Chapter Text
It was a long, uneventful drive through the tunnel as Ryan had lost the cops already and he was off the grid with the crew.
“Ryan, I hope you die. Literally.” Geoff sighed frustratedly, over the comms, having “respawned” a while back.
It was a very long tunnel.
“Same here, buddy.” Ryan replied in a very chipper voice considering the current situation. Ryan was beginning to see an opening to the endless tunnel, relieved to not see anyone waiting for him. He drove out the tunnel and onto the main road, acting as though he wasn’t the most wanted in Los Santos at the moment.
He took in all his surroundings and noticed how close he was to the beach. That could be fun, he smirked as he turned on his blinker. He pulled up to the trash littered beach and got out. He reckoned he’d have himself a fun little beach day, might even invite some friends. The invitation being the waypoint to his location.
“Ryan are you at the shore?” Michael asked skeptically, almost not believing what his tracker was telling him. “I don’t know why don’t cha, wink wink, come find out?” Ryan replied cheekily, actually saying ‘wink wink’.
“Dork,” Michael laughed, as he shook his head.
He looked in the back of the Adder for the grenade launcher he kept with him at all times and formed a plan in his head. He drug the weapon out the sports car like a sack of potatoes and to his joy, a jet flew overhead and began to circle like a vulture.
“Oh, we’re gonna have to change that.” Ryan muttered happily to himself with a devilish grin.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Jeremy tried to make a joke of the situation but Ryan’s “jokes” are usually deadly.
“Jer, if you're in a jet you're not gonna like it at all.”
“What does that me-“ Was all Gavin could get out before his plane was struck in the wing by a grenade. Gavin let out a loud squawk as he plunged into the ocean, dying on impact.
The crew erupted with laughter and remarks claiming how creepy Ryan is for the thousandth time through howls.
“Oh, he’s gonna be mingey about that one.” Ryan smiles, watching the plane erupt billowing black smoke that showed everyone in the city right where he just claimed his most recent victim.
“Ryan, you are a fucking freak.” Michael giggled lightly as he set a waypoint to the pier. At least they know where he is.
There was a questionable conversation about Ryan and Gavin’s love-hate relationship as everyone sped to the pier.
Ryan tossed the grenade launcher into the Adder, adrenaline made him slam it harder than he needed to. An idea swirled in his head, ambition broke the dam holding back the flood of mindless mischief destroying his already unsteady moral compass. He checked his wallet in his back pocket and walked toward the Farris wheel that shimmered in the bright sun.
“Are any of y’all afraid of heights?” Ryan asked, dropping hints like breadcrumbs. Those kinds of tricks always led to trouble, but today seemed like a good day for someone to finally catch on.
“Did Geoff set you up with that question so he can torture us?” Gavin answered with a question.
Geoff butted in, his voice exasperated like every other time he was accused of anything, “I would never do that!”
“Yes, you so would.” Michael laughed, too maliciously for the conversation Ryan had noted.
“Besides, if he didn’t take my money last week do you think he would take it this week?” The crew laughed at what the thought was a joke and Ryan, being the only one in the know, laughed the loudest.
As Ryan stepped onto the crowded Del Perro Pier without a mask, he felt the anxiety someone with his amount of fucked-up-ness would feel at the fair on a Saturday. The hoard of people that flooded the pier made his stomach churn and nearly disheartened him from going to the Ferris wheel which didn’t look so fun anymore. His pace quickened with panic and the alienation of it all was weighing. When he finally made it to the box office that gave out tickets, he could barely mutter a dark “Thanks,” to the woman behind the glass.
When the open air, pale blue car started to rise, he let himself relax and smelled the ocean air. His brain laughed in his face as “They’re gonna get you~” danced through his head as the breeze did through his hair. Gavin never failed to call him a liar when he expressed his love for heights and a freak when he said he liked the fear.
The tranquility was abruptly ended when Jack mumbled, “I’m gonna Final Destination his ass.”
Geoff asked a slow, “Whatcha mean by that, buddy?” No else seemed to take note, all while Ryan looked up in the sky frantically before he even got the joke.
“Wait, what do you mean, Jack?” Jeremy asked sounding concerned.
“Jack,” Ryan warned. “There are children around here. Don’t do it, you’ll kill more than just me. You can’t argue with murdering children.” The words fell out to fast for him to sound unaffected. He looked over the car’s railing and down at the world below and up at the jet flying scarily low causing him to nearly fall out. The car couldn’t seem to move any faster when Jack didn’t answer.
“Dude, no, c’mon seriously don’t,” Ryan begged as he contemplated jumping to the ground below and risk a broken ankle or two.
“Jack, he sounds scared, how did you do that?” Michael laughed.
Without warning, Ryan swung one leg over the railing and prayed that twelve feet weren’t too tall to fall from. He was doing that thing where he forgot about reason and logic right before putting his life at stake. He didn’t pause because the people below shouting at him that he could get hurt, but the sight of Geoff and Jeremy nudging their way through the crowd were much more demoralizing.
“Did you just jump off the Ferris wheel?” Jack exclaimed before Ryan’s feet hit the ground. The fear pulsing in his veins and the pain that ran up his leg was too shocking for him to respond immediately.
“Yep, he did. Jer, fucking get him.” Geoff couldn’t care less about using real names despite Lindsay’s reminders ever since the media now knows that the FAHC’s watchdog is named Ryan. Boy, did they run with that.
Ryan didn’t give himself time to even think about what that fall may have done to his ankles or even the pain that radiated there. He made a snap decision and hopped over the pier’s fence that tried to stop people like him to jump off of it. The freezing ocean below hadn’t heated up since December and wouldn’t be as lethal until the end of March. He swam to a ledge near the sandier underneath of the pier where he camped out during a game Geoff had dubbed, “Wanted Dead, Not Alive” He had never seen Michael drag Jeremy’s corpse across the living room and throw it at Geoff before that, but at least he learned not to fuck with Mogar.
The wood was damp, but his ass was damper so it wasn’t too much of a problem. He pulled his jeans out of the ocean and hugged them to his chest. Only 54 degrees and Geoff still won’t give up a chance at gruesome playtime. He wasn’t complaining when he wasn’t the target.
As he listened to the crew talk about him over the comms, Ryan contemplated changing his hiding spot. Wait, is he cornered? Is he a dumbass?
“Find out on the next episode of Dragon Ball Z.” Ryan mumbled as he looked around more frantically for an escape route.
“HEY, RYAN!” Jeremy greeted all too cheerily as his head ducked under the pier accompanied by double pistols, colored appropriately. Ryan yelped girlier than he anticipated as he looked down the guns’ barrels at his friend.
“Oh, hi.” Ryan greeted, acting as though his heart wasn’t about to jump out of his chest.
“Those are your last words? ‘Oh, hi’?”
“I’ve been in this situation a lot.”
“I’m not doubting you.” Jeremy addressed seeming more relaxed until he remembered he was hunting the man in front of him. His face got more stern as he said, “Ryan, you gotta go, and my head is starting to hurt. Cause, ya know, I’m upside down.”
Well, it’s my only option, he thought to himself as he brushed past two guns and Spider-Man kissed him. He ghosted a hand down his face before plunging into the ocean below, leaving a stunned Jeremy behind.
Ryan blew as hard as he could out his nose in preparation for the incoming water. Being waterboarded now and then makes you nervous around water in and around your system. He kicked off his shoes in hopes of quickening his speed through the saltwater.
Now let me put you into some different shoes. You’re on the beach, enjoying some time off from the bustling city, soaking up the sun. Then, the most wanted man in the city runs out of the ocean, screaming obscenities.
“Get back here, you son of a bitch!” Michael demanded as he jumped out of his car. “Oh, no thank you. I’m feeling fine over here!” Ryan replied bootlegging it to a maze of shipping containers.
Collectively, they all wondered why in the world there was always shipping containers near the pier, in every movie and real life. Odd.
The jungle of metal boxes was a goddamn one way but, it was this or meeting Jesus. And Jesus has fucked him over a lot, so he didn't want to put up with him right now.
“Ryan come out, you coward.” Jack called banging on the steel walls several times as a scare tactic. Ryan stayed impossibility quiet as he did nothing to stop the footsteps getting closer.
“Come on, at least let your favorite do the honors.”
“...”
“Ry~”
“Dude, I don’t have shoes on right now. I’m wet, I’m scared, and I’m fuckin’ shoeless! Stop it.” His replied, his pseudo shaky tone was more for laughs than formed from actual terror.
As the taps of shoes, a luxury he couldn’t afford anymore, drew closer Ryan tried to formulate a plan. And boy, did he have a dumb one. He turned around and reached up to pull himself on top of one of the shorter containers and with wet socks hauled himself up.
“Dude, you know you’re putting yourself out in the open?” Jeremy yelled to him, standing up tall to see Ryan freaking out on top of a shipping container without a place to hide.
“Oh, sweet Jeremy,” Ryan assured him. “Trust me, I am yet to peach my reek of stupidity.”
Maybe, just maybe, his flub of “reach my peak” would unsteady everyone’s aim, physically and motivation wise. Taking a chance, he climbed onto another shipping container and acquired a new target. A shoe store.
With everyone else on the other side of the wall of metal boxes, his soaked socks smacked harder than ever on the pavement as he raced toward the palm trees. The idea of getting back to his Adder was pointless because it was in the opposite direction and bullets would start flying soon.
Speak of the lead devil, a round tore through the side of his tummy, nearly missing the tip of his rib cage. He hardly made a noise as he faltered and his sprint began to slow to feeble limp. When he reached the theme park’s parking lot, he hid behind some cars and checked the damages. Blood filled his hands when he reached around to feel for the piping hot hole in his back. The back of his bomber jacket was still warm from the bullet and now had a fairly mendable hole. Ryan hoped he would see the day it was fixed if the crew would show the mercy after his passing.
“Where are you, dumbass?” Geoff called a few rows down. “Shitty hiding place by the way.”
Ryan scooted behind a car tire to obscure himself from Geoff and Michael several rows down. He crawled, too bloody to crouch with a remnant dignity, further towards the line of luxurious hotels, specifically the paved walkway towards the main road. When he was only ten feet away from the walkway, he steadied himself against a car, which he accidentally gave a stroke of red “paint” right as more bullets flew past him. The yelling followed suit as he ignored the blearing pain and ran as fast as his feet would go.
He ran through traffic, not the smartest part of his way out, but it was a way out. When he rounded the corner of California-fied fast food restaurant with a sleeker and more modern design, he focused harder on steadying his breathing and pretending he wasn’t bleeding more than he was comfortable with. He stuffed his frozen hands into his jacket pockets and walked too fast to be inconspicuous, especially when you’re walking around in wet socks.
His eyes gleamed as he found a semi-clean black ball cap that would at least disguise him from anyone flying above. Thank Jack for the very intrusive aerial view. The closest place he could find was a gas station meant for the people staying in the hotels that lined the coast. It was a perfect place for people to restock on alcohol, cigarettes, snacks and anything else. You can even get some drugs from Tim outback!
Ryan flinched at the ringing bell on the door. His ears had had enough loud noises for today and he still had a target on his back for the next three days. The prepubescent little shit working behind the counter decided to interrupt Ryan’s little medical supply expedition.
“You know you’re bleeding, right.” The kid sounded too tired to turn the line into an actual question. Ryan looked back at him and acknowledged his buzz cut and large white gages in his ears. He didn’t have anything wrong with his style but, it gave him memories of his grunge phase. “Yeah, I don’t have any shoes on either.” He called back as he scooped up a first aid kit and brought it to the register.
“No, you’ve bled on the floor enough. Just go.” He faintly motioned his tattooed hand at the washroom and Ryan thanked him as he limped across the store.
He closed the seafoam colored stall door and plopped down on the seafoam colored toilet lid. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat hook on the door that was one shade darker than the rest of the washroom. The emergency box contained the bare minimum of gauze, wipes, first-aid tape, a thousand band-aids and a manual that didn’t talk about gunshot wound treatment. This is Los Santos, that’s the number one reason to get a first aid kit!
A skill Ryan had picked up in his lonely line of work was was pulling out bullets with his hands. It’s not and was never a cool party trick that impressed ladies. It just really, really hurts. There was a 50/50 chance that it would only push the bullet in further and a 100% guarantee that it will make the hole bigger.
He gasped at the pain and tried not to laugh as his brain recited that he was practically fingering himself. He found the bullet and slowly pulled it out through the hole in his back. His heavy breathing echoed in the empty bathroom as he peered down at the chipped pellet swimming in the pool of blood that filled his hand. He muttered a breathy “Jesus Christ,” and set it on the plastic toilet paper holder.
Ryan opened an antiseptic wipe that already burned the tiny cuts and scrapes on his hands and swiped it over the hopefully just flesh wound. For the medical experts reading, no, Ryan did not know at the time that antiseptic contains alcohol which slows healing.
The first aid kit didn’t come with a needle and thread so unless he popped over to the office supplies store for some staples, the hole in his back wasn’t gonna close on its own. He used a whole meter of gauze, wrapping a corset of cloth around himself until he was sure it would do some good to conceal the hole in his side.
Ryan hoisted himself off the toilet lid and immediately stumbled forward as black with white specks clouded his vision. His head was as light as a helium balloon and his ass hit the seat again before he could come up with that simile. So, he popped his aching back and focused on his breathing before trying again. He finally made it out of the stall and leaned forward against the bathroom sink. How was he supposed to escape 5 dangerous criminals and the vast number of inside men he didn’t know about if he could hardly stand up. He stared at his reflection.
Ryan looked away to quickly to throw his “I look terrible.” pity party because he’d had too many of those monologues. He actually looked alright. No eye bags for once in a blue moon and stubble that was at the perfect length. He was looking fresh and feeling as rotten as a forgotten fruit peel as he washed dried blood off his hands. He listened to the chatter of people who didn’t realize how much this weighed on him. Should he be more careful? Were the conversations about nothing a facade? How serious were they really about killing him? He shook the thoughts out of head and pulled his jacket back on his way to the door. He left the half-empty kit in the bathroom and slipped the bullet in his pocket, already brainstorming a tribute for it. It’s not the bullet that claimed his life but he knew it was the beginning of the end, no point in ignoring it. Maybe he’ll turn it into a necklace. He leaned against the swinging door that felt heavier once he saw what was outside.
There stood Gavin leaning against the counter with his chin in his hands as the cashier from before rung up his Red Bull and chocolate bar. His golden-brown hair flipped to the side as he cocked his head like a puppy, something Ryan knew was all a scheme to get a discount for being cute. The cashier’s heart eyes proved it was working.
With an audible “Yikes!”, Ryan let go of the door handle and backed into the bathroom once more and flattened against the dented tile. He hadn’t even noticed Gavin’s absence.
“Whatcha yikes-ing about, Ryan?” Geoff asked with fake innocence.
“Just yikes-ing to yike.” He lied through his teeth.
“No, I think you’re in trouble.”
“Nope. No trouble. Only treble. Can we all do that thing where we all start singing and forget what we’re doing?”
“I don’t think we can now that we know you’re in a yikes worthy situation.”
Ryan readied his hand on the door handle. He’d decided to make a run for it when Geoff was occupied answering a question so his silence wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. “Geoff, what exactly is yikes worthy to you?”
He was out the door before his boss-turned-hunter could say “Well, you see, if I had to explain it myself,” Ryan’s shoulder brushed the door as he walked silently out of the restroom and hugged the back wall lined with freezers, as far as possible from the register. He would rather die than admit to being scared of Gavin, but he wasn’t gonna risking earning another hole in his person to prove his fearlessness.
The refrigerators were the only thing that made him realize he was frigid. The glass felt barely lukewarm and his neck felt as hot as a light bulb. Ryan cursed the doorbell and took off as he hit the cement.
“Ryan!” Gavin cried. “He just ran past me!”
“Yeah, he did.” Ryan huffed and turned the first corner he saw. No one acknowledged his solid gold joke, too busy trying to understand Gavin’s squawking meant to be interpreted as directions to his whereabouts.
Jeremy’s absurdly colored car sped around the corner and Ryan nearly dropped dead right there. He saw the silhouette of a pistol through the windshield and decided he wasn’t doing any of that shit. He danced past broken bottles and tried not to open his wound until found himself in a quieter side of town and did as one does when they are in a pickle.
He called Pegasus.
~~~
Everything had gone quiet again, besides the few killing Ryan jokes that were made now and then. In times like this, Geoff would comment they had to “edit this part out” because it “wasn’t entertaining enough”. Whatever that meant.
“Ryan, is that you?” Jack’s voice came over the radio after about 20 minutes of quiet buzzing static.
“Is it?” He answered, unfazed but amused. There was silence then an ear-shattering explosion.
“Motherfucker!” Ryan yelled as his Adder was nearly blown up by a projectile. The car suffered some damage from the blast, scratching and denting the sides. Everyone lost it as Ryan attempted to continue driving in the state his car was now in. He was close to turning this shit show into him hunting the crew rather than vice versa.
“You got your answer, Jack!” Michael snickered as he nearly ran his car into a ditch. The comment only made everyone laugh harder. Ryan just fumed quietly.
“Jack, where is he?” Jeremy asked energetically.
“We’re passing the Vanilla Unicorn right now.”
“I’m pretty close, hang on.” Jeremy did a U-Turn in five o’clock traffic and sped toward the club.
“In the mood, Rye?” Gavin jokes, making everyone chuckled.
“I’m in the mood to blow you up again.” He grumbled back with the ghost of a smirk. Ryan let up on the gas pedal he was suffocating and slowed down at an alley with an extended overhang.
“Ryan, don’t you dare.” Jack warned. It was very clear Ryan was about to go into a back road that you couldn’t see from the sky.
“What is he doing?!” Michael yelled.
“Piece of shit found a blind spot!” Jack yelled in frustration. Groans of distaste and a couple “damn it”s were tossed around at the news.
Jeremy however, had seen a thing or two. He turned the same corner Ryan had and slowly cruised into a near-empty parking lot that only held an Adder. Ryan’s Adder that he had been driving not 30 seconds before. From the looks of it, there was no longer any passengers in the vehicle.
He couldn’t have made it far Jeremy thought to himself. There wasn’t a place in sight you could drive through so he must have gone on foot. Shit. He reluctantly parked his Ocelot Pariah, “Sporty Tim” they called it, and stepped out.
He held his handgun close to him and kept a hand on his knife. He stepped into a quiet alley on high alert, expecting an ambush, be it for Ryan or some lowlifes.
Well, it was a quiet alley. He heard two gunshots and a blood-curdling cry of pain come from further up the way.
Ryan. Probably dying.
Jack perked up. “What was that? Sounded bad.” Jeremy ignored him and booked it toward the noise.
He had never been so exhilarating to be scared. He knew what he would see at the end of the alleyway, who he would see. A hunger swelled in his chest, ready to fight. The only setback was that he was walking into a ring to fight a starving bear.
Ryan’s head was leaned against the graffitied wall, his mouth and nose lined with fresh and old blood. His eyes were heavy-lidded but open, blue irises devoid of light and grayer. He was so lost in the clouds that the pain that pierced through his hunched back had gone unnoticed. The thumping in Jeremy’s ears faltered when he noticed the gaping bullet wound below Ryan’s collarbone. When his head lulled toward Jeremy, Ryan visibly winced, obviously in too much pain to even try to escape.
“Dude, what happened?” Jeremy dropped to his knees and with him his pistol that luckily didn’t discharge. The thumping started again and his breathing became ragged as Ryan’s was shallow.
“Oh, you know,” Ryan heaved weakly. If he hadn’t lost so much blood, he would have the strength to make a hand gesture or wit to make a joke, to make the situation lighter. “Just some mugger.”
“Wait, really? I had no doubt it would be one of us. Guess not.” Michael chimed in. Jack willed himself not to tell him to shut it so everyone could hear Ryan for the first time in half an hour. “I mean—are you okay?”
“He probably can’t hear you, dumbass. Plus, do you think he’s okay?”
“Well, sorry I’m not as intuitive as your galaxy brain.” Michael growled.
Ryan gasped quietly from the increasing pain, but the world kept spinning and the argument spiraled without him. Jeremy was so dumbfounded he hardly made a move to help.
“Oh fuck, no no no,” Jeremy babbled. He tried to add pressure to Ryan’s chest, but in the back of his head, he knew it wouldn’t help. “Wait, I’m supposed to kill you! But, that’s so fucked up. What if you don’t even come back?” He grabbed the sides of his white Stetson hat before he realized his hands were covered in blood and pulled away quickly. Ryan placed a crimson hand on his shoulder and smiled.
“I’ll tell you when I see you again.” He chuckled and dragged a red print down Jeremy’s purple overcoat.
The gesture was reassuring enough for Jeremy to stop shaking and respond.
“Expect a wait.”
Ryan was gone before he could hear that.