GTA 5: TRAPBOY

While Tonya and Tommy enjoyed each other's company, Dave, the stocky high school football player and a member of the Ballas gang, stood solemnly before his brother's grave. Dressed in a cheap black suit, sunglasses concealed his tear-filled eyes. A muffled sob escaped his lips, barely drowning out the other mournful sounds around him.

He glanced to his side, observing the distraught figure of his mother, who was a mess of tears and anguish. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered under his breath, "Whoever did this shit, gon' die," His jaw clenched tightly as anger coursed through him.

Before his mother could plead with her only remaining son, just fourteen years old and burdened with grief, he stormed out of the cemetery, leaving her sobbing behind.

*A few days later.*

Quincy stepped out of his room, pulling on his favorite topaz hoodie. As he made his way down the hallway, the aroma of dinner wafted through the air. He spotted his grandmother in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. "Yo, I'm borrowing your car, Grandma!" he called out, heading toward the entrance.

"Okay, okay!" she replied with a sigh, her annoyance barely concealed. She was well aware that her grandson was involved in drug dealing, but she felt powerless to intervene. While she didn't want to be rude, the truth was that Quincy was making poor choices. Drug dealing was the only path he seemed to find, and sometimes he needed her car to transport large quantities for the person he was working with.

Quincy snatched the car keys from the hook by the door and stepped out of their small cube house. He walked over to the car, opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat. He started the engine and drove off toward the Chamberlain Mall, a modest strip-style shopping center. There, he planned to stop at a fast-food joint called Aguila Burrito for a quick meal before heading to Sandy Shores to move some crack.

Upon arriving at the mall, Quincy parked his blue Stratum and headed inside the restaurant. He ordered his food, devouring a burrito and washing it down with a soda, before making his way back to the car.

As he settled into the passenger seat, ready to turn the key in the ignition, he felt a cold pressure against the back of his head.

Glancing nervously in the rearview mirror, he was startled to see Dave sitting behind him, hood pulled low over his face, a combat pistol aimed directly at him. "Look…" Quincy started to speak, but his voice was cut off by the sudden tension in the air. He tried to project calmness, suppressing the panic that churned within him, determined not to show weakness by raising his hands.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dave shouted, his voice laced with fury. "See you in hell, bitch-ass nigga!" With that, he pulled the trigger twice, unleashing a torrent of blood and brain matter that splattered across the windshield. Quincy's body slumped forward, lifeless against the steering wheel.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dave exited the car and sprinted across the street, hopping into a waiting black Rancher XL. He tore away from the scene, tires screeching as he sped off into the distance. Inside the black Rancher XL, Dave slumped low in the backseat, his heart racing from adrenaline and fury. His older cousin, Francis, a tall, muscular twenty-year-old with a crooked smile and a devil-may-care attitude, was behind the wheel. He glanced back at Dave, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "You got the lil' nigga?" he asked, his voice barely containing a smirk.

"Yeah... put two in his head," Dave replied, nodding curtly. He was panting, keeping low in the seats, his hood casting a shadow over his eyes.

"Good," Francis nodded, a hint of pride flickering across his face.

"I'm fuckin' sure it was one of those three... Either Lamar, Franklin, or Tommy..." Dave muttered darkly. "But I think it was Tommy. Him and Quincy were friends." The thought brought a twisted laugh to his lips, a bitter sound that echoed in the confines of the vehicle.

"What's next? This isn't enough," Francis asked, his brow furrowing as he maneuvered through the streets.

———

Tommy arrived home, the familiar sights and sounds of his neighborhood greeting him. His little sister, still at school. As he stepped through the front door, he felt a strange heaviness in the air, a sense that something was off.

The house was eerily quiet. He called out, "Mom? You home?" but received no reply. An unsettling dread crept into his heart as he walked further inside, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

Entering the living room, the scene before him froze him in place. His breath hitched in his throat, and his heart dropped as he took in the horrifying sight: his mother lay sprawled on the ground, her body naked. Two bullet holes marred her forehead, crimson stains pooling around.

"Mom!" Tommy's voice cracked, a raw panic igniting within him. He rushed forward, collapsing to his knees beside her. The world around him blurred as he reached out, trembling fingers brushing against her lifeless form. His heart raced, each thud echoing in his ears as he struggled to comprehend what he's seeing.

"Mom, please!" he cried, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face. He cradled her head in his hands, feeling the warmth of her blood seep into his skin. "No, no, no..." he sobbed, shaking his head in denial. The weight of grief crashed over him.

His mind whirled with memories—her laughter, her gentle touch, the way she used to tuck him in at night. The love she had poured into their lives now felt like a cruel joke, and the finality of her absence clawed at his insides. "No...! No, no, no, no!" he screamed, his voice raw with anguish.

The tears flowed freely now, blurring his vision as he pulled her closer, the coldness of her body igniting a firestorm of rage and sorrow within him. He rocked back and forth, holding her as if he could somehow bring her back, as if his love could reverse the horror that had unfolded. "Mom! Come back! Please!" he wailed.

With every passing moment, the reality settled deeper into his bones. She was gone. Tommy's cries grew louder, a primal scream of loss and despair that reverberated through the house, drowning out everything else.