Grand Theft Trevor

Chapters

Chapter 1: Meth Labs And Explosives Are Not A Good Mix
Chapter 2: Trevor Unleashed
Chapter 3: You Gotta Love It!
Chapter 4: Surprises
Chapter 5: Collateral Damage

Chapter 1: Meth Labs And Explosives Are Not A Good Mix

“Chef? Chef, get your fucking ass down here now!” Trevor called out angrily, slamming a fist against the door.

“C-coming right away, Trevor!” Chef called from up the stairs, quickly making his way down and jumping the last couple of steps to open the door for his boss. “What do you need?”

“Oh, so that’s how you greet me now?” Trevor asked, shoving Chef inside the meth lab. “Not a ‘Hello Trevor, how are you this fine afternoon?’ Or even a ‘What’s up boss? How was your day?’ No, you’re just jumping to the fucking chase!” Trevor turned to Chef and shoved a finger in the meth cook’s face, pushing his glasses uncomfortably against his eyes. “Who the hell do you think I am?”

“I-I didn’t mean anything by it, Trevor,” Chef said, backing away from Trevor. The mere sight of the balding man with a stained white t-shirt was enough to send him into a panic. And when he was pissed, Chef could barely control his bowel movements. “I just wanted to know, um… what you needed. Since you ain’t been back in a while from Los Santos, I was just wondering what you needed here.”

“Well, try and guess what I need from a meth lab?” Trevor replied, flicking Chef’s glasses off his face and stomping his way up the steps to the second story of the house. Chef hastily put his glasses back on and followed, though at a safe enough distance away from the fuming psychopath.

“We still dealing then?” Chef asked.

“You bet your white-trash ass we are!” Trevor replied, circling around the meth lab built into the middle of the second story room. “Had some bad business dealings in Los Santos, so I’m going to lay low a bit till the heat blows over. But hey, doesn’t mean I still can’t make some cash flow on the side.”

Chef went over to the meth lab set up, hastily moving over glass tubes and chemicals to clear a spot on the table. “W-well, production has run its usual course since you’ve been gone.”

“Nice, I like that. Trevor Philips Industries, self-reliant and willing to supply the dope to the customers no matter what.” Rubbing his hands eagerly with a twisted smile on his face, Trevor asked, “So, how much product do I have for selling?”

Chef hefted up a large gym bag on the table, grunting at the weight. “About fifty pounds worth, Trevor.”

“Hot damn, you’ve cooked up an all you can eat buffet for me!” Trevor laughed, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. “With this we can get every redneck from here to Texas high off their asses and empty of their wallets!”

“Um, Trevor, you think we should really be selling this stuff if you need to lay low?” Chef asked, rubbing the back of his shaved head nervously. “What if the cops get up in our ass?”

Trevor stared up from the gym bag, the joyful expression on his face quickly replaced with an irritated scowl. “Did you just question my judgement?”

“N-no, of course now, Trevor! You know I’d never do that!”

“Cause it sure sounded like that to me.” Trevor made his way around the table to stare eye to eye with Chef. Chef in turn backpedaled until he hit the wall. “It sure sounded like to me that you don’t take my decisions seriously. It sure sounded like to me that you don’t trust my choices. It sure sounds like to me that you’re ready to stab me in the fucking back at any goddamn second!”

“Oh sweet Jesus, don’t kill me!” Chef begged, falling to the floor with his arms protecting his head. “I swear to Christ, Trevor, I didn’t mean anything by it! Oh for the love of God, I don’t wanna die!”

Trevor stood with his hands on his sides staring down at the sad, pathetic meth cook. Shaking his head disappointingly, he nudging Chef’s shoulder with a supportive hand and said, “Hey, get the fuck off the floor and stop crying like a baby. I ain’t gonna kill ya.”

“S-seriously?” Chef asked, getting back to his feet.

Trevor answered by grabbing the front of Chef’s head and slamming it forward against the wall, the back of Chef’s head impacting painfully with the wall as it made a dent in the drywall.

“I will beat your fucking head open if you question me again!” Trevor spit in his face, Chef falling down to the floor and crying out at the pain in his noggin. “Now get off the floor again and help me move the goods. I have some customers arriving and I don’t want to keep them waiting. Trevor Philips Industries is nothing if ever punctual on its meeting times!”

“Who are we meeting?” Chef asked, rubbing the back of his head sorely.

“Just some associates of mine.”

“What type of associates?”

Trevor shrugged, lugging the gym bag over one shoulder as he went downstairs. “Oh, the usual. Mountain folk, really rural and isolated, a satanic cult that runs a cannibal operation on the side, and from what I’ve heard organizers of some pretty sweet homosexual orgies.”

“Wait, are these guys those whacko Altruist cult folk that eat hitchhikers?”

“Hey now, Chef, no need to disrespect someone’s religion,” Trevor warned, checking through the window on the front of the building to see when they would arrive. “Now, they may seem strange to you because their ways are unconventional and strange and oftentimes violent, but they have feelings just like anyone else.” Turning around, Trevor added on, “Also, they’re a bit of a nudist cult, so if you’re into seeing balls hanging to the ground go right ahead and stare.”

“Wh-what?”

“Oh goody, they’re here!” Trevor said, noticing the large group of mountain men entering the area.

“Trevor, you sure this is a good idea?” Chef asked, glancing through the window at the over a dozen half dressed men walking towards the meth lab. Many had long overcoats on with hoods, hiding their faces. But not their groins, with shrunken old man parts proudly on show.

“What did I say about questioning my judgement?” Trevor snarled, getting right up in Chef’s face.

“N-no, I didn’t mean anything by that,” Chef said quickly, gulping deeply. “I was just thinking that it’s awfully suspicious that a bunch of them would arrive here just for meth. Know what I’m saying?”

“Well, of course they want meth. Meth and cannibal mountain cults go hand in hand. Like incest and second cousins. Or drinking and driving over deer. It’s all the circle of white trash life that gets the inbreds happy from the drugs and us happy from the money lining our pockets,” Trevor said, grasping the door handle in preparation to go out to greet the cultists. “Now explain to me why that isn’t a good idea?”

“The fact they have carbines and MGs on them?” Chef pointed out, the cultists drawing out a wide selection of firearms as they drew closer to the building.

“Well, isn’t that an unfriendly business practice?” Trevor muttered, moving away from the door just as a bullet hole appeared where his head was supposed to be. “Now see, this type of discourteous behavior really pisses me off. I offer them drugs at reasonable prices, plus I deliver idiot tourists and hitchhikers to them and this is what I get? Weapons drawn on my property? Just plain old crass is what it is.”

“Trevor, what are we gonna do?” Chef asked, noticing the cultists were nearing the meth lab closer and closer.

Trevor shoved an assault rifle in Chef’s hands, while he himself pulled out an advanced scope sniper. “Okay, here’s the plan. You confront the band of insane, deadly cannibal cultists out front while I go upstairs and pick them out one by one.”

“But, uh… wouldn’t that put me more in danger while you’ll be safer?”

Trevor rested a hand on Chef’s shoulder. “Chef, I know we’ve been through a lot together. You cook me my meth, I occasionally slap you around a bit to keep order, and then we both kill some inbred moron that’s trying to kill me this week. It’s a simple process that I really believe brings us together as friends.” Squeezing in support, Trevor loaded his sniper and made his way up the stairs. “And as my friend, you bear the important responsibility of taking on a mad band of cultists with just a gun while I sit up top, sipping tea and taking potshots at a few of them. Sound good?”

“Uh…”

“If the answer is anything but yes, I’ll send you out there dripping in barbeque sauce just to make it easier for them.”

“Y-yeah, for sure, Trevor!” Chef said, fumbling the gun in his hands until he gripped it in a proper shooting manner.

“Excellent!” Trevor replied, already back on the second floor. “Call me if they break through the front door! Yelling really loudly if you die will also work!”

Trevor sauntered up to one of the second story windows and shattered it with the butt of his rifle. Clearing away some of the remaining glass, he aimed down at the approaching cultists and took aim.

“See, this is what happens when you fuck with your supplier!” Trevor said, blowing off the head of the first cultists caught in his sights. This immediately alerted the others of their friend’s gruesome end. Though the second one wasn’t alerted soon enough to avoid half of his brain being splattered on the ground by another burst of a bullet from Trevor’s sniper. “You don’t bite the hand that feeds you! You don’t bite the cock of your pimp! And you sure as hell fucking don’t mess with a drug dealer that has a fucking high powered scope sniper!”

“Trevor, they’re everywhere!” Chef called from down below, spraying bullets at the seemingly endless waves of cultists charging at the meth lab, guns ablazing.

“Thanks for that insightful tidbit, Chef, but my eyesight is still good enough to know when we’re fucked!” Trevor replied, managing to get two cultists in one. The neck of the first one was torn open while the other’s eyeballs popped out of their sockets when his skull was smashed to bits. Here is one of the rare times when being the short guy hiding next to your buddy didn’t save you from an untimely death.

“Then what are we gonna do?” Bullets peppered the bottom floor as Chef hid behind the counter at the back of the meth lab. Glancing over to spray bullets at random at the gathered cultists, Chef yelled, “We don’t have much time left ‘til they overrun the building!”

“Well, Captain Obvious, why don’t you keep on shooting while I find a way to save our asses?” Trevor said, throwing himself against the wall and avoiding the window as bullets started being directed at his location.

Scanning the room, Trevor thought over his options. He could keep on shooting them like usual, but there was the off chance Chef would be killed downstairs if he didn’t go to help. And finding a competent enough meth cook that doesn’t blow up his lab is a tough find in these parts. He could always just go down there and join Chef in blowing up some inbred mountain folks heads off, which seemed like the much more fun option truthfully. But then there was the third option which seemed like the best in terms of destructive casualties.

“Hey, Chef, where’d you put the grenade at?” Trevor asked, going back to the window to kill the bastards that shot at him. “Gonna need it to deliver a welcoming present to our guests!”

“I-I think I have it somewhere down here, Trevor!”

Trevor growled, ducking just as the top of the window exploded from a bullet burst, splinters flying everywhere. “Then get it the fuck up here already!”

The window next to him suddenly shattered, a small round object tumbling across the floor. Spotting the grenade, Trevor shouted, “Shit, Chef, a simple hand off would’ve been fine! You’re paying for that window!”

“B-but Trevor, I never threw you the grenade!” Chef said.

It took the total of two seconds for this information to register in Trevor’s head. It would’ve been sooner, but a morning of cheap beer and even cheaper meth had dulled his wits severely. It took a further five seconds for him to quickly abandon his position by the window to run over to the window across the room to jump out of it. He at least had the sense to not jump out the window where the mad cultists were waiting for him on the ground.

“Fuck!” Trevor yelled, crashing through the window just as the grenade detonated.

In itself the explosion of the grenade within the confined space of the room would have been devastating. But an explosion right next to a meth lab is another problem altogether. The highly flammable materials of a common trailerpark meth lab are a ticking time bomb just waiting to be set off. And boy, did it ever.

The explosion rocked the building right to its foundations, the roof imploding in on itself from the fiery inferno sucking in all the oxygen. Most of the second floor was decimated, fiery remains of wood and drywall flying through the air for yards on end. A hole was actually created so that combustible materials fell to the first floor, just as cultists were entering the building. They were quickly burned alive or crushed under the weight.

As for the cultists on the outside, they had not thought through the process of throwing a grenade in a meth lab. The following hellish hailing of bits of the second floor raining down on they cooked them over nice and easy.

Glancing over the counter, Chef looked at the massive hole in the ceiling, the dead cultists being roasted underneath the wreckage, and a whole bunch of cultists outside running around on fire. Jumping over the counter and going outside, Chef stood astonished at the massive scale of damage the meth lab sustained, along with the following high amount of human loss that usually happened whenever Trevor is involved with anything.

“Jesus Christ… Trevor is gonna be so pissed when he sees this,” Chef noted, scratching his head. He sure didn’t want to be there once Trevor got back. Hopefully one of the cultists was still partially alive, because Chef didn’t want to be Trevor’s venting punching bag again. That’s usually Wade or Ron’s job. “Actually… where is Trevor?”

“Jesus Christ… I am so fucking pissed,” Trevor muttered, face-first in some dirt. This wasn’t the first time that had happened, but the accompanying pain from glass shards digging into his back and about fifty pounds worth of meth lying on said glass shards. “Getting too fucking old jumping out of meth labs and dealing with white trash cultists.”

Groaning, Trevor picked himself off the ground and dusted off his already filthy shirt. “First off, I’m going to throttle Chef for not installing better security into the meth lab,” Trevor said, adjusting his gym bag full of dope. “Then, I need to build a new one. Just fucking great! After all the times I’ve helped those Altruist jackoffs! Bringing them hitchhikers and lost souls, and this is how they repay me? Fucking wonderful!”

“Halt!” a voice called out.

Looking up from his boots, Trevor was suddenly of his surroundings. There was over a dozen… dozen… things in a circle around him. He just couldn’t quite describe them. Squat and short, on all fours, with unnaturally huge eyes and long, protruding faces as well. All of them had the same white skin–or maybe it was fur–and blue hair. And to just add on to the weird factor was the fact they were wearing some type of golden armor much in the same style as a Roman warrior.

“State your business here!” one of them said, the sound of a human voice coming from his mouth so weird that Trevor blinked a few times just to be sure his eyes weren’t betraying him.

“Wait… just wait one fucking second,” Trevor said, holding up a finger and leaning forward slightly. “I am going through a really, really fucking bad trip now.”

“You appeared out of nowhere in the castle gardens,” the creature said, awkwardly holding a spear in its handless arm and pointing it at him. “State your business here on her majesty’s property or else you’ll be escorted off the premises!”

“Listen, I don’t give a fuck about your majesty or her fucking property!” Trevor spit in the guard’s face. “So escort yourself off your own fucking premises, because I am staying right where I am!”

“Then I ask you to follow me whoever or whatever you are, because this type of transgressions shall not stand against the royal guard.”

“Or, so you’re a guard, eh?” Trevor asked, leaning down so him and the guard were eye to eye. “Some big shot useless piece of shit paid minimum wage to stare at a wall all day long? Think that makes you better than me? You think that gives you the audacity to tell me what to do? You think that gives you–” Trevor leaned in close so the force of the words and his rank breath held more meaning, “–the balls to take me on?”

The guard backed away slightly, his muzzle wrinkled at the stench of the stranger’s mouth. None of the guards had ever been confronted by such a mysterious and utterly befoul being such as the one that had been discovered on the ground of the gardens. “S-sir, if you w-would please–”

“Oh, so I’m a fucking sir, huh? Wow, that’s really touching you regard me so fucking highly right now!” Trevor said, his expression so serious the guard couldn’t tell whether that was sarcasm or not.

“I… I…”

“I-I-I-I-I’m a fucking moron? Is that what you were going to say? Is it?”

“No, I–”

“Because that’s all I can see around me! A bunch of fucking freaks dressed like pimps who think they can talk down to me!” Trevor grabbed the spear the guard was holding and kicked his neck, knocking the guard to the ground. Pointing the end of the spear to the lot of them, Trevor snarled, “Come on, you motherfuckers! Come get some! If this is a fucking high dream, then you guys are already an improvement over the clowns!”

“Sister, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Luna asked, looking over the railing of the balcony of Celestia’s chambers.

“What is it, Luna?” Celestia replied, the regal princess joining Luna’s side on the balcony. Peering downward, she said, “I don’t see a thing.”

“There appears to be some type of bipedal creature down there.” Luna pointed in the specific spot out in the gardens of the castle courtyard. “And he seems to be attacking the guards.”

“Ah… I see it now,” Celestia agreed, noticing a strange figure beating a spear’s head on the helmet of one guard he had pinned under his foot. “How did that thing even get to the castle?”

“Maybe the magical energy surge we sensed before?” Luna guessed, shrugging her shoulders. “Though a random portal spitting out some even randomer alien into the gardens of the castle seems a little too… convenient.”

“Well, however that thing got here, it sure is doing a number on the guards,” Celestia noted, wincing as she just caught sight of the creature bashing two of the guards’ heads together, both falling unconscious to the ground when it released them. “It already took out a troop of them in less than ten seconds.”

Both sisters were then alerted to sirens going off into the distance, accompanied by horns sounding off in the corridors of the castle. The march of trotting hooves by large groups of guards reached their ears, and already squadrons of pegasi, unicorn, and earth pony guards were being deployed to the disturbance in the gardens.

“Well, now it is going to be taken out in less than ten seconds,” Luna said, the creature down below finished beating the face of the last guard into the dirt when it heard the alarms going off in the castle. It looked upward, seeming to stare right up at them. “And is it… watching us?”

“Nothing to fear, dear sister,” Celestia assured Luna, leaving the balcony to make her way down the tower. “The guards will surely handle that mysterious intruder, by the looks of how vastly outnumbered it is. Then we can question it personally on why it is trespassing and attacking our guards.”

“Are you sure this is wise, Tia?” Luna asked, following Celestia out of her chambers. “We don’t even know what that thing can do, much less what it is capable of.”

“Luna, Equestria is struck by danger on almost a weekly basis,” Celestia reminded her with a roll of her eyes. “Discord being freed, Sombra reemerging, Chrysalis invading, and even your revival as Nightmare Moon. Over the years I’ve learned to go with the flow and not freak out over every threat that presents itself. If I do, then I’d be a nervous wreck by now.”

Luna blinked. “That… makes a surprisingly amount of sense.”

Celestia nodded, a small smirk tugging at her cheeks. “Just don’t worry too much about it, Luna, and let the guards handle it. They’ve proved to be competent against dangers before in the past. Besides, what’s the worse that thing can do to the entire royal guard force converging on it?”

“Well shit, I think I just gained another star,” Trevor noted, letting go of the guard creature he had just finished beating up to a bloody pulp. Alarms were going off in the distance at that strange looking castle. Staring up at the topmost tower where he can vaguely make out two of the creatures that were similar to the ones he just took care of, he muttered, “And I didn’t even have to drive a fire truck into a burning orphanage to make that happen.”

Spitting on the unconscious or either dead body of the guard he just abused, he walked nonchalantly forward to the influx of guard making their way towards him. Looks like he just scored the extra bonus of ground and air troops as well. Trevor smiled, sticking the head of his bloodied spear in the ground while leaning on it.

“Let’s see if I can hit five stars!”

Chapter 2: Trevor Unleashed

“Ron? Ron? You there? Goddamnit Ron, pick up the phone!”

“Y-yes?” Ron muttered into his floor, gulping nervously. “Whatcha n-need, Chef?”

“It’s Trevor! I can’t find him anywhere!” Chef said on the other end of the line, his voice panicky and quick. “First a bunch of cultists came over, then there was a shootout and the meth lab exploded! I can’t find Trevor anywhere! I dunno if he was vaporized in the blast or he’s out there somewhere! Have you seen him?”

“Um… nope, haven’t seen Trevor anywhere,” Ron replied, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “A-are you sure he’s dead?”

“Like I said, Ron, I’m not sure. A grenade managed to go off in the meth lab, and now the entire second floor is gone, Trevor with it. All those cultists managed to get killed in the blast, but all the bodies are so badly burned I can’t tell whether Trevor joined them.”

“Well, I’ll be on the lookout in case Trevor arrives back at the trailer,” Ron said. “Be seeing ya later.” Ron hit the end call button on the phone, sighing in relief when the gun that had been poking him painfully in the back of the head was drawn away.

“Good boy, Ron, you did just as we asked,” a man sitting in the shadows of the trailer said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his seat.

“Y-yeah, I did,” Ron said, glancing nervously at the heavily armed security guard standing right beside him that had been the one holding the gun to his head. “I always did know the government would invade my home one day.”

“Well, the government is not really the ones holding you hostage,” the man said, chuckling lightly under his breath. “After all, Merryweather security isn’t affiliated with the United States government any longer. All its contracts were dropped. So now just a small, private army has invaded your home.”

“Why a-are you even here anyway?” Ron asked, adjusting his black rim glasses.

“Well, we were originally here to intercept Trevor in case those cultists I paid off to kill him failed,” the voice replied. “But since we know that son of a bitch is dead now, you are no longer needed.”

Ron’s heart skipped a beat, just for the Merryweather mercenary next to him to say, “Wait, boss, there might be a problem with that?”

“What problem could there possibly be? There’s no way that bastard is still alive after a meth lab explosion.”

“The scanners picked up a disturbance near the area of the explosion,” the guard said. “There could be a chance…”

“No… no, no, no, fuck!” the man hidden in the shadows growled, slamming his fist on the arm of his seat. “If he of all people mess things up now by being there, then we’re fucked!”

“Should I send an extraction team to retrieve him?”

“Retrieve? The only thing I want retrieved of that psychopath is his head!” the man shouted, causing Ron to flinch and jump in his seat. “Is that understood?”

“Yes sir!” the Merryweather mercenary said with a salute, making his way out of the trailer.

“Kill anyone else you meet on the other side as well!” the man called out as the guard left. “Our plan is already in motion, so we might as well as reveal ourselves now. Leave no witnesses if you can help it!”

“What are you guys even talking about?” Ron asked, his eyes moving furtively as his questions stacked up.

The man chuckled, developing into a full roaring laugh. Getting up from his seat, he made his way before Ron, arms on his side. “What we’re talking about is the future. Of Merryweather, America and this entire fucking world. A new age is upon us, and I intend to set it off with a bang!”

“But what about Trevor?” Ron asked, mouth agape as he took in the figure that was speaking to him.

The man smiled, leaning closer to Ron so they were eye to eye. “Trevor is what stopped me last. And I swear to God, I intend to make sure he doesn’t do it twice. He’s as good as dead.”

“I ain’t dead yet, assholes!” Trevor shouted, slamming the end of the spear into yet another guard’s head. Already a pile of unconscious bodies had formed a perimeter around the untamed maniac, Trevor eagerly adding onto the piles with a fresh batch of guards.

Overall, Trevor was both impressed and having the time of his life. On one hand, this was one of the mellowest high dreams he’s ever had, while on the other hand the sheer fun at beating up helpless nobodies made up for it. The weird looking guards were made up of stranger varieties of ones with horns and others with wings. Though they were all pretty easy to beat up all the same.

“Come on, at least help me break into a sweat!” Trevor taunted, swinging high and managing to catch one of the winged guards on his side. He crashed into the earth, tumbling through the dirt and impacting into a stone statue. Turning around to admire that spectacular finisher, Trevor quickly turned back with spear in tow to smack a guard that thought he could catch Trevor by surprise. The only thing he managed to catch was a spear end with his face. “I ain’t even winded!”

Stepping over the body of the downed guard, Trevor stared down at a group of about half a dozen guards who were wise to back away from the crazed individual. Grinning with a malicious intent at the remaining guard force, Trevor asked, “So, anyone else gonna escort me from the premises? Or how about kick me the fuck outta here? Anyone at all? Come on, I accept volunteers!”

“This thing is crazy!” one guard said, backing away as Trevor neared them. “He took out the entire guard force by himself. Himself! With just a spear, too! He’s unbeatable!”

“Thanks for the compliments, pumpkin,” Trevor said, pointing the bloody spear end in the guard’s direction. “So instead of killing you along with the others, I’ll just be sticking this spear straight up your ass!” The guard gulped, with Trevor smiling even wider. “Though I am going to keep it a secret which end will go into you ‘til the time is right, sweetcheeks. Let’s say it’ll be a nice surprise.”

The guard went running instantly, forgoing his duty to his country and companions to save his own ass, literally. Making his way to the five remaining guards while whistling in a nonchalant manner, Trevor stopped before them and held his arms wide open.

“So, who’s it going to be to take on the T? Come on, I can handle you all on at once! I’ve experimented a bit in my younger days, so come at me! Fuck, I was in the military, just like you guys! I know how it goes down in the locker rooms!” Trevor shouted, winking with a perverted intent at the remaining guards.

The guards stared at one another for a short moment, going over the situation. A mysterious figure that appeared out of nowhere viciously beat up the entire guard force and seems to be completely out of its mind and eager to finish them as well. With that in mind, running away like cowards was the only practical way to save themselves.

Luckily for the weak-hearted guards, Celestia and Luna arrived just in the nick of time. Both sisters stared in open shock at the amount of collateral body damage the strange creature had inflicted upon their guard force.

“W-what did you do?” Celestia stuttered, unbelieving in the sight before her. Guards who were still somewhat awake moaning in pain, while others stood still, either dead or knocked senseless.

“Oh, looks like the big boss is finally here!” Trevor said, sticking the blade end of his spear in the dirt and running towards the pair. Stopping with a short jump so he stood directly before them, Trevor clapped his hands and pointed at the pair. “And the thing brought numero dos,” Trevor said while staring at Luna. “Since you’re like, the only black one I’ve seen since I arrived here, I’m guessing you’re the token black guy… or whatever the hell you are?”

“Token black guy?” Luna repeated, visibly grimacing at the creature’s appearance. Not only did it have a foul stench attached to it, but it was covered in grime and filth. Along with an ugly mug of a face and noticeably balding head, the mere sight of the creature was repulsive to both princesses.

“What, you deaf or something?” Trevor asked, cupping a hand to his mouth. “I said token black guy! Are you one of those?”

“Sister, what is this creature even talking about?” Luna asked Celestia, the pristine white alicorn unsure of how to answer that.

“I don’t know, Luna, but I am sure for one thing. It isn’t getting away with this!” Celestia replied, scowling at the monster.

“Hey, first off, I am right in front of you. So include me in the conversation when you’re up for it,” Trevor said, holding his hands up at his sides. “Secondly, my name is Trevor. So no it business, got it? Now, you got anything to eat?”

“Silence!” Celestia said with a commanding tone, the guards and Luna wincing at the sharpness of her voice. “You harm my guards and direct my sister and I in such a disrespecting tone, and you expect me to to acquire something to nourish you?”

“Whoa, easy there with the fucking loud as hell voice, princess,” Trevor said, digging his pinkie into his ear. “And like I give two fucks beating on your fucking guard force and talking to you and your sis like the fat cows you are. Now make me a fucking sandwich.”

“What? You said what to me?” Celestia snarled, her eyes glowing a bright whiteness now.

Trevor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Sheesh, are you as fucking deaf as your sister too? This is probably just another high dream of mine, so I’m asking a figment of my drug addled imagination to make me a fucking sandwich. So go fucking do it already!”

“Listen you sniveling, whiny imbecile,” Celestia began, taking a step closer to Trevor while everyone else took a step back. “I am Princess Celestia, ruler of Equestria and owner of the castle you have trespassed on. You hurt my guards and insulted me and my sister, who is also a ruler of this nation. You crimes are grave and your future bleak at the complete disregard for law and order you have shown with your actions!” Celestia gritted her teeth, eyes shining brighter as her horn began to glow a luminous yellow. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Trevor rubbed his chin and nodded, wagging his finger in the air as he turned around. “Yeah, I do,” Trevor said, turning back around with a sawed off shotgun pointed directly at Celestia’s skull. “Don’t mess with a guy with deep pockets!” Trevor pulled the trigger.

Chapter 3: You Gotta Love It!

With one pull of the trigger the sawed off shotgun fired, a small explosion ripping forth from the barrel and right into Celestia’s face. Pellets and heat erupted at the princess, knocking her back like a great big fist had hit her across the jaw.

The force of the gunfire knocked Celestia several feet back, leaving her unmoving on the floor as smoke rose up from her ruined face. The remaining guards and Luna stared in a mix of shock and horror at their fallen princess, unsure how to exactly react to such a turn of events.

Blowing smoke from the barrel of his gun, Trevor gave a low whistle and nodded his head. “Hot damn, nearly tore her entire face off. Won’t be much of a trophy on my wall now, that’s for sure.”

“T-Tia…” Luna muttered, staring at the dead body of her sister as tears sprung up in her face. Looking back at Trevor, she asked, “Why?”

“Well, let’s review ‘why,’” Trevor said, lifting up one finger on his hand. “She was a bitch.” Now two fingers. “She didn’t make me a sandwich.” And now three fingers. “Also, she was a fucking cartoon pony. Otherwise known as ‘not-fucking-real.’”

“You monster! Of course she was real! Don’t you see her dead right—” Luna paused, glancing at the spot Celestia was just at. Her blood was still splattered on the ground, but all signs of her fallen sister were gone. The guards too stared at the spot Celestia was just lying, their confusion evidently adding onto the general consensus that Celestia was now missing.

“See, what’d I tell you?” Trevor asked, resting the barrel of his gun on his shoulder. “She ain’t real, and neither are any of you. Now all I gotta do is wait for those fucking clowns to show up so I can tear their painted grinning faces a new one.”

“Tia…” Luna said feebly to the spot Celestia was just seen. Not only had she just witnessed her sister be murdered, but also disappear in plain sight. Glaring back at trevor, Luna ripped his sawed off shotgun from his hands and snapped the weapon in two in her magical grip. “You’re going to tell me where my sister is right now!” she shouted in the strange creature’s face, eliciting the use of the Royal Canterlot voice to make her point clear. “Or else so help me, I shall make you regret ever setting foot in this place!”

Trevor dug a pinkie finger into his ear, wincing at her high pitched tone of voice. “Fucking damn, I’m already regretting it if you’re going to be speaking like that.”

“Princess,” one of the guards said, taking a few steps forward to point at Trevor. “With all do respect, we should just throw this creature in the dungeon. Interrogate him for later. Right now we have no—”

Unfortunately for the guard pony, the rest of his sentence was caught off by a bullet to the head. There was a perfectly visible hole from his forehead to the back of his skull.

The guard fell to the floor with his mouth still open. The remaining guard ponies and Luna stared with wide open mouths and shocked expressions at the dead guard. Trevor instead took a glance to the side, where the bullet came from that felled the guard’s life in an instance. “Well I’ll be damned. We got some company.”

“Company?” Luna repeated, just as another guard directly to her left was knocked back by the force of the bullet ricocheting in his chest cavity.

“Yeah. The bad kind!” Trevor shouted, running towards the shelter of the castle doors.

Luna stood still for a moment. In such a short time she had been bombarded by such a conflict of events, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do, and right now her reaction to the fast paced and life threatening events before her led her to pause. Though when the last guard got shot with his throat practically ripped apart, she made up her mind right away.

In a flash of light she disappeared, returning to the safety of the castle. She was directly before the door leading to the outside gardens where she was just with Trevor.

Trevor made sure to join her promptly, however, when he charged through the doors and broke them apart with one fail fling of his body. Groaning under his breath, he stumbled back to his feet and muttered, “Shit, this is much less violent and much more painful than any doped out of my mind experience I’ve had before.”

“Who’s coming after us?” Luna asked, her breath frantic as more gunshots could be heard from outside.

Taking a quick glance before ducking for cover as bullets sprayed at his feet, Trevor said, “Someone who wants to fucking kill us, if that wasn’t obvious enough.”

“But who?” Luna demanded, stepping to the side as more bullets pelted the ground where the open doorway revealed the interior of the castle.

Taking another peek outside, Trevor’s face lit up with an almost nostalgic quality. “Why, I’ll be damned! It’s Merryweather!”

“Merryweather?” Luna asked.

“Some old cronies I used to murder back in the day,” Trevor explained, digging into his pocket. “Though I thought they were capoot for good. But today must be my fucking lucky day, because they’re back and fucking me just like the good ol’ days!”

“But why are they here? And killing my guards as well?”

“Well, they’re probably here to kill me,” Trevor explained, pulling out a carbine rifle from the endless repository of his jeans. “Guess you and the guards are just collateral.”

Luna’s eyes flared with a dark light that resonated with powerful magic. “I shall not allow these Merryweather people to harm my citizens or endanger the life of my guards any longer!”

“Collateral damage, baby!” Trevor chuckled, getting to the side of the door just as a Merryweather grunt charged through the doorway. The black clad soldier decked out head to toe in body armor and armed to the teeth with the most sophisticated and deadly weaponry a multibillion mercenary company could afford was quickly killed by numerous close range bullet wounds to the back of his head. Holding the smoking barrel up to his face and grinning wildly at Luna, Trevor said, “You gotta love it!”

Celestia stepped out of the hospital. Her thoughts were still blurry, but the last thought that ran through her head were the words WASTED and then her vision fading to red. Next thing she knew she was stepping out of what appeared to be a hospital. How she arrived there, she had no idea. What Celestia did know, however, was that Trevor killed her.

This news did not settle well with her.

“Trevor…” she whispered, walking forward blindly as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. Her surroundings were fuzzy at best, but she could make out buildings reaching high to the sky. “I swear, Trevor, when I get back, you’ll pay. And if you harm any of my little ponies, I’ll make you rue the day you were born.”

Chapter 4: Surprises

“You know, this is nice. Just us two, hanging out. No Trevor, no bullshit, no nearly dying from crazed government officials of eccentric billionaire psychopaths.” Michael turned the corner, nearly running over an old lady, who started cursing out his name before he flipped her off behind his back, his middle finger clearly seen in the open air of the convertible he was driving. “Yeah, this is great, don’t you think, Franklin?”

“Shit, man, I’m just glad I haven’t been riddled with bullets for an entire week straight,” Franklin said, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest and sinking into his seat—the most expensive leather money and good connections could afford. “Been tired of that shit happening every fucking day.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.” Michael swerved the car out of the path of a drunk homeless man throwing empty beer bottles at other vehicles. “Huh. Strange. Usually that guy is only out on Tuesdays.”

Franklin glanced to the side at the high-rise skyscrapers of Los Santos, glittering in the sun and lost in a haze of overbearing summer heat. On the streets the extremely wealth flashed their status with fast cars, expensive clothing, unhealthy for the body but not the eyes plastic surgery, and of course a score of sleazeball bimbos falling their every step. All in all, typical Los Santos.

Stretching and grunting after his spine cracked several times, Franklin asked, “So, where you wanna go? Movies? Strip club? Bar? Everything in that order?”

“Anywhere, man. As long as we have a good fucking time. And for once, without Trevor.” Michael smirked, nonchalantly cruising through red lights and swerving in and out of passing cars. “Now we don’t have to worry about burying a dead body at the end of the night… again.”

“Speaking of Trevor, where he been?” Franklin asked. “Haven’t seen that crazy fool in ages.”

Michael shrugged. “Last I heard he was lying low. You know how he is. Probably paranoid that some heat is still after him. Or he’s fucking excited for it.” Michael sighed and shook his head. “You can never tell with that guy.”

Before Franklin could respond, Michael’s phone started ringing. Withdrawing it from his pocket and hitting the call button, Michael said, “Hello?”

“Michael! Shit, Michael, I need help!”

Michael frowned. “The hell is this?”

“It’s Chef! Y’know, Chef, Trevor's meth cooker. I helped you with that heist one time?”

“Oooh, right, Chef. Nice to hear from you, man. How you holding up?”

“Not fucking good right now. Oh god, Trevor, and the store, the explosions… fucking cannibals!”

Michael rolled his eyes, smashing his car into a motorcyclist that was edging far too close for his comfort. “Chef, Chef, just calm down. Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Chef gulped on the other side of the line. “W-Well, Trevor had just arranged a huge meth deal with some mountain crazies he’s dealt with in the past. I told him it was a bad idea, but he wouldn’t listen! Then they showed up with guns a-and started shooting up the place!” Chef paused, cursed a few times in the distance, his mouth no longer near the receiver, then he was back and said, “Fuck, Michael, it was bad. There was an explosion and Trevor disappeared! Like, I couldn’t find his body or anything. And when I went to his trailer, it was gone, and Ron with it! Fucking burned to the ground!”

“Whoa, hold up, Ron was burned alive?” Michael asked.

“What? No. Well… I’m not exactly sure. All I do know is that someone put the hit on Trevor during the deal, burned down his trailer, and possibly either murdered or kidnapped Ron. Which… in hindsight this all seems like it was bound to happen eventually. I’m actually surprised it took this long.”

“Listen, Chef, just stay put and me and Franklin will be right over. Who knows, maybe we’ll find Trevor or some clues to where he’s at.” Michael swerved the car around in a full u-turn and put some weight to the gas. “Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah, sure, sure, I can definitely do that. Jesus Christ, this has just been too fucking much.”

“Tell me about it. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Michael hung up the phone, then turned on the radio station and started whistling to the rock song that was playing.

Franklin leaned forward in his seat and started at Michael’s unworried face with a mix of disbelief and scowling. “Whoa, the fucking hell? Trevor’s fucking dead and you don’t even care? Jeez, and here I thought you two managed to bury the hatchet. So fucking what for that then.”

“Hey, Chef couldn’t find the body. That gives me good reason to believe Trevor is alive. In fact, I’m almost positive he is. You know how tough that bastard is? He’s probably off somewhere, killing whoever put the hit on him. And then fucking their skulls.”

Franklin nodded slowly while rubbing his chin. “Yeah, yeah, that does sound like him all right.”

“See? So there’s nothing to worry about.” Michael stopped at a red light for the first time since their trip started, apparently only as an excuse to stretch out in his seat. “He’s probably just fine.”

“Yeah. Pro—” Franklin’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped like an anvil from the sky. “The fucking hell?”

“What?” Michael asked, looking at Franklin’s shocked appearance out of the corner of his eye.

“Just… just fucking look.” Franklin pointed to the street.

There, draped in the color of traditional green, was a Families member, one of the biggest gangs in Los Santos, and with this menacing hulk of gang-related violence was someone sporting the color purple, a Balla. Both of them were together, drinking… tea, at a table in front of some pretentious hipster coffee shop. They were drinking tea and laughing and knocking elbows into each other like old friends.

Michael blinked several times, then finally wiped at his eyes with the back of his end, but it was to no avail. What he was seeing now was completely real.

“Oh Christ, don’t the Ballas and Families hate each other?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, or at least they used to. But… this,” Franklin waved his hand in the air, like he wanted to wipe away the image of the tea drinking bloodthirsty gangsters, “this doesn’t fucking happen. Ever.”

“Well, that is certainly strange… but hey, I’ve seen stranger.” Wanting to leave the awkwardness that had cemented itself from the scene, Michael pressed the brakes without even checking to see if the light had turned.

In doing so, he ‘accidentally’ ran over a random pedestrian, who unfortunately for him and Michael was stuck underneath the wheels of Michael’s car, thus making it impossible for Michael to floor it. Sighing, Michael backed the car up, thus running over the pedestrian a second time.

“Well, isn’t this fucking great,” Michael grumbled, waiting for the pedestrian to get up or to hit the gas pedal once more.

Struggling to get to his feet, the bruised, battered, and altogether horrible mess of injuries pedestrian gave Michael and Franklin a thumbs up and shouted, “Don’t worry, I’m alright! My bad! Have a nice day!”

And with that the pedestrian walked off, right before he was ran over by a racing ambulance that was tearing up the streets.

Leaning his torso outside the window to get a glimpse of the passing ambulance, Franklin asked, “What about that, huh? Was that stranger than what you’ve seen before?”

“Fucking Christ, a pedestrian actually apologized. Apologized to me.” Michael rubbed at his eyes and sighed. “What’s happening with this world?”

Franklin’s head tilted back, his eyes only grew wider by the second, and if his jaw could fall any lower it could practically fall out and walk off on its own. “Uh…”

“What?” Michael asked, turning around in his seat as well.

Both of them then observed what could only be described (without sounding completely psychotic) a flying white horse being pursued by several military helicopters. Just when the horse passed by overhead, a helicopter dipped down close and attempted to spray it with machine-gun bullets, instead only succeeding in nearly riddling Michael and Franklin with holes.

“Goddamnit! What’s going on here?” Michael covered his eyes to protect them from the spray of broken glass from the car windshield.

“I don’t fucking know, man!” Franklin tapped on Michael’s shoulder, pointing behind the pair where several black vans and armed vehicles were pushing aside rush hour traffic to make their way towards the duo. “But I don’t wanna find out. What’s the plan?”

Michael growled under his breath, stared to the skies at the helicopter and horse chase currently being conducted, and then glanced back over his shoulder at the fast approaching vans.

“First, put a seatbelt on.” Michael’s foot hit the gas pedal with such a resounding force he could feel the bones being rattled by it, the car’s speed immediately sending both Michael and Franklin to be pushed into their seats. “And now let’s follow that horse!”

Chapter 5: Collateral Damage

“Shoot first, ask questions never, that’s the Trevor Philips motto!” Trevor shouted with glee, smacking down a barrage of shotgun blasts on the assorted Merryweather company. The professional soldiers sent out to kill Trevor were having trouble on the killing end of deals, more often than naught being on the receiving end of Trevor’s shotgun. “Boom, baby, boom-boom-boom-boom!”

Another four Merryweather soldiers died in assorted fashions—one having most of his chest blown up across what used to be a perfectly white wall—while a fifth actually managed to stay upright despite heavy damage to his right shoulder. This was exactly the area Trevor aimed the butt of his shotgun with, repeatedly, over and over again, until the resulting pain trauma and blood loss killed him.

“Do you have to be so barbaric with dispatching the enemy?” Luna asked, turning her muzzle upright at the bloodshed. She had to hover over the ground just to avoid accidentally stepping in a dead body or lower intestines splattered all over the ground from Trevor’s ‘work.’

“Do you have to be so much of a nag while I’m doing it?” Trevor replied.

The two made their way down the blood-soaked hallway, strewn with the black-clad corpses of Merryweather personnel. The distant buzz of a helicopter could be heard outside, probably the reason most of the windows were broken in the castle as well; the soldiers had been dropped down via ropes, a tactic used for quick assaults and hasty retreats just to kill one guy in particular.

Trevor walked backwards and basked in the glory of his handiwork and shooting skills. “See? I took care of the problem. Like a professional. Unlike these clowns.” Trevor poked the helmet of a soldier who was unresponsive, probably due to the baseball-shaped hole in his head. “Fucking amateurs. Plus, best of all, the prize is still here.” Trevor wiggled the duffel bag filled with meth in front of Luna’s face. “Enough crystal to get a trailer park past New Years with a good high. Quality craftsmanship, right from Trevor Philips Corporation!”

“You named your own company after yourself?” Luna asked. She gagged at the smell emanating from the duffel bag and shoved it out of her face.

“Because I made it from the ground up, like a baby. Except I actually cared about it.” Trevor hugged the duffel bag to his chest much like a mother would hold their newborn—except in a much more twisted and smelling even worse like piss fashion—and petted it. “This here is my enterprize. My life’s work. To make a fucking huge-ass drug empire and get rich off of it. The American Dream, so to speak.”

“This America sounds like a cesspit of crime and debauchery,” Luna replied in a deadpan manner.

Trevor snapped his fingers and pointed right at her. “You got the crime and debauchery parts correct all right. Next you add some new tits and cocaine weighing more than an obese lady and you got Lady Liberty in the flesh!”

“That’s absolutely asinine.”

“You’re damn right this ass is mine!” Trevor slapped his own butt and laughed, jumping up in the air and tapping the heels of his feet together. “Man oh man, I haven’t even smoked any crystal yet and I’m already on top of the world.”

“Perhaps it is your obscenity and excessive violence that has piqued your own disturbing happiness,” Luna suggested, still following behind Trevor as he navigated the hallways. They appeared empty now, no sign of Merryweather anywhere, with much of the castle staff already ‘abandoning ship’ at the first signs of the strange disturbance.

“Eh, probably.” Trevor swung his shotgun around like a cane, moseying down the hall with a nonchalant ease, and much to Luna’s chagrin leaving bloody footprints everywhere he stepped. “It could just be that I haven’t been in a good ol’ shootout in fucking forever. Man, I remember when I used to do these all the time. The thrill of popping open a skull. The rush of desperately racing for your life as a storm of bullets follow your ass. The smell of gunpowder, sweat, blood, and piss in the air, filling up your nostrils like the vomit in the back of your throat.” Trevor breathed in a large gulp of air, resting his shotgun against his shoulder. “Those were the days.”

“How long ago was it?” Luna asked.

“Oh, around last week. Then a whole bunch in the 90’s. That fucking decade, hooboy,” Trevor said. “Lemme tell ya, crack rock was the biggest product alive. I still kick myself for not investing more in it. Fuck ecstasy pills only took off a few years ago, and just look at me now.” Trevor growled and destroyed what appeared to be and probably was an expensive vase off a pedestal by smashing it with the shotgun like it was a baseball bat. “Fuck. At least meth is still golden.”

Luna frowned at the pieces of shattered vase covering the floor like snowflakes. “Are all you humans so needlessly aggressive and violent?”

“Are all you fucking ponies so damn annoying and stupid? Oh wait, don’t answer that.” Trevor held up a finger and skipped a beat in stride, silence now descending upon the pair—sans the helicopter motor in the background. “The silence is the best yes to it.”

That silence was soon to be broken, along with even more windows in the castle, when the helicopter's railgun started spitting out bullets like seeds at a watermelon eating competition. The priceless stained-glass windows directly before the pair blew up in a shower of rainbows, only these rainbows ripped your skin to shreds and were much less pretty when they entered your eyes.

“Shit, shit, move, shit, move your shit right fucking now!” Trevor demanded, shoving Luna aside and running for all he was worth down the hallway. With no doors on his other side and dozens of feet to the ground from the windows on the other, Trevor’s chances were slim. And seeing how the helicopter had an abundant amount of bullets and no real opportunity to use them other than to riddle him full of lead, there wasn’t much of a chance of it stopping longer enough for him to aim at it. So, in other words, right from Trevor’s mouth: “I’m fucking fucked!”

Just as Trevor’s words were about to become true when he dived for cover (and received one of the worst rugburns of his life), he was miraculously saved. Picking his face off the carpet, he realized it wasn’t from an angel, but from Luna, who was standing directly above him. A forcefield of sorts had appeared around her, deflecting the bullets and keeping the pair completely safe from harm (other than rugburns).

“Holy shit,” Trevor whispered, breathing heavily. “You’re a fucking alien too?”

“No, I’m a pony,” Luna replied, then pursed her lips and hummed. “Well, to be more exact, an alicorn. Which means I can produce magic and fly as well.”

“Well, fuck me two times on Sunday and once on Monday, magic is real. Just when I thought I was already high enough off of my mind.” Trevor got back on his feet and whistled at the sight of the forcefield. Bullets were just flying right off of it, ricocheting to the walls, ceiling, and floor. “So, why the save? Other than my own deluded mind keeping me safe.”

“My sister went… somewhere, and apparently you’re the only one who knows where, on account you sent her there in the first place. Plus, you manage to keep these Merryweather folks from killing me, which I think is ample enough reason to keep you around… for now. At least until we find Celestia.”

Trevor leaned downward and shook his hands on either side. “Ooooh, I’m frightened in my boots. Better pray on my life now that a pony has it out to get me.” Standing back up straight, Trevor sniggered. “As if.”

“Regardless, you’re a useful asset to me at the moment.” Luna tilted her head. “Any idea where my sister could have gone?”

“Eh, probably a hospital with her wallet a bit lighter. Happens to me whenever I get wasted. Only problem for you is that it ain’t in magical fucking ponyland.” Trevor pointed off into some unseen distance. “To find her, we’ll be needing to shove off into the human world, otherwise known as Assholeland and better associated with ‘the end of whatever fucking trip I’m on.’ So don’t expect getting some train tickets to get there.”

“Then how did you arrive here?” Luna asked.

Trevor shrugged, scratching the side of his head with the butt of his shotgun. “I’dunno. Explosion. Or at least I think it was. Cannibals were definitely involved in some way.”

“Then all we need is some large wave of force to propel us into your world?”

Trevor scoffed, turning his back to her and chuckling under his breath. “Oh, this is just too fucking rich. The fuckhead pony actually wants to be in an explosion. Forget about idiots, you ponies are just fucking morons!” Laughing some more, Trevor’s good cheer was abruptly halted when he glanced out the broken down window to the black helicopter outside. “Oh fuck me, I spoke too soon.”

Luna glanced over his shoulder, her forcefield dissipating now that the bullet barrage was over with. “What?”

Trevor was already making a break for it down the hallway, shouting over his shoulder, “Missiles are fucking incoming! Dive, duck, and cover your dick, because this is gonna be a big one!”

Luna’s eyes went wide at the sight of two, then four, and now six missiles approaching her at fast speeds, like moths to a flame.

“But I don’t have a dick to cover!”

KABOOM!