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What if Micheal had a twin, and even she was left out of his grand act?
*Mostly sticks to the game with a few edits to the timeline
(1)
I sighed as I was sent to Michael's voicemail for the third time. He, Trevor and Brad were currently doing a heist, but they had been due back thirty minutes ago. This time, I tried Trevor, again no answer. I began to pace around the field as I awaited their chopper, panic setting in as I continued to hear nothing from the three. I was about to make my way to my bike and go look for them when I heard the familiar sound of blades whirling above me. As soon as it touched down I sprinted forwards, but only Trevor stepped out.
"Where are the others? Where's Michael?" He didn't meet my eyes, looking down with a look I hadn't seen on his face before. "T, where is he? Where is my brother?" Again, silence. "Trevor! Where the fuck is my brother?!" I began to shout at him and he finally looked up, mumbling two single words:
"I'm sorry."
"No. No, he's not dead." I shook my head in disbelief, before pushing Trevor, "He's not fucking dead! He's not!" I began to pound my fists against his chest until he grabbed my hands, gently keeping me still.
"Kaela, stop." But I couldn't and kept struggling, until it all became too much. I knew Trevor wouldn't have left him behind unless he had died. There was no other explanation.
At that moment I broke.
"I'm here, Kaela, I've got you." My legs gave way and I sank to the floor in tears, Trevor slowly kneeling beside me and pulling me close.
"Did it happen fast? Did he suffer?" I whispered, staring into the mud.
"It was a bullet wound. We got jumped, Brad went down too, but he was taken into custody." He replied and I nodded. "He told me to leave him. Told me someone had to be alive to come back to you." At Trevor's words, I looked up.
"He always was an overprotective ass," I mumbled, trying to find a single drop of light through the pain, but I couldn't. I had lost my brother, my twin, my other half. And I'd never be whole again...
10 years later
"T, where are we going?" I asked, eyes closed as he pulled me along the desert road, his bodhi a few metres behind us. Since Michael's death much had changed. Brad was in prison, Trevor and I had moved to Blaine County, San Andreas and he now owned TPI, Trevor Philips Industries. We'd become close, much closer than either of us would ever care to admit. Michael's death had changed us both, pushing Trevor further over the edge and sending me with him.
