Calm Before The Storm is the 24th mission in Grand Theft Auto: King of The Hill.
It is the fifth mission given to Miklos Lipton by Victor Sax.
It's the 5th mission in Chapter III: Can't Buy Me Love.
Plot
Thomas' Apartment
The smell of sizzling bacon filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of stale beer. Sunlight spilled through the blinds, cutting streaks of light across the cluttered apartment. The TV on the corner cabinet buzzed softly with the morning Weazel News broadcast. Jenni sat at the small kitchen table, watching Thomas flip eggs in a pan with surprising skill, his unkempt appearance at odds with his kitchen confidence. Miklos came into the kitchen, stretching his back, his expression unreadable as usual.
Thomas: Morning, sunshine. You two are about to have the best bacon and eggs in Los Santos.
Miklos poured himself a cup of coffee, smirking faintly at Jenni Taylor, her posture less guarded than the previous night.
Miklos: Trust me, they taste better than they look.
Jenni: If it tastes as good as it smells, I'm not complaining.
Jenni came up to the dining table and sat across from Miklos, who was sipping his coffee idly. She built up the courage and then blurted out, her cheeks going pink.
Jenni: So, Miklos, you've got this tough-guy thing going on, but is there anything you actually enjoy? Like... do you have fun?
Miklos: I like quiet mornings.
Miklos shrugged, sipping his coffee. Jenni rolled her eyes playfully, clearly enjoying the banter.
Jenni: Wow. Exciting.
Thomas: He's always been like this. Don't take it personally.
The news anchor's voice cut through the sounds of cooking.
Jenni sat up straighter, her eyes wide. She gestured to the TV with her fork.
Jenni: That's it! That's what happened to me last night.
Thomas: They're talking about you? You killed those gangsters?
Jenni: No, not me. But that's where I was... in that garage. Before a handsome hero came and saved me...
Miklos narrowed his eyes slightly, dismissing what she said, his voice calm but probing.
Miklos: So, why did they take you? The Marabunta don't just grab random people off the street.
Jenni froze for a moment, her eyes shifting. Miklos tilted his head, his sharp gaze lingering on her. She tensed up uncomfortably, clearly deflecting. She looked down quickly, before muttering under her breath.
Jenni: I don't know. Maybe they thought I was rich or something...
Miklos: Doesn't sound like their style.
Thomas, sensing the tension, plated the food, setting it down on the table with a flourish.
Thomas: Alright... let's eat.
The three of them dug in, the tension from the night before melting away as they shared stories and jokes. Jenni found herself laughing at Miklos's dry humor, her gaze lingering on him longer than she realized. Miklos, however, seemed oblivious, focusing entirely on his eggs. Jenni picked at her plate at first but soon began eating with more enthusiasm.
Thomas: So, Jenni, how's my cooking?
Jenni: Not bad for a guy who looks like he hasn't seen a razor in weeks.
Thomas laughed, taking the jab in stride, while Miklos smirked faintly, shaking his head. The mood lightened as they joked and ate, the stress of the previous night briefly forgotten. Jenni found herself relaxing more, stealing glances at Miklos between bites. Despite his stoic demeanor, she was starting to feel drawn to him. He seemed solid, reliable... qualities she hadn't expected to find in someone like him.
Miklos, however, remained oblivious, buttering up his toast. As the meal wound down, the news anchor's voice filled the room again.
Anchor: "This marks the latest incident involving escalating gang violence in Los Santos. Officials urge residents to remain vigilant and avoid high-risk areas, and report any information they may have to the LSPD."
Thomas: Sounds like you had quite the night, Jenni. Guess it's lucky cousin here found you when he did.
Jenni: Yeah... really lucky. He wasn't even there for me, but he saved me... What is that, fate?
Miklos finished his coffee, setting the mug down with a quiet clink. His eyes lingered on Jenni for a moment, his tone calm but insistent.
Miklos: If you remember anything, anything at all, about why they took you, you need to tell me.
Jenni hesitated, her grip tightening on her fork. Her hand went to her nose for a moment. Her voice was quiet, but her tone was firm.
Jenni: I already told you, I don't know...
Miklos studied Jenni for a moment longer, her discomfort clear as she avoided his gaze. He decided not to press her, at least for now. He pushed back his chair and stood, pulling his buzzing phone from his pocket. The name Victor Sax flashed on the screen. Miklos frowned and answered.
Miklos: Vix...
Victor's voice came through, not angry as expected, but frantic, the tension crackling through the line.
Victor: King! Thank God! You gotta come now. Right now! We've got a situation!
Miklos: Slow down. What's up?
Victor: No time! Yellow Jack Inn! Get here NOW before it's too late!
Miklos: Vix, what's going on?
Victor: It's bad, King, real bad! Look, this isn't about me wanting to kill you anymore, alright? This is about survival! Just get your ass to Sandy Shores!
The line clicked off. Miklos stared at his phone for a moment, his jaw tightening. He could feel Jenni and Thomas watching him, the room tense with curiosity.
Thomas: Trouble?
Miklos: Always.
He grabbed his Chianski jacket and headed for the door. As it clicked shut behind him, Jenni glanced at Thomas, her brows furrowed in concern.
Jenni: Is he always like this?
Thomas chuckled, popping a piece of bacon into his mouth.
Thomas: Oh, yeah. But don't let him fool you. He's got a heart under all that brooding. Somewhere.
Jenni smirked faintly, her gaze lingering on the door Miklos had just walked through.
Yellow Jack Inn
Miklos pulled into the dusty parking lot of the Yellow Jack Inn in Sandy Shores. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the shabby bar. Inside, the place was a flurry of activity. Guns clattered as they were loaded, tables and chairs were overturned to form makeshift barricades, and Aztecas scurried to their positions by windows and doorways.
Victor: Go! Go! AMIGOS! THEY'RE COMING!
Standing in the center of the chaos was Victor Sax, barking orders with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Next to him was Gal, stoic as ever, calmly loading his AK. At the bar, Clifton, with a wild grin, was juggling grenades like they were apples. Miklos stepped inside, surveying the scene with a raised brow.
Miklos: Whoa! Hold up. Who's coming? What the hell is going on?
Victor: THEM! God-fucking-damn bikers! Drebins and The Lost! They fucking KNOW, Miklos! They KNOW we set up that war between them! They're on their way here to kill us all! Especially ME!
Miklos: Gotta say, that does sound like a problem.
Victor: "Problem"?! It's a death sentence! They're coming for blood!
Victor waved toward the barricaded windows, where Aztecas crouched with rifles aimed out toward the desert road.
Victor: Tommy Bell. Drebin's underboss. Showed up about an hour ago, big grin on his face, says he's “just here to chat.” Then he drops the bombshell: They know we've been stirring the pot with his biker pals.
Gal: Tommy says he's comin' back with the boys. Big ol' biker party, and we're the guests of honor. Ain't that sweet?
Miklos: And you decided to dig in? This isn't the fucking Alamo.
Victor: I thought of running, but chíngate, we're not running. This is our turf.
Gal: Better to make a stand. Viva Los Aztecas.
Miklos exhaled sharply, scanning the room. The Aztecas looked determined, if not entirely prepared. He turned back to Victor.
Miklos: Alright. What do we have?
Victor: Guns, ammo, Clifton's toys, and a lot of tequila. Oh, and of course a grenade launcher!
Miklos: Tequila's not much help, but the rest'll do.
Gal: Jefe, you still have El Chupa?
Miklos: Of course.
Drebin Family
The distant roar of engines shattered the desert silence. The Aztecas tensed, their grips tightening on their weapons as the noise grew louder. Miklos crouched behind the bar with Victor, watching as the first wave of Drebins bikers thundered into the lot. Tommy Bell was at the front, his shotgun gleaming in the fading sunlight.
The bikers dismounted, spreading out as they advanced toward the bar. Tommy called out, his voice booming.
Tommy: Sax! Get out here before we flatten this dump and everyone inside it!
Victor: Appreciate the offer, Tommy, but why don't you come and get me!?
Tommy: Your funeral, Sax. Boys, let's show 'em what happens when you mess with the Drebin Family!
The bikers charged, guns blazing. The Aztecas fired back, the air erupting with the crack of gunfire and the roar of engines. Miklos moved with precision, firing his Combat MG from behind the bar while directing the others.
Miklos: Keep them pinned! Clifton, use your grenades! Carefully!
Clifton: ¡Orale chingada! Granadas!
Clifton whooped, tossing a grenade out the window. It exploded in a plume of fire, sending bikers and bikes flying. Miklos posted his MG at the front window, picking off attackers with calm efficiency. The fight raged on, bullets tearing through walls and shattering bottles as the Aztecas held their ground.
The Lost MC
The roar of engines filled the air as the Lost MC bikers swarmed the lot of the Yellow Jack Inn too, Terry Thorpe leading the charge. Inside, the Aztecas crouched behind barricades, guns firing outside wildly. Miklos scanned the chaos through a crack in the boarded-up window, then pulled out his phone, his tone sharp and commanding.
Miklos: Nazarian, we've got trouble at the Yellow Jack. Send your boys, now!
Alan's voice crackled on the other end, calm but with a touch of irritation.
Nazarian: Miklos, you calling me for favors now?
Miklos: Less talk, more action! We're outnumbered.
Nazarian: Fine. Ismail and the crew are nearby. They'll be there in five. Don't die before they show up.
Miklos hung up, his focus shifting back to the fight as he sprayed his MG. The bikers returned fire, bullets peppering the exterior of the bar. Tommy Bell shouted orders, his voice cutting through the cacophony.
Tommy: Light 'em up, boys! Burn this place to the ground!
The Aztecas returned fire, their shots cracking through the air. Miklos moved with purpose, directing the defense.
Miklos: Clifton, give me the grenade launcher! Gal, cover the left flank!
Clifton nodded as he tossed the launcher into Miklos' hands. He spun and let out a loud THUNK, causing a big explosion scattering the bikers. Gal moved like a seasoned soldier, his AK barking as he held the line. Miklos reloaded the launcher, his movements precise despite the chaos. But the bikers kept coming, their numbers overwhelming.
Suddenly, the sound of roaring engines cut through the gunfire. Miklos glanced out the window as a convoy of black Dubstas tore into the lot, their headlights cutting through the dust. The Armenian Mob had arrived.
Izzy: Party time, boys!
The D-Wagons screeched to a halt, their doors swinging open. Nazarian's goons piled out, armed to the teeth. At the front was Ismail, grinning ear to ear, his red blazer and flashy gold chains glinting in the sunlight. He waved his gold-plated AK like a trophy.
Ismail: Let's show these bikers how Armenians handle business!
The Armenians opened fire, their precision and firepower immediately shifting the tide of the battle. The bikers, caught off guard by the reinforcements, began to falter. Miklos stepped out from cover, launching a grenade with cold efficiency, blowing up half the street.
Victor Sax, crouched behind an overturned table, scowled as he saw the Armenians join the fray. He muttered under his breath, his disdain clear.
Victor: Fucking Armenians...
Miklos: Hate 'em all you want, Sax, but they're saving our asses.
Victor grumbled but couldn't deny the truth. As Ismail and his crew pressed the attack, the bikers began to retreat, their ranks decimated. Tommy Bell, realizing the fight was lost, shouted to his men.
Tommy: Fall back! Fall back!
The remaining bikers fled, their engines roaring as they disappeared into the desert. The Armenians fired a few parting shots before regrouping near the bar. Miklos stepped out, lowering his grenade launcher as the dust settled.
Victor stood, brushing dust off his jacket, his expression a mix of frustration and begrudging appreciation. He approached Miklos, glancing toward the Armenians with a scowl.
Victor: Can't believe I'm saying this, but... thanks. Even if you brought them.
Miklos smirked faintly, nodding toward Ismail, who was showing off his golden AK to a bemused Gal.
Miklos: Help's help. You're alive, aren't you?
Victor grunted, crossing his arms as he kicked a dead biker's corpse. The Yellow Jack Inn was battered but still standing. Miklos turned to the assembled Aztecas and Armenians, his voice steady and commanding.
Miklos: Listen up. We just sent a message: the Lipton Gang doesn't get fucked with! We do the fucking around here! This wasn't just about survival. This was about showing the Drebins, The Lost, and anyone else who's on the throne!
The Chase
The dust settled over the Yellow Jack Inn as the last of the bikers roared off into the desert. His eyes saw The Lost and Drebin bikers fleeing in multiple directions. Among them, a pair of riders stood out, heading west toward the hills: Daniel Drebin and Tommy Bell. Miklos grabbed his MG, turning to Victor, Izzy, and Clifton, who were catching their breath near the bar.
Miklos: We're not letting them get away. Get in the truck. Gal, you stay here and clean up.
Gal nodded, already organizing the remaining Aztecas to secure the area. Miklos strode to his Caracara 4x4, the others following close behind. Izzy slid into the passenger seat, while Victor and Clifton jumped into the back, armed and ready. The truck roared to life, its powerful engine cutting through the desert silence as they sped off after the bikers.
The chase was chaotic, with Daniel and Tommy weaving through narrow dirt paths and treacherous turns. Miklos pushed the Caracara to its limits, the powerful engine growling as it barreled over uneven terrain. Clifton leaned out of the window, firing off his SMG to keep the bikers on edge.
Clifton: Yeehaw! ¡Corran, hijos de puta!
Victor: Will you stop wasting ammo, Clifton?
Izzy: Let him have his fun!
Miklos ignored them, his focus razor-sharp as he closed the gap. The bikers veered into an abandoned ranch, skidding to a halt near a dilapidated barn. Miklos slammed the brakes, the Caracara sliding to a stop a few yards away.
Miklos: Stay sharp. This isn't over. I want them alive.
Miklos and the others dismounted, weapons drawn as they approached the barn, blasting it with bullets. The bikers inside were already scrambling, setting up a desperate last stand. Miklos fired a few warning shots into the side.
Miklos: Drebin! We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your call.
After a tense moment, the barn doors creaked open, and Daniel Drebin emerged, his hands raised but his face twisted with fury. Tommy Bell followed, glaring daggers at Miklos.
Daniel: You've got some nerve, you sonova bitch. We've lost many good men because of you!
Miklos: You attacked us. Your boys are dead because they backed the wrong play. Now, are you going to keep making bad decisions, or are you going to listen?
Daniel: Why the hell should I listen to you?
Daniel stepped forward, defiant despite his position. Miklos reached into his Caracara and pulled out a shiny briefcase, thick with cash. He tossed it onto the ground in front of Daniel, with a plop in the sand.
Miklos: $500,000. Good faith. Take it, and we'll call this even. No more wars, no more killing. No more deaths.
Daniel hesitated, his anger wavering as he stared at the briefcase. Tommy leaned in, muttering something in his ear. Finally, Daniel sighed, picking up the case.
Daniel: Umm... Yes. Of course. Much obliged. What's the catch?
Miklos: You work for me now. The Lipton Gang's taking over, and you're part of it. Or we can kill you where you stand, you choose.
Daniel glanced back at the barn, where the remnants of his gang were watching nervously. Izzy flashed his golden AK, while Clifton brandished his dual SMGs. Miklos leaned on his Combat MG, while Victor paced behind them with his Carbine, eyes darting around. Daniel hushed Tommy, who seemed to be livid, and sighed again, nodding reluctantly.
Daniel: Fine. You've got a deal. We'll work for you... But don't think this means I trust you.
Miklos: Trust isn't necessary. Loyalty is. Work for me, and you will earn way more than that. Or take that money and get the fuck out of Los Santos.
Daniel: Who the fuck are you anyway? Lipton who?
Miklos: Miklos Lipton. The fucking King.
As the group returned to the Caracara, Victor crossed his arms, watching Daniel and his men begin to retreat into the barn.
Victor: Can't believe you're bringing those assholes into the fold... They tried to kill us.
Miklos: Well, we started it. Better to have them with us than against us.
Izzy: Another win for the King, huh?
Miklos: Let's just hope it works out. Otherwise, we'll bury them in that barn.
Victor grunted, clearly not convinced but unwilling to argue. Miklos climbed into the driver's seat, gesturing for the others to follow. The Caracara roared to life once more, kicking up dust as it sped away from the hideout.
Yellow Jack Inn
Miklos drove them back to the Yellow Jack, the heavy rumble of the truck's engine masking the quiet tension inside. As they drove past the lot, the scene was already a mess. The Aztecas and Armenians had cleared out, looting every weapon and piece of gear left behind by the Lost MC and Drebins. Now, the area swarmed with Sandy Shores Sheriff's Deputies, their squad cars flashing red and blue over the bikers dead bodies.
Victor groaned, leaning back in his seat as he spotted Janet, the owner of the Yellow Jack Inn, animatedly talking to a deputy. She waved frantically as the Caracara rolled past, her expression torn between exasperation and resignation. Miklos offered a curt nod of apology through the windshield.
Victor: Well, we survived. But I don't think we can hang at the Yellow Jack Inn anymore.
Miklos: You're just now figuring that out?
They drove on, leaving the chaos behind. The desert road stretched ahead, and the sun hung low, casting long shadows. Inside the cab, a different kind of chaos brewed.
Izzy: Alright, since we're all friends now, name's Ismail, but everyone calls me Izzy.
He leaned forward between the seats, his flashy chains clinking as he extended a hand to Victor in the passenger. Victor glanced at it, his expression stony, turning his head to look out the window.
Victor: I know who you are. Nazarian's nephew.
Izzy: That's right.
Victor scoffed, crossing his arms as he stared out the window. His nose flared, either from anger or from huffing Izzy's terrible cologne.
Victor: Great. Just what we needed. Another Nazarian.
Miklos: You gonna hold a grudge forever, Vix?
Victor: Against the Armenians? Absolutely.
Izzy: You know, not all of us are like my uncle.
Victor: Sure. And I'm the Pope.
The tension thickened, but in the back seat, Clifton was oblivious. He was animatedly talking in rapid, wild Spanish, gesturing wildly as he held Izzy's gold AK. Izzy turned to him, laughing as if they'd known each other for years.
Izzy: Man, I have no idea what you're saying, but I love the energy!
Clifton howled with laughter, slapping the seat and speaking even faster. The two seemed to bond over their shared unpredictability, leaving Miklos and Victor to exchange a glance.
Miklos: Guess they are besties now...
Hearty Tacos
As they neared Los Santos, the familiar yellow sign for Hearty Tacos on Davis Avenue loomed into view. The warm, smoky scent of grilled mystery meat drifted through the open windows of the Caracara, cutting through the tension that hung in the cab. Izzy practically jumped out of his seat in the back, his voice breaking the silence.
Izzy: Mik, you gotta stop! Best tacos in the city, I swear!
Miklos sighed, pulling into the lot. The truck rumbled to a halt, and the group piled out. Clifton darted to the counter, launching into an animated conversation with the vendor in rapid Spanish, gesturing wildly at the menu. Izzy followed, laughing as he ordered a stack of tacos, already chatting up the vendor like an old friend.
Victor, however, stayed back. Arms crossed, he leaned against the passenger seat, his sharp eyes scanning the street, his posture stiff. Miklos noticed, turning to him calmy.
Miklos: You okay?
Victor: Just making sure we're not being followed.
Victor's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes fixed on the street. Miklos studied him for a moment, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his hand hovered near his waistband, ready to draw. It wasn't just paranoia... there was something else beneath it.
Miklos: That all?
Victor turned to face him, his expression cold, but there was something raw in his voice.
Victor: Actually, no, that's not all!
Miklos straightened slightly, his gaze hardening. He didn't respond, giving Victor the space to continue. Victor's voice dropped, low and bitter.
Victor: When I agreed to this, to you and Perry, it was supposed to be us. You, Harris, and Los Aztecas, taking over the underworld... clean, simple. Now we've got Armenians and Drebins crawling all over the place.
Miklos: We need them, Victor. You've seen what we're up against.
Miklos's tone remained even, but there was an edge to it. Victor scoffed, his eyes narrowing.
Victor: Need them? The Armenians? That snake Nazarian and his loudmouth nephew? The Drebins, who've got their own damn agenda? What's next, Miklos? Bringing in The Lost? The Triads? Hell, I hear your such good friends with the Marabunta Grande, too!? How 'bout squashing that beef with 500k, huh?
Miklos's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. Victor leaned closer, his voice rising with frustration.
Victor: I trusted you, Miklos. I trusted you to lead, not to turn this into some circus of alliances. How the hell am I supposed to follow a man who's turning us into a patchwork of gangs that hate each other?
Miklos: You think I like this? You think I want to deal with Nazarian or Drebin? I don't. But I know one thing, you can't take over a city like this with just three guys and a dream.
Miklos met his glare, his voice calm but laced with steel. Victor's eyes flicked away for a moment, but his scowl remained. Miklos leaned back in the driver's seat, his tone softening slightly but still firm.
Miklos: You said you trusted me. So trust me to make the right calls, even when they're ugly.
Victor: You better know what you're doing, King. Because if this all blows up, we're the ones who'll burn.
Victor stared at him for a long moment, the tension crackling between them. Finally, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Miklos nodded, his voice steady.
Miklos: Then we make sure it doesn't blow up.
The moment was broken by Izzy's laughter as he walked back to the truck with Clifton, both of them balancing stacks of greasy tacos. Izzy, his grin wide and oblivious, shoved a softshell taco through Miklos's open window. The unhealthy, high-calorie lump of meat, salsa, and cheese dripped onto Miklos's jeans as he instinctively caught it.
Izzy: I told you, Mik. Best tacos in the city! Try it!
Miklos glanced down at the mess with a faint sigh but took a bite anyway, the rich flavors hitting him immediately. Clifton hopped into the backseat, babbling something rapid and unintelligible in Spanish as he tore into a taco with wild enthusiasm. Izzy joined him, laughing as he balanced his tacos precariously in one hand while gesturing with the other.
Victor sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his arms crossed, staring out the window. Clifton leaned forward, handing a taco to Victor with a cheerful grin, but Victor shook his head, his voice low and curt.
Victor: Lost my appetite.
The tension hung thick in the front, contrasting with the chaotic energy from the backseat. Izzy and Clifton were in their own world, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened, Clifton's rapid Spanish occasionally earning a burst of laughter from Izzy, who didn't seem to understand a word but found the delivery hilarious.
Clifton smacked his hand on the seat, shouting something in Spanish that sounded vaguely celebratory, then "Viva Los Aztecas", before wolfing down another taco. Miklos smirked faintly, the smallest crack in his otherwise stoic demeanor, but his focus quickly shifted back to Victor.
Miklos: Come on, eat a taco.
Victor: No.
The cab fell silent for a moment, save for the crunching and slurping from the backseat. Izzy leaned forward, a taco in each hand, his mouth full as he spoke.
Izzy: Mik these tacos are fire, huh?
Miklos: They're good, I guess.
Victor finally shifted in his seat, exhaling sharply as he glanced back at the chaos in the rear.
Victor: Can we go now.
Northern Rancho
As the Caracara rolled into the Azteca neighborhood of Northern Rancho, the baby blue lowriders and graffiti-covered walls gave way to the quiet hum of streetlights and distant voices. Groups of Aztecas leaned against cars, smoking and talking. As the truck pulled into the driveway of a modest house, heads turned. Conversations paused as the gang members recognized the truck, and the man driving it.
One of the Aztecas, a young man with a shaved head and an baby-blue bandana, stepped forward, pointing at the truck with a grin.
Azteca: Oye, ese! Ese es Miklos Lipton!
Another Azteca chimed in, his voice filled with admiration.
Azteca: And he brought Vic back in one piece. Respect, hombre.
As Miklos waved from the truck, the Aztecas nodded or muttered their thanks, their respect palpable. Victor climbed out, his usual scowl softening slightly at the reception. However, a wild Latina burst out of the house, her voice sharp and full of emotion. Victor groaned, running a hand through his hair.
Carmelita: Victor! Where the hell have you been?! You don't call, you don't text, and now you're just showing up like nothing happened?!
Victor: Carmelita, not now.
Before she could continue, Gal appeared beside her, his calm presence quieting the scene. He placed a hand on her shoulder, nodding at Victor.
Gal: He's alive. That's what matters.
Carmelita's expression softened, her worry overriding her frustration. She turned to Miklos, her eyes scanning him with curiosity. Carmelita stepped closer, offering a faint smile.
Carmelita: You were attacked Vic? And you're the one who saved him?
Victor: Yeah mira, that's Miklos. He's the reason I'm still breathing.
Carmelita: Thanks for keeping this idiota alive.
Miklos: No problem.
Meanwhile, Clifton jumped out of the back of the truck, holding up a bag of tacos like a prize. He started handing them out to the Aztecas, his rapid Spanish spilling out in a mix of humor and excitement.
Clifton: Eat! We're alive, cabrones!
The Aztecas laughed, taking the tacos with grins. Clifton's wild energy was contagious, and even Gal cracked a rare smile, shaking his head as he watched the scene unfold. Izzy joined in, tossing tacos before biting into one himself. He grinned at Miklos, his carefree attitude cutting through the tension.
Izzy: You really know how to make an impression, Mik.
Miklos smirked faintly, but his focus shifted as Izzy leaned into the Caracara's window.
Miklos: You want a ride to your uncle's?
Izzy: Hell no. Me and Clifton are gonna have some fun!
Miklos's smirk faded slightly, his tone warning.
Miklos: Los Aztecas and Armenians aren't exactly best friends, Izzy. Don't push your luck.
Izzy: I'll be fine. Besides, Clifton's got my back. Right, amigo?
Clifton laughed, slapping Izzy on the back before throwing another taco to one of the Aztecas. Izzy shrugged, taking a big bite of his taco as Clifton hollered something in Spanish, clearly encouraging the chaos.
Clifton: Si cabrón! Tacos!
As the Caracara's engine rumbled to life, Victor leaned into the open window, his expression softened just slightly, though the weariness still clung to his features. He rested an arm on the frame, glancing at Miklos.
Victor: I just survived a biker war, got yelled at by my girl, and watched you turn my neighborhood into a damn taco party.
Miklos smirked faintly, meeting Victor's eyes without a word. After a beat, Victor's voice dropped, quieter, more sincere.
Victor: But... thanks, King. For real. You saved my ass today. All of us.
For a moment, Miklos said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint nod, he replied simply:
Miklos: Anytime, Vix.
Victor stepped back, watching as the Caracara pulled away, its taillights disappearing into the night. Behind him, the sounds of laughter and camaraderie from the Aztecas filled the air, but his focus lingered on the road long after Miklos was gone.
The next mission, Housewarming, is now unlocked.
Rewards
- None
Objectives
- Hold off the Drebin Family alongside Los Aztecas.
- Take out The Lost reinforcements.
- Repel the remaining bikers with the Armenian Mob.
- Chase the Drebins' leader to Great Chaparral.
- Confront Daniel Drebin and his men.
- Drop off Victor at Northern Rancho
- Stop for Tacos (Optional)
Gold Medal Objectives
- Time - Complete in 15:00
- Accuracy - Finish wit an accuracy of at least 50%
- Unmarked - Complete with minimum damage on health and armor
- Maximum Carnage - Kill at least 5 enemies with one grenade launcher.
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