GTA V : The golden

I opened my eyes to the usual quiet in my room.

Glancing at the clock, it was 3:00 AM.

I got up slowly from my bed, stretching my body.

Man, I hated waking up in the middle of the night. Ethan straightened up from his bed, headed to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face.

Looking in the mirror, he noticed his facial hair starting to grow back.

"Damn, it's already growing? I just shaved not too long ago," Ethan thought.

He went downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. Sitting on the comfy Italian-designed couch, he started thinking about what went down yesterday.

"What if I'm not ready?"

He got up slowly after finishing his coffee, pacing around the house. His hand slipped into his pocket, gripping the key to his training room—a room reserved for him for a long time, tucked away in the basement. It was packed with weapons and shooting gear.

Walking down the stairs to the basement, his footsteps echoed in the still air. His hand landed on the cold, metal handle of the door that separated the training room from the rest of the house.

As he opened it, the smell of metal and leather hit his nose. The dim lighting revealed targets lined up along the walls, neatly organized weapons on shelves, and protective gear from past training sessions.

Ethan walked over to the worktable where his favorite pistol lay—a carefully customized piece that he treated like a part of himself. He picked it up with one hand, inspecting it closely. The cold metal felt almost comforting under his fingers, like a sword waiting for its next battle.

Holding the gun, he walked over to the targets on the wall. Planting his feet firmly, he focused his gaze on the first target. He aimed with precision, finger steady on the trigger... but hesitated as flashes of yesterday's events ran through his mind.

He wasn't used to killing someone.

He could still vividly remember the blood... and the shattered remains of the truck driver's skull.

"Hhh..." Ethan let out a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"Killing... it's gotta be done," he whispered to himself.

He took aim again and fired a precise shot at the target.

The sound of gunfire echoed through the room, bouncing back into his ears as he focused on the next target. Every hit was dead-on. He tried to tune out everything else—his thoughts, his emotions—relying only on the calm logic of technique amidst chaos.

Ethan's eyes grew colder and more focused as he kept firing at the targets, imagining them as enemies pointing guns at him.

He kept shooting rapidly, reloading quickly, losing track of time, consumed by the rhythm of the shots.

Hours later, Ethan sat on the floor of the training room, his features tense, sweat dripping down his forehead. He'd spent hours shooting, switching between different weapons, firing at the targets relentlessly. But now, he felt... different. Exhausted—physically and mentally. The gunfire, once a source of power, now felt hollow. Just empty noise filling the room.

Time felt heavier, like it was slipping through his fingers. At first, it had felt good, but now? Now he realized he wasn't accomplishing anything. The targets he hit brought him no sense of pride, no satisfaction.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked toward the neatly arranged weapons on the shelves. He thought about every bullet he'd fired, every perfect shot he'd landed... and how none of it mattered.

He placed the pistol back on the table and stepped back, looking around the room filled with weapons, targets, and memories. Something inside him had shifted.

As he approached the door, he glanced back at the room one last time. This time, he knew he wouldn't be coming back.

Ethan let out a sigh.

He turned off the lights, closing the door behind him.

"I need to evolve," he muttered.

At dawn, Ethan stepped outside to water the plants.

He walked quietly toward the small garden beside his house, where flowers and little trees he'd planted himself grew. He loved this spot. Here, he felt like he had control over something—something that grew slowly, with care.

Picking up the garden hose, he started watering the vibrant flowers. Droplets splashed gently onto the dry soil, giving life back to it. The flowers swayed softly in the morning breeze, refreshed by the water.

As he watered the flowers, he stopped to light a cigarette, staring off into the distance. Suddenly, he heard a loud crash.

Ethan turned toward the hill below Vinewood Hill.

He saw a house—once one of the finest in Rockford Hills—collapse before his eyes. Only the back portion of it remained standing.

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his lips parted slightly as he whispered, "Fuck..."

"Damn, rough luck for the owner," Ethan muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to his garden, resuming his watering.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Quickly, he dropped the hose and pulled it out. "Michael" lit up the screen.

Ethan answered, and Michael's voice came through the speaker.

"Ethan, I need your help," Michael said.

"What happened?" Ethan asked, turning off the hose.

"Let's just say I owe someone... two mill—"

"Don't get your hopes up. My old man doesn't give me more than fifty grand a month," Ethan interrupted, already guessing where the conversation was headed.

Michael sighed on the other end. "Looks like I've got no choice. I'll do it."

"Do what?" Ethan asked, curiosity creeping into his voice.

"I'm coming out of retirement," Michael said vaguely. "I'll explain later."

And with that, he hung up.

"...Great," Ethan muttered.

Heading back inside, Ethan put on his best designer clothes, grabbed his keys, and stepped out into his luxury car.

As he drove through the city, passing towering buildings and crowded streets, he didn't have a specific destination in mind.

Eventually, he stopped at a beautiful park, parked the car, and stepped out.

Ethan walked slowly through the park, enjoying the fresh air. Trees surrounded him, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze was oddly calming. He wore casual jeans and a light shirt, strolling along the stone path winding around a small lake. Kids were playing nearby, and couples were walking hand in hand.

He found a wooden bench near the lake and sat down, staring at the serene view. Just as he closed his eyes for a moment of peace, he heard the chirping of a bird flying overhead. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the sky.

Leaning back on the bench with a bored expression, he stood after a while and walked toward the lake.

Standing by the calm water, the surface was like a natural mirror. The soft sunlight reflected off it, creating warm hues.

Looking down, Ethan saw his reflection clearly. His face appeared steady, his pale blue eyes faintly glowing in the sunlight, carrying a mysterious look. His sharp eyebrows gave his face a serious, enigmatic edge. Black strands of his hair drifted lazily in the wind, messy but in a way that suited him.

For a brief moment, he seemed to enjoy the calmness of it all. But it didn't last.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass shattered the peace. Moments later, his car alarm blared, slicing through the park's tranquility like a siren.

Ethan whipped his head around, his expression shifting from calm to alert. "You've gotta be kidding me..."

He sprinted across the park, following the noise, only to find a woman in a leather jacket and camo pants confidently breaking into his car.

"What the hell are you doing?! That's my car!" Ethan yelled as he got closer.

The woman glanced at him briefly, her face unreadable, and motioned toward him with some sort of gesture he couldn't decipher.

Before he could stop her, she got in the car. But Ethan managed to jump into the passenger seat just as she hit the gas.

Holding his pistol to her head, he smirked. "Alright, sweetheart, how about we stop playing games? Pull over."

She didn't respond, just glanced at him briefly before returning her focus to the road.

"Hey, are you deaf or something? Stop the damn car!" Ethan pressed the gun closer, frustration in his voice.

Still, silence.

"Fine," he said sarcastically, waving the pistol. "You can't talk? Or you just don't feel like it?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged slightly, as if to say, "None of your business."

Ethan kept the gun aimed but started to wonder what the hell was going on with her.

The woman slammed her foot on the gas, the car speeding through the streets recklessly.

"Great, not just a thief—crazy too! You trying to kill us both?" Ethan snapped, gripping the seat as she swerved through traffic.

Still no answer.

Suddenly, a massive truck appeared at an intersection up ahead. She slammed the brakes, but the car skidded on the wet pavement, heading straight for the truck.

Without thinking, Ethan grabbed the wheel, yanking it hard to the side. The car swerved and narrowly missed the truck, screeching to a stop on the side of the road.

Both of them sat there, catching their breath.

Ethan turned to her, his tone calm but firm. "Think maybe it would've been smarter to stop and think before getting us both killed?"

The woman, visibly shaken, looked at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You owe me now," he added with a smirk.

Without a word, she opened the door and bolted, disappearing down the street.

Ethan didn't chase her. He stayed in the car, watching her run off. Then, with a smirk, he muttered to himself, "If you're gonna steal cars, maybe learn to drive first…"