. My back." He said sitting up from his temporary bed. Amanda had not been too happy about being stood up on their anniversary dinner date that he promised her so he was banished to the couch as a result. He shook the sleep out of his head and slowly rose to his feet for a good stretch.

"Yeah! Eat shit you fuckers!" Jimmy yelled from his bedroom upstairs.

"Ugh. Again with the all-nighter?" Michael complained to himself in between his stretch. He heard a series of satisfying cracks that came from his back. "Ah, much better."

He checked his phone for messages incase Lester called with any info. Nothing. Michael shrugged, made his way to the kitchen, and began making himself coffee just in time to see an exhausted looking Amanda walking through the arch of the door with her robe on. He took a deep breath and smiled a fake smile. "Good morning." No response. 'Not what I expected… This isn't so bad.' He waited for a minute while his wife made herself toast completely ignoring his presence. "So…" He began. "Still mad at me?"

"Fuck you, Michael." Amanda didn't even hesitate. The response time was almost impressive.

'There it is.' He thought. "Look, I said I was sorry."

"Fuck. You." She took a sip of her orange juice. "Fuck you and your 'sorry'."

"I told you, something really urgent came up."

"I don't even care anymore. I really don't.

"Babe…" He pleaded.

"You're not ever going to change, which by the way, I have to come accept. You're always to busy killing people, drinking, and fucking prostitutes as always."

"Hey, I didn't fuck any damn prostitutes!" He said defensively. "That was one time!"

"Yeah, that makes it better."

"You're one to talk. You're still so hung up on that, that you still try and get revenge on me by sleeping around."

"Oh, well excuse me for sleeping around rather than being a murdering fuck!"

"Oh fuck you! Or did you forget how you paid for your car. Your clothes. This house. The kids' shit. Your Tits!" He pointed at her chest, which she immediately covered up while blushing.

"Yeah? Well-" She began.

"Stop it!" Jimmy's voice rang through the kitchen. "This is why Tracey moved out! You guys suck so much!" Michael froze for a minute before sighing. He picked up his coffee, grabbed his jacket, and made his way to the front door. "Dad-" Michael left the house without saying a word.

Trevor walked out of the bathroom at the rest stop on the expressway. "It's always nice using an actual bathroom every once in a while." He made his way to the counter to pay for the water bottle he was drinking from.

"$3.15 please." The cashier said.

"For fucking water?" The cashier shrugged and Trevor took a deep breath. "Fine, whatever." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

"Weasel news!" The TV behind the register blurted out. "Action movies in real life? Celebrities in panic over low fat pizza shortage. Is there any point to radio any more?" The woman anchor announced.

"Hey, buddy. Turn it up." Trevor asked. The cashier complied.

"Yesterday evening, 3 sports cars raced through downtown Los Santos while leaving, quite literally, a trail and death and destruction in their wake. Here's a clip from our news helicopter that caught only a bit of the chase." They cut to a clip showing the cars; cars that Trevor recognized almost instantly.

"God damn it." The TV showing the explosion that Michael had caused cut him off.

"The three drivers of the cars are still at large. The police were nowhere to be seen and when asked to make a statement, they refused. But other sources say the downtown precinct was throwing a surprise birthday party for on the their officers making them unavailable. In other news…"

"Tch. Feel like I've been here before." Trevor said referring the situation while leaving the store.

"Hey! Aren't you going to pay for that, friend?" The cashier called after him.

"Nope. 3 dollars is bullshit anyway, friend." He said while leaving the store. Trevor jumped in the car he borrowed up in Paleto Bay and made his way to Michael's house. "Hm… He may not be there." With that, he picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello?" The voice at the other end responded.

"Hey, Jimmy. It's uncle Trevor."

"Hey Uncle T! What's going on? Wow, even you have a phone? Technology sure has come-"

"Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah. Listen," Trevor said dismissively. "Is my dear pal home?"

"Nope. He just got into a screaming match with Mom and took off. I don't know where though, he didn't tell me."

"Ah. Of course."

"You should just call him."

"No need. I have a pretty good idea of where he's going. Thanks, Jimbo." He hung up the phone and immediately dialed another number.

"Yo, T. What's poppin' homie?" Franklin answered in his usual manner.

"Frankie Frank!" He said exciting. "Are you free? We gotta have a chitchat, homie. Meet me at the club."

"Aight, dawg. I gotchu. Is Mike gonna be there?"

"I'm sure Mikey's already there. No worries. I'll be there in about 30 minutes.

" Cool. I'll see you soon." Franklin hung up the phone. Trevor put the phone down and checked out a sign on the highway.

"I should probably ditch this car." He said to himself as he crossed into downtown Los Santos.