Grand Theft — Auto V

"Vinewood," he said quietly. "Solomon's premiere is tonight. Let's give him his movie back."

"No more favors. Just the quiet life."

Michael looked at the reel. Then at the setting sun. Then at his two friends—a psychopath and a thief, the only honest people he knew. Grand Theft Auto V

Michael snatched it from him. "It's leverage. And leverage is the only currency that matters."

The target: the IAA building, downtown. The plan: steal a Marmont helicopter from the roof, extract the reel from a locked evidence vault on floor 47, and escape through the sewers. The real plan, Trevor's plan, was to set off the fireworks early. "Vinewood," he said quietly

Michael leaned back, closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, smiled.

Michael tossed the bourbon into a trash can and climbed in. As Franklin peeled away, tires smoking, Michael checked his backseat. Trevor Phillips was already there, barefoot, reeking of ozone and cheap whiskey, holding a rocket launcher like a security blanket. Just the quiet life

The next ten minutes were a ballet of chaos—bullet casings dancing on asphalt, the percussive thump of a grenade launcher, Trevor cackling as he jumped from the moving car onto the hood of a pursuing cruiser, punching through the windshield to grab the driver.

They fought their way back up, floor by floor, a three-man hurricane of violence. On the roof, the Marmont helicopter was waiting, rotors already spinning. Franklin took the controls. Trevor manned the minigun. Michael sat in the back, clutching the metal canister like a newborn.

"T," Michael said flatly. "You're not supposed to be here."