He walked toward me with wild, unblinking eyes. There was madness behind that stare—something feral. He reached for a metal pipe lying on the floor and, with the creepiest of smiles, raised it over his head, ready to smash my skull in.

  The weapon came down fast—I ducked, just barely dodging it. I grabbed his arm, yanked him toward me, and smashed my face against his nose. Bone cracked. His smirk vanished.

  The pipe slipped from his hand.

  I caught it and didn’t hesitate. I struck him once, then again—each hit harder than the last. I kept swinging until I felt the skull give way. Something inside me snapped, and I didn’t stop until he dropped to the floor like dead weight.

  I spat on his face.

  Then I turned to Lucas, helped him up, and we stumbled out of the store.

  We couldn’t go far. Lucas was barely standing. Every few minutes, we had to stop so he could catch his breath or wipe the blood from his mouth. After what felt like hours, we got lucky—on the side of the road, a dirt bike sat waiting for us, keys still in the ignition. A gift from fate. Or a trap.

  We took it anyway.

  As we rode through the Grand Senora Desert, we passed a crowd of people walking along the roadside. It didn’t make sense—middle of nowhere, and there had to be at least thirty of them. Something felt off. I slowed down and pulled over, leaving Lucas with the bike.

  I walked over to an old lady near the back of the group.

  “Hello, ma’am?”

  She looked up, tired but polite. “Hello. How may I help you?”

  “Uh… what’s going on here? It’s kind of strange, being in the middle of the desert.”

  She smiled, almost embarrassed. “This is the organ donation center. We’re waiting to sell our kidneys—or whatever they want.”

  I blinked. “You’re donating organs? Why?”

  “I’m from Davis, Los Santos. Money’s tight. My kids need a future, and I won’t let them follow in my footsteps.”

  Before I could reply, a man in a Lost MC jacket shoved her forward.

  “Keep moving, woman.”

  Then he looked at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just… watching. That’s all.”

  He leaned in, dead serious. “Then I’d advise you to leave. Now.”

  “Yeah. I’m going. No problem.”

  I returned to the bike and told Lucas what I’d seen.

  “No way,” he said. “We need to stop this shit.”

  “Lucas, come on. There’s only two of us. What do you wanna do?”

  “Look over there.” He pointed. “They’re being crammed into vans. We should follow them.”

  I didn’t argue. We followed from a distance, dirt kicking up behind our wheels. The vans led us to what looked like a piece of flat desert—but then the ground opened up. A steel door lifted, like the mouth of some metal beast, swallowing the vans whole as they descended into the earth.

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  We couldn’t drive the bike in, so we ditched it and climbed onto the back of one of the vans.

  Darkness swallowed us.

  Then, suddenly—bright blue lights. A massive underground complex lit up like a tech fortress. The vans stopped, and we blended into the crowd as they were herded into a large room.

  On the far wall, a woman stepped up to a podium. Scarf. Red jacket. Sharp features. I recognized her from TV, but it was Lucas who said it first:

  “Oh my God… that’s Sue Murry—the candidate for Governor of San Andreas.”

  “What the fuck is she doing in an organ farm?” I whispered.

  The room went quiet as she spoke.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she began, smiling like she was announcing lottery numbers. “We’re gathered here today so that you can all make a little money. Life is hard. Sometimes you have to give a little, to get a little. Tonight, we’re accepting kidney donations. Prices will be discussed later.”

  Then the crowd was funneled into a line. Lucas and I joined in at the back.

  Armed men walked up and down beside us.

  “If any of y’all change your mind,” one barked, “leave now.”

  We hesitated. That was a mistake. One of the guards yanked us out of line and shoved us into a side room.

  “Wait here till everyone’s done,” he said.

  We sat in silence on splintered wooden chairs. A glass window gave us a view into another holding room. Inside, a frail old woman was shifting on a bloodstained sofa. Her skin was pale, her face slick with sweat. Bandages wrapped around her arms, soaked through with red.

  Lucas stood up, squinting.

  “…That’s my mum.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t seen her in years.”

  He banged on the glass. The woman looked up, eyes swollen. Her lips trembled. She began to cry.

  Lucas ran to the door and grabbed a guard. “Please, let me switch rooms. That’s my mum.”

  “Her organs were useless,” the guard replied flatly.

  “So what?”

  “She’s useless to us.”

  Lucas snapped. “What the fuck are you saying?!”

  The guard leaned in, grinning. “You should wave goodbye.”

  We turned back to the glass.

  Lucas pressed his hand to the window. She mirrored the gesture, barely able to lift her arm. She was dying—and she knew it.

  Then, without a word, a man walked up behind her, lifted a pistol, and pulled the trigger.

  Her head slammed against the glass.

  Blood sprayed.

  Lucas collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony. I reached for him, but he shoved me away.

  “What the fuck is going on? Why was my mum here? Why is the liberal candidate supporting this bullshit?!”

  Hours passed. We were released with the rest of the “donors.” As we grabbed our bike, we saw Sue Murry again—now shaking hands with each person, flanked by officers from the LSPD.

  “I’m gonna kill her,” Lucas whispered.

  “No, man. You kill her, we both die.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. Drive by her.”

  “Lucas, don’t—”

  “I just watched my mum fucking die! Drive by her!”

  I had no choice.

  We tore down the dirt road toward her. Lucas stood up on the back of the bike, balancing. He pulled a knife from his pocket. His voice cracked.

  “HEY, BITCH!”

  Sue turned around just in time. The knife sliced her left ear clean off.

  Cops drew their weapons and opened fire.

  We swerved and sped off into the desert.

  “Where the fuck do we go now?! We’ve got the whole LSPD on our ass!” I yelled.

  “Sandy Shores airfield!” Lucas shouted. “We take a plane from there!”

  “Shit, man…”

  I cut down Panorama Drive, dust flying behind us, and pulled into the airfield. A family was boarding a small plane—we threw them off.

  Lucas climbed in beside me, rifled under his seat, and found an SMG. He rolled down the window and opened fire on the cops as they pulled in.

  I started the engine. The plane rumbled forward.

  Sunlight poured through the cockpit, bathing us in orange.

  Twenty miles per hour.

  I looked over. “Where we going?”

  Lucas turned to me, forcing a smile. “Ludendorff. North Yankton. We’ll start over.”

  But then his smile faded.

  He coughed—and blood sprayed across the dashboard.

  I froze. “Lucas?”

  He looked down.

  A dark stain spread across his hoodie. His hands trembled.

  “I… I think they got me.”

  “No, no, no—stay with me.”

  I pushed the throttle harder. The plane lifted. We were airborne.

  But he was already slumping in the seat.

  “They shot me, Tom,” he whispered. “I didn’t even feel it at first.”

  Tears blurred my vision. I reached over, grabbed his shoulder.

  “We’re almost there. Just hang on. Please.”

  He shook his head, barely conscious.

  “I saw her, Tom. My mum. In that room. She was already gone… and now I’m going too.”

  His head rested against the window.

  “Don’t let them win,” he whispered. “Promise me…”

  “I promise.”

  He smiled—barely.

  And then his eyes closed.

  The desert stretched out below us, endless and empty.