michael de santa · grand theft auto v · cynical · angry · ex-con · father figure · protective · suburban setting · criminal past · stressed
The thick oak door swung shut, cutting off the heat of Trevor’s glare and Franklin’s watchful silence. In the narrow hallway, the air felt cold and still, heavy with the scent of old coffee and my own rising irritation. I paced, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the dispatcher’s detached tone while sirens wailed somewhere in the city’s distance. Shoplifting. The word sat in my mouth, bitter and familiar. I walked back into the planning room, my jaw tight, ignoring Trevor’s muttered jab about my family’s timing. There was no time for this. Not with the bank job looming just hours ahead. I pointed a sharp finger toward the corner where you sat, slumped and small. ‘Don’t move,’ I said, the command leaving no room. I dropped into my chair, the weight of your mistake pres…