Alternate ending to GTA V
You’re favorite annoying bitch is back with another idea!!!!!
What if after the boys pull off The Big One, things aren’t just calm and relaxed. What if pulling the biggest score of his life, with Trevor by his side again, awakens something in Michael he’s spent years trying to bury.
He missed it. He missed the adrenaline in his veins, the blood pumping in his ears, the butterflies before a score, the high when it was over and it went successfully. He missed looking beside him and seeing that batshit crazy smile already looking back at him, thinking the same thing.
We’re unstoppable.
So he meets with Trevor a few weeks after, and Trevor can immediately tell when he sees Michael that something is off. He looks different, not physically, but in his face. His expression was darker, more like the one Trevor met back in the 80’s.
Michael tells Trevor he can’t pretend anymore. He thought that this is what he wanted, a boring life in the sun with a mansion and a pool, two kids and a hot wife. But it’s not. He exists with them, but he lives when he’s with Trevor.
“You’re just gonna leave your kids?”
“Let’s be honest, T. They’re better off without me. Maybe they’ll actually get somewhere with me out of the picture.”
Trevor argues for a bit, wanting what was best for Michael and the kids. He cared about Tracey and Jimmy, and deep down, Amanda too. But he would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t pounding at the thought of having Michael as his running buddy again. He can almost feel the wind on his cheeks as they speed down the highway together, hanging out of the window shooting at cop cars like it was 1990.
Michael holds his ground. Tells Trevor he made up his mind. He wants back in The Game. He wants to die with a gun in his hand, like how he originally planned when they were young. He wants Trevor to be by his side through it all.
“There’s no one else I’d wanna do this with, T.”
Trevor grins.
Michael doesn’t come home. He doesn’t answer his phone. Amanda gets worried, tries calling endless times, calls Franklin who grows just as concerned, calls anyone else she can think of who might know where her husband is. Weeks go by. There’s news stories about robberies and shootouts on TV as usual, but more gruesome, blood painting the streets.
Amanda gets a letter in the mail, with no return address. It’s from Michael. He explains what’s going on, and why he left without saying goodbye. Explains that he wants to stay in touch with them, make sure they’re okay, but it’s best for their safety that he doesn’t. It was best for them to part like this. He tells her to forget about him. That she can live the life she truly wants too now, nothing tying her down. He tells her to tell the kids he loves them and always will, and never regrets having them. He’s sorry for how they grew up, but at least now they’ll have a chance to make things right. “I was always the problem, darling. They’re fucked because of me. With me out of the picture, they can stop rebelling out of spite, become successful and make you proud.”
Michael mails all the info for the house. The bank accounts, the cars, everything. He surrenders everything to her, wanting her to be happy, safe, and financially stable. He did take some money from the account before giving it up, but only enough to get him and Trevor where they needed to go comfortably.
“I’ll always love you, Mandy. I’ll always love Tracey and Jimmy. I’m sorry it took this long for me to set the three of you free. Be smart, be safe.
You’re always in my heart.”
- Michael
Months pass. More murders happen. More robberies get called in, each bigger than the last. Millions of dollars are stolen in shape of jewels, clothes, cars, drugs, you name it. Then they all just disappeared, like they never existed, the only evidence being the pools of blood shed over them. The cops were useless, stumped as a tree.
Dave wasn’t an idiot.
Amanda had reached out to him, worrying about Michael being missing. Then the letter came. Then the crimes started flooding in left and right, faster than he could do the paperwork for them. He sees what’s being targeted, how brutal the scene is when the cops arrive, and how the trail is perfectly covered each time, not a single clue being left behind.
Two people came to mind. Two very practiced, trained, veteran thieves who didn’t bat an eye at ending someone’s life for something they wanted.
At least, that’s what Dave thought about Trevor. With Michael, he thought it was different. He thought Michael cared, at least a little bit. Looking at his records, he was the driver most of the time during their time on the run, Trevor and Brad doing most of the shooting. Michael got his kills, absolutely, but it seemed there was some guilt to them.
Until now.
His new boss bursts into his office one day, looking as stressed and angry as anyone could possibly seem. He slams his hands on Dave’s desk, glaring into his eyes.
“Few months ago, with Haines. You two did some shady under the hood shit here.” he starts, “Michael De Santa. Or Townley, I should say. You got him involved after his sudden resurrection. Made him your puppet. Then you found Trevor Philips, who was on the run for ten fucking years.” his voice raises with each word now, “And instead of arresting him and doing your fucking job, you got him involved too.”
Dave scrambles. “I was doing what Steve said- the Bureau needed—”
“I don’t give a shit what the Bureau or Steve needed! Do you fucking realize what you’ve done, Norton?” the higher up screams. Dave just stares.
“You clipped them back together, you fucking idiot. Townley was done with him until you roped Philips into your little play dates. You let him get the taste back in his mouth and he started craving it again like a fucking ex junkie. And now,” he pulls a paper out of his back pocket and slams it on Dave’s desk. “This is on you.”
Dave looks at the newspaper in front of him, reading the big black text on the front cover.
MALL MASSACRE
18 DEAD, AT LEAST 12 MORE INJURED IN MULTI-STORE ROBBERY IN EAST LOS SANTOS
Eighteen. Eighteen people dead. Dave felt sick.
“Philips doesn’t surprise me, but Townley…” he says slowly, “Michael was never one for bloodlust. He just wanted the money.”
“Well it seems being back with his homicidal boyfriend may have changed his mind, Dave.”
The robberies continue. More people get killed. Each score gets more reckless, seeming to be less about the money or items and more about the screams and pools of red. The cops have nothing. The FIB has nothing. IAA, nothing.
Trevor and Michael have the entire city of Los Santos afraid to leave their homes. The streets get vacant, only a handful of people brave enough to walk around with two serial killers on the loose. People demand answers, or solutions, anything to make them feel safe again. No one can provide.
Dave keeps up to date with everything. He watches as Michael and Trevor sweep into the city, commit their crimes, and leave without so much as a hair left at the scene. He doesn’t understand how they’re doing it. He knows they’re professionals, but how is no one docking their cars? No one recognizing them immediately? No one hearing gunfire and reporting it before they can escape? Do they even have cars? How are they getting into the city, with agents and NOOSE at every entrance? Where are they hiding? Do they have a home, or are they back in motels?
There’s so many questions, so many ropes to tie together to get all the loose ends. It makes Dave’s head hurt. He normally finds himself being unable to sleep at night, his mind racing, guilt weighing in his chest, his boss’s words in his ear.
“This is on you.”
Was it really his fault? Did he really resuscitate two of the world’s most deadliest criminals and unleash all this? Were these gallons and gallons of blood on his hands, forever staining them?
Another sleepless night, he wanders out into his kitchen to get himself some water. The house is still dark, just the small light above the stove providing him enough brightness to see what he was doing. As he’s pouring himself a glass, he hears a familiar click, one he knew all too well from his line of work.
Slowly, he turns around.
A gun is aimed at his head, right between his eyes. Cocked, loaded, and ready to end his life. Dave should be pleading for his life, but finds himself unable to speak as he stares at the person behind the firearm, nearly unrecognizable.
Michael’s hair was longer, nearly touching his shoulders. He had slits in his eyebrow, scars on his cheeks, rough stubble hugging his face. Dave could visibly see he had gotten stronger, his body more bulky with muscle than the last time he saw him. Tattoo sleeves peeked out from under his shirt.
What really got Dave were his eyes.
He remembers Michael’s eyes being lost. This kicked puppy look on his face all the time, torn between wanting to be a good family man but also be the criminal he grew up as. One eye focused on the good while the other targeted the bad. The soft blue that bled with guilt when he killed someone undeserving.
Now, they were wide and dark, pupils like pinholes as he grinned nearly ear to ear. Dave didn’t see any remorse behind them. No mercy. Not even a drop of the man he used to know and always sort of had a liking for.
Trevor stood behind him, looking the same as he did before minus some physical changes. He also got bigger, his hair was longer, and he was smiling sinisterly, his hand resting on Michael’s hip. He looked proud of the monster he had unlocked and unleashed on the city, his brown eyes reflecting the flames of the destruction.
Dave just stares at the two of them, frozen. Trevor squeezes Michael’s hip with a smirk. Michael tilts his head to the side, unsettling smile not faltering in the slightest.
“Davey.”
