Phantom Freight is the 34th mission in Grand Theft Auto: King of The Hill.
It is the 2nd mission given to Miklos Lipton by Lloyd Tederev.
It's the 4th mission in Chapter IV: Manage the Expectations.
Plot
Alta Tower Safehouse
Miklos leaned back on the couch in his Alta safehouse, the faint hum of the newly installed security cameras blending with the city noise outside. He glanced at the reinforced front door, its steel plating reflecting the dim apartment lighting. Jenni walked by, running a hand along the secure frame.
Jenni: I feel safer already. At least I won't wake up to a surprise guest this time.
Miklos gave a faint smirk, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't shake the memory of Tatsu Hsiang finding him and his home. How easily she'd breezed into his supposed safe haven. He didn't know if she'd keep his location a secret, and the thought gnawed at him.
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He answered, the familiar, sharp voice of Lloyd Tederev on the line.
Tederev: Mr. Lipton. Good news. I cashed in.
Miklos straightened up slightly.
Miklos: How much?
Tederev: Half a million. Give or take, and I take. Your share is half. Two-fifty.
Miklos whistled low, his hand running over his jaw. He could already feel Tederev wasn't done talking.
Tederev: Now, divvy it out to your "crew". They earned it as much as you did. You don't stiff your crew, Miklos. Not if you want them to trust you.
Miklos grunted in acknowledgment, his mind already doing the math.
Miklos: Fine. Victor gets 20%, Izzy gets 20%, and Dennis gets 20%. That leaves me with...
He hesitated as the reality hit.
Miklos: ...a hundred.
Tederev chuckled on the other end.
Tederev: Cost of leadership, Lipton. Besides, that's still a good payday for a day's work.
Miklos sighed, but Tederev quickly shifted the topic.
Tederev: Now, about your next job. I've got something bigger lined up. More lucrative than that job, but a hell of a lot riskier.
Miklos leaned forward, intrigued despite his fatigue.
Miklos: Bigger, huh? How much bigger?
Tederev: Hard to put a price on it just yet, but enough to make that hundred grand feel like pocket change.
Miklos rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Miklos: Where and when?
Tederev: Meet me at Red's Salvage Yard in Murrieta Heights. We'll talk in person. Too many... Chinese listening on this line. Isn't that right Miss Hsiang?
Miklos blinked, was he really wiretapped? He glanced at his security cameras, the memory of Tatsu's unannounced visit still fresh in his mind.
Miklos: Fine. I'll be there.
The call ended, and Miklos sat back with a sigh, already calculating the transfers he needed to make.
Pulling up his Maze Bank app, Miklos did the math:
- Victor Sax: 20% = $50,000
- Izzy Nazarian: 20% = $50,000
- Dennis Oak: 20% = $50,000
That left him with $100,000, enough to feel the weight of the job but not as much as he'd hoped. He initiated the transfers, grumbling as he tapped out each one. He thought about shortchanging Dennis, but decided against it.
Miklos: You better appreciate this, Dennis.
After sending the payments, he grabbed his jacket and adjusted his gray gaiter. Jenni walked over, her concern evident.
Jenni: Another job?
Miklos nodded, slipping his Desert Eagle into its holster under his jacket.
Miklos: Yeah. Don't wait up.
Jenni sighed but kissed his cheek as he left.
Red's Salvage Yard
The drive to Murrieta Heights was uneventful, just the open road and Los Santos Rock Radio, the city bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. The salvage yard came into view, its sprawling lot filled with rusting cars and scrap metal. Miklos parked his Caracara on the street and approached cautiously, his eyes scanning the area.
A familiar black Vorschlaghammer with an equally familiar Desert Eagle bullet-sized hole in the trunk sat outside. Next to it, an elegant golden Stirling GT gleamed under the setting sun, its polished surface a stark contrast to the rugged salvage yard surroundings.
Tederev, leaning casually against the Vorschlaghammer in his iconic white suit, waved Miklos over with his trademark smirk, sharp and full of confidence.
Tederev: Glad you could make it.
Miklos: This better be worth it.
Tederev chuckled, gesturing for Miklos to follow him inside.
Tederev: Oh, it will be. Trust me.
The salvage yard was eerily quiet as Miklos followed Tederev through the rusting labyrinth of crushed cars and broken machinery. The faint glow of a floodlight illuminated a run-down repair shop, its chipped paint and cracked windows telling stories of neglect. The smell of oil and rust filled the air as they approached the entrance.
Inside, a group of Ukrainian-American gangsters sat around a small table, smoking and playing dominos, their laughter mixing with the clink of tiles. Miklos recognized one of them immediately: Hugo Yackslay. The man's icy glare met Miklos' as he entered, the hate behind his eyes unmistakable.
Hugo: його? Знову?
Tederev raised a hand, silencing Hugo with a sharp look.
Tederev: Yes, him. Let it go, Hugo. Bygones are bygones.
Hugo grunted but said nothing, his glare never leaving Miklos.
Another figure stepped forward, younger, barely 20, with a lean frame and sharp features. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and confidence.
Tederev: This is Leroy, my son.
Leroy: Hello, Miklos.
Miklos raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself as he gave the kid a nod. Leroy didn't say much, simply crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby wall, watching intently.
Tederev: And this is Vladimir Zykarov.
Finally, the last man in the room stood from his chair. An older but imposing figure, had an aura of authority that was impossible to miss. His sharp suit and calculating eyes spoke volumes, he wasn't just a cog in the machine; he was the Los Santos contact for the Rovozicki Mafiya and possibly Tederev's equal, if not his superior.
Zykarov: Lipton. I've heard much about you.
His voice was calm but carried a weight that commanded respect. Miklos gave a slight nod.
Miklos: Hope it's the good kind.
Vladimir smirked faintly, gesturing toward the back of the shop.
Zykarov: Follow us.
In the back of the repair shop, under the glow of a single hanging light, a whiteboard stood with a canvas draped over it. The room was small and dingy, with oil stains marking the cracked concrete floor. Tederev stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the canvas and pulling it away to reveal an intricate heist plan.
The whiteboard was covered with red lines connecting grainy pictures of the Los Santos Naval Port, specifically the Merryweather Warehouse on Pier 45. Miklos' eyes narrowed as he recognized the location.
Miklos: Merryweather?
Lloyd grinned, catching Miklos' reaction.
Tederev: Surprised?
Miklos: You could say that. I used to work for them.
The room went silent for a moment, all eyes on Miklos. Tederev's grin widened.
Tederev: Perfect. An inside man.
Miklos shook his head, cutting him off.
Miklos: I just quit. Let's just say it wasn't on the best terms.
Hugo snorted, muttering under his breath.
Hugo: Типовий.
Miklos ignored him and continued.
Miklos: I knocked out my captain and dumped my fatigues. If I still had them, maybe they'd be useful.
Tederev exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
Tederev: Shame. Would've been handy. But no matter.
He tapped the whiteboard, focusing everyone's attention.
Tederev: Here's the deal: Merryweather is transporting a shipment of prototype weapons from Pier 45 to Zancudo in two days. The port is locked down tight. Patrols, cameras, testosterone soldiers, the works. But once they leave the warehouse, security is lighter. That's where we come in. Our best bet is to hit their convoy on the way.
He pointed to a diagram of the port, outlining the convoy's path.
Tederev: We'll ambush the convoy as it leaves the warehouse. Grab the shipment, take out any resistance, and disappear before reinforcements show up.
Zykarov: This isn't just about money. These weapons could tip the scales in our favor against anyone who gets in our way.
Miklos studied the plan, his mind racing. It was ambitious, risky, and loud. Exactly the kind of operation that could go sideways fast.
Miklos: What's my role?
Tederev grinned.
Tederev: You're running the crew. You know Merryweather better than anyone here. We'll provide manpower, but the brains of this operation are yours. I'm sure your little crew would do well.
Miklos exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
Miklos: Two days, huh? I'll let you know the plan soon.
Tederev: Two days. We'll hit them hard and fast.
Vladimir stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room.
Zykarov: Don't fail us, Lipton.
Miklos headed back to his truck, staring at his phone as he composed a group text to the wildcard trio: Dennis, Izzy, and Victor. He needed them, and he needed them sharp. This wasn't a bank job or a flashy street-level score; this was Merryweather, and he'd be up against men he'd once called brothers.
Hearty Taco
The next morning, Miklos arrived early, parking his Caracara in the corner of the Hearty Taco lot. The restaurant was small, greasy, and discreet. Perfect for a quiet meeting.
The first to arrive was Dennis in a Merryweather Mesa, practically glowing. He hopped out of his car, grinning ear to ear as he approached Miklos.
Dennis: Mik! Fifty grand! I still can't believe it. That's more than I've ever made at Merryweather!
Miklos: And that's just the start.
Dennis's grin widened as he leaned against the Caracara, practically vibrating with excitement.
Not long after, a black lowered D-Wagon rolled into the lot, blaring gangster music that could be heard halfway down the street. Miklos sighed, already knowing who it was. Izzy stepped out in his signature red blazer, chains jangling as he grinned.
Izzy: Morning, gents.
Miklos glared at him.
Miklos: The D-Wagon and blazer again? Seriously?
Izzy: Hey, if I'm going to die, I'm dying in style.
Before Miklos could respond, Carmelita's Hermes coupe pulled up, and Victor climbed out, holding his ear closed. Carmelita didn't even park. She yelled something in Spanish before driving off. Victor walked over, shaking his head.
Victor: She says hi.
The crew grabbed their sloppy, overstuffed tacos from the counter, the grease already seeping through the wrappers. They piled into Miklos' Caracara, its spacious cab feeling a lot less roomy with the chaos brewing inside.
Victor claimed the passenger seat, carefully balancing his taco as he adjusted his bandana with a quiet grumble. Meanwhile, in the back, Izzy wedged his duffle bag of "gear" between himself and Dennis, who was already halfway through his first bite, sour cream dripping onto his lap.
Izzy: Bro, you're telling me Nathan would beat Samuel Underhill? At full power? You're insane.
Dennis shot back, bits of lettuce and ground beef flying as he gestured dramatically with his taco.
Dennis: Samuel's got nothing! You can't beat someone with Shadow Balls and the power of the fucking Nine-Dicks, man.
Izzy scoffed, nearly spilling salsa from his taco onto the duffle bag.
Izzy: Oh, sure, the guy who can barely hold it together emotionally is going to out-strategize Samuel, the guy with actual combat skill and a Ego'o the size of a building? Right.
Victor turned in his seat, looking back at them with a raised eyebrow.
Victor: Are you two seriously arguing about anime right now?
Miklos: Forget the anime. You're making a mess!
Miklos glared at them in the rearview mirror as lettuce, sauce, and bits of taco meat fell onto the Caracara's pristine seats.
Miklos: Eat like adults or get out.
Dennis grinned sheepishly, trying to scoop the debris into the taco wrapper, while Izzy leaned back, smirking.
Izzy: Sorry Mik...
Victor shook his head, muttering something in Spanish as he unwrapped his own taco with care. Miklos sighed. He already regretted the decision to let them eat in the car, but there was no turning back now.
Miklos: Crissakes...
Miklos unfolded a map of Los Santos, pinning it to the Caracara's dashboard. The red-sharpie marked convoy route stood out against the creased paper, with key points circled and hastily scribbled notes in the margins. He tapped the Los Santos Naval Port, his finger lingering on Pier 45, where the Merryweather warehouse was located.
Miklos: Merryweather's transporting a shipment of prototype weapons from here to Fort Zancudo. The port is locked down tight. Guards, cameras, you name it.
Dennis: Oh, so that's what that big truck was!
Miklos shot him a sharp look.
Miklos: What big truck?
Dennis gestured animatedly, nearly spilling a can of Sprunk.
Dennis: Saw it the other day at the port! Big, armored thingy. Looked like something straight outta Righteous Slaughter. Pretty sure it was an Insurgent! The Merryweather guys were buzzing around it like flies. They wouldn't let me near it though...
Victor: And you're just now mentioning this?
Dennis shrugged, grinning sheepishly.
Dennis: Didn't know it was important, man. Thought it was just another one of their toys.
Miklos exhaled sharply, his frustration evident.
Miklos: Well, now it's important. That's our target.
Victor leaned forward from the passenger seat, chewing his taco thoughtfully as he studied the map.
Victor: So, no warehouse assault.
Miklos: Exactly, too hot. Once the convoy's inside Zancudo, it's game over too. We have to hit them on the road.
He traced the route with his finger, stopping at the bend leaving the port onto Buccaneer Way.
Miklos: Our best bet is to ambush the convoy as it leaves the port. Hit them fast, grab the shipment, and disappear before reinforcements show up.
In the backseat, Dennis paused mid-bite, leaning closer with enthusiasm.
Dennis: Buccaneer Way, right here. They'll be turning onto the road. Awkward angle, ripe for an ambush.
Victor frowned, wiping his hands on a napkin before gesturing at the map.
Victor: Yeah, but it's too close to the port. Reinforcements will show up in seconds.
Izzy, balancing his taco in one hand and gesturing with the other, chimed in.
Izzy: What about Popular Street? Warehouse district. Quiet. We could hit them there and escape down the LS River.
Miklos considered it, nodding thoughtfully.
Miklos: That's an option.
Victor pointed further along the route, his tone measured.
Victor: Or the bridge off Popular Street. Chokepoint them there. It's harder for them to escape.
Dennis raised his hand like an overexcited student.
Dennis: I like the Olympic Freeway further up. Hit them as they go under the bridge!
Miklos shook his head, the frustration evident in his voice.
Miklos: Too crowded. Too many civilians.
As the conversation lulled, Izzy leaned back, grinning.
Izzy: Okay, but real talk. Nathan aint beating Go-kun. Ever.
Dennis nearly choked on his taco, whipping his head around.
Dennis: What? Bro, Nathan all day. Full Goon Mode, Ochinchin, you're telling me he wouldn't take down Go-kun?
Izzy: You're talking about a guy who struggles against, like, half his own villains. Go-kun wipes out planets! Nathan's got nothing.
Victor rubbed his temple, clearly annoyed.
Victor: Again with this? How old are you two?
Dennis: 16.
Izzy: 27.
Miklos turned around with a deathstare.
Miklos: Focus. Once they're out here. Senora Road, Grand Senora Desert. They're vulnerable. Long stretches of open road. Easy to hit, easy to escape.
Victor raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the desolate stretch.
Victor: Yeah, but we're exposed, too. No cover.
Izzy smirked, pointing to another spot further up, getting mayo on the map.
Izzy: Then hit them in Harmony, right before they cross the Zancudo River. Less traffic, tight streets. Perfect for a final ambush.
The debate continued, options weighed against risks. Miklos leaned back in his seat, his mind already racing through contingencies.
Miklos' Caracara
Miklos slammed his palm on the dashboard, causing the map of Los Santos to crinkle under his hand. The Caracara's cabin fell silent, the tension thick as he glared at his crew. Miklos roared the Caracara to life, taking off into the street.
Miklos: Enough! We've got one day to lock this down. We're hitting them on Popular Street. Lets take a look.
Dennis blinked, his taco frozen halfway to his mouth.
Dennis: For real?
Miklos: Yeah, for real. It's tight, it's messy, and it's our best damn shot.
He leaned back in his seat, exhaling sharply before continuing, as they pulled onto Capital Boulevard.
Miklos: We'll ambush the convoy over here, right under the San Andreas Avenue Bridge. Tight corners, low visibility, ambush points. It's perfect.
Victor folded his arms, nodding slowly.
Victor: And the escape? You've actually thought of one this time, right?
Miklos pointed to the left at the Los Santos River, pulling up onto the curb as they all looked.
Miklos: There's a clear drive down into the LS Storm Drain there. We block the convoy, grab the cargo, and bolt before Merryweather sends in reinforcements.
Before he could elaborate further, the rumble of an engine echoed down the street. A sleek, 1986 Vorschlaghammer roared into view, its angular black body cutting through the fading light. It stopped beside the Caracara, and Lloyd Tederev stepped out, his smirk firmly in place.
He was followed by Hugo Yackslay, his glare aimed directly at Miklos, and Leroy, who nodded politely. A final figure emerged, a rugged, scarred man with a stone-cold expression.
Tederev: Mr. Lipton. This is Egor. Trust me, you'll want him here.
Egor nodded briefly before scanning the surroundings with a practiced eye.
Miklos: Good to have you.
Hugo: What's plan, what's plan?
Miklos ignored the bitterness in Hugo's tone, pointing to the bridge.
Miklos: We'll hit them here. Izzy blocks the road with a truck and trailer, trapping the convoy. Victor and your men cover both ends of the street. Rain hellfire.
Victor: Once we have the cargo, we escape down into the LS River.
Izzy: Fun. I'll need something big for that roadblock. Shouldn't be hard to find.
Tederev nodded in approval, his sharp gaze taking in the site.
Tederev: They'll have nowhere to go. My men will hold position and make sure no reinforcements get through.
Egor: Hit fast. Hit hard. Leave nothing standing.
Dennis grinned, leaning casually against the Caracara.
Dennis: So, we're just blocking them and unloading hell? I'm in.
Miklos shot a stern look at Izzy and Dennis.
Miklos: Focus. These are Merryweather. They'll fight to the last man.
Egor stepped closer, his low, gravelly voice cutting through the tension.
Egor: Then we make sure they don't get the chance.
Tederev smirked, clapping Egor on the shoulder.
Tederev: My thoughts exactly.
Miklos glanced at the map one last time, mentally solidifying the plan.
Miklos: One last time. Izzy, you handle the truck. Victor, you're on rear guard with Tederev's men. Dennis, keep the pressure on them. I'll take the lead on the Insurgent.
The crew exchanged nods, the gravity of the operation settling in. Miklos locked eyes with Tederev.
Tederev: We'll bring the manpower. But this is your show, Lipton. Don't fuck it up.
Miklos nodded, his voice firm.
Miklos: I won't.
Miklos nodded, the weight of the words hanging in the air as the Ukrainians returned to the Vorschlaghammer.
Showtime
The Caracara's cabin was quiet, save for the faint hum of passing traffic. Miklos, reclined in the driver's seat, jolted awake as his phone buzzed violently against the console. He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the screen. It was Leroy. His heart kicked into gear. He shook Victor and Dennis, still slumped in their seats, half-asleep.
Miklos: Get up! It's showtime.
Dennis groaned, stretching as Victor rubbed the back of his neck.
Dennis: Already? Feels like I just closed my eyes.
Victor: You don't get to complain holmes.
Miklos ignored them, answering the call.
Leroy: They're on the move. Two Mesas up front and back, with the Insurgent carrying the shipment sandwiched between. But... there's a second Insurgent in front of it, with a fifty-cal sticking out the top.
Miklos: A minigun? Great.
Leroy: Oh, and there's a Buzzard circling overhead. Hope you brought more than prayers, Lipton.
Miklos hung up, already dialing Izzy as he popped the Caracara's trunk and pulled out his M16A1, checking the extended mags.
Miklos: Come on, Izzy, pick up.
Izzy answered after a few rings, his voice hurried and out of breath.
Izzy: Yeah, yeah, I'm coming! I found something, alright? It'll have to do.
Miklos: It better. They're on Popular Street now, heading right for us.
Under the clouded morning sky, Miklos stood beside his Caracara, rolling his shoulders before pulling up his gray gaiter over his nose. The fabric felt familiar. Anonymity, control, preparation.
Beside him, Victor adjusted his black bandana, tying it tight over his face, his eyes sharp and focused. Always calm before things got messy.
Then there was Dennis. Bouncing on his heels, hyped up as usual. He pulled out his mask and slipped it on.
Miklos turned. His eye twitched.
A Jefe Enigma lucha mask. The same one from the Fleeca job.
Miklos: Dennis.
Dennis: Yeah, boss?
Miklos exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Miklos: I forgot to tell you to get a real mask.
Dennis looked genuinely offended.
Dennis: What do you mean? This is a real mask!
Victor: You look like you're about to jump off the top rope, not rob a Merryweather convoy.
Dennis: I'm telling you, man! Psychological warfare ese. They see this, they're gonna hesitate.
Victor blinked, then scoffed.
Victor: Hermano, you are white. That is offensive to my culture.
Miklos stifled a chuckle as Dennis threw his arms up.
Dennis: Come on! It's sick, though! I love Enigma!
Victor: No, it is a hate crime.
Miklos let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples before giving up.
Miklos: Whatever. Just don't get shot in the face.
Dennis fist-bumped his chest confidently.
Dennis: Ain't happening, Mikkey.
Miklos turned, cracking his M16A1 as he checked his extended mag. Victor did one last sweep of his SMG, while Dennis adjusted his carbine rifle.
Izzy's dumbass was still nowhere to be seen.
Victor and Dennis sprinted from the Caracara across the four-lane road and down the street a bit. On the left, Tederev and his men, Hugo and Egor, were already in position, AKs locked and loaded, crouched behind low walls. Victor and Dennis set up on the right side, blending into the shadows of an alley. Miklos knelt by a low wall, keeping his weapon low as he scanned the horizon.
The faint growl of engines in the distance grew louder, closer. Miklos' phone buzzed again, it was Leroy.''
Leroy: Here they come. Two Mesas, lead and rear. The Insurgent with the shipment is third in line. The four-door with the fifty-cal is second place.
Miklos swore under his breath. He could see the convoy now, looming larger as it approached, the vehicles' black paint gleaming under the early morning light. The Buzzard hovered close, swaying like a bird.
Miklos: Damn it... Where the fuck is Izzy?
As if on cue, the shriek of tires cut through the air. Miklos turned, and his stomach dropped. A [[w:c:gta:Taco Van |taco truck]], greasy and battered, skidded sideways onto the road, blocking the convoy's intended route. The ridiculous sight almost made him laugh... almost.
Miklos: Are you kidding me? A taco truck?
Izzy jumped out, hauling a massive duffle bag of "special equipment" as he bolted toward Miklos.
Izzy: It's all I could find! You're welcome!
The convoy slowed, the lead Mesa creeping toward the taco truck as its driver assessed the situation. The Buzzard hovered above, struggling to get a clear angle under the San Andreas Avenue Bridge, with powerlines and steel girders blocking its line of sight.
Miklos didn't hesitate.
Miklos: NOW!
The first gunshots cracked through the air as the ambush began. On the left, the Ukrainians opened fire, riddling the lead Mesa with bullets. Glass shattered, and the vehicle swerved before coming to a halt. From the rear, Victor and Dennis unleashed suppressive fire, forcing the Merryweather guards to scramble for cover.
Izzy grinned wickedly as he played "Hit 'Em Up" on his shitty speaker, lighting a fuse and hurling a bomb toward the lead Mesa. The explosive detonated rapidly with a deafening roar, sending the Mesa flipping into the air. Its occupants were flung like ragdolls, scattering in every direction as flaming debris rained down.
Izzy: That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker!
Miklos aimed down his sight, firing a burst at the lead Insurgent, pinning down the gunner trying to man its turret. The Insurgents, practically bulletproof, became fortresses as Merryweather soldiers spilled out, returning fire.
Dennis: This is insane!
Victor: Take them down before they get organized!
The fifty-cal on the Insurgent spun to life, roaring as it sprayed bullets across the street. Miklos ducked as bullets tore into the concrete he covered behind, chunks of debris flying.
Then, from the left, Egor stepped forward, calm and deliberate, hefting a Soviet-era RPG onto his shoulder.
Egor: Clear the way! I will shoot the accurate!
The RPG fired with a thunderous whoosh, its smoke trail cutting through the air as the missile slammed into the Insurgent's side. The explosion engulfed the vehicle in flames, roasting the gunner in shrapnel, rocking it violently. The truck bounced hard but landed back on its wheels, a massive dent scarring its side.
Victor: That thing's a tank!
Miklos nodded, standing and firing a burst at a Merryweather soldier charging toward their position.
The rear Mesa tried to reposition but was shredded by Dennis and Victor's suppressive fire from the back, the occupants falling one by one as their vehicle was turned into Swiss cheese.
The shipment Insurgent, sensing the trap tightening, shifted into reverse. Its powerful engine roared as it began backing up trying to escape.
Miklos: They're trying to bail! Stop the shipment!
Suddenly, the screech of tires tore through the air. Leroy barreled into view, his Karin Rebel pickup speeding toward the shipment. The truck collided with the Insurgent's rear bumper in a bone-rattling crash, the Rebel's tires spinning furiously as smoke billowed. The two vehicles were locked in a mechanical tug-of-war, the Insurgent steadily gaining ground despite Leroy's determined efforts.
Leroy: You're not going anywhere, bastard!
Izzy crouched beside Miklos, pulling out detonators and a set of small, specialized explosives.
Izzy: Cover me while I plant these. I'll crack that tin can open!
Miklos and Izzy sprinted toward the shipment, the gunfire and chaos around them blending into a dull roar. Miklos covered Izzy as he planted explosives along the Insurgent's doors, the charges sticking to the reinforced panels.
Izzy: Bomb's set! Clear out!
Miklos shouted at the Rebel, Leroy catching his eyes.
Miklos: Leroy, back it up!
Leroy slammed his truck into reverse, screeching away from the Insurgent just as Izzy hit the detonator. The explosion ripped through the APC, blowing the reinforced doors clean off and sending shrapnel flying. The smoke cleared, revealing the shipment crates inside.
Miklos: Go, go, go!
Miklos and Izzy scrambled into the back of the flaming Insurgent, pulling the large shipping crates out one by one. Dennis sprinted over to help, grabbing one and dragging it toward cover. Victor and the Ukrainians laid down suppressive fire, keeping the remaining Merryweather forces pinned down.
Dennis: These things weigh a ton! What's in here, a tank?
Miklos: Just move it, kid!
The street was chaos. Bullets flying, glass shattering, and the Buzzard circling ominously above the bridge. The Merryweather guards fought hard, their combat training evident, but Miklos' crew pressed the attack.
The crew worked in frantic unison, the battle raging around them. The convoy was in ruins, but the fight wasn't over yet.
Escape
Miklos, Dennis, and Izzy strained under the weight of the heavy weapons crates, dragging them toward the Caracara 4x4, parked just to the side as Victor laced down covering fire. Around them, the Merryweather convoy was a twisted mess of wreckage and bodies, two destroyed Mesas, one blown-up Insurgent, and the 50-cal Insurgent, still smoldering from the RPG hit.
The Ukrainians saluted Miklos as they rushed toward their sleek Vorschlaghammer, with Tederev shouting over the chaos.
Tederev: Good work! We'll split up! See you later!
As he spoke, Egor fired another RPG, the missile streaking toward the hovering Buzzard that had finally lowered under the bridge. The helicopter jerked away, just barely dodging the explosion.
Miklos threw the last crate into the truck bed, slamming the tailgate shut before climbing into the driver's seat. Victor hopped into the passenger side, while Dennis and Izzy scrambled into the back. More Mesas roared into view, Merryweather reinforcements barreling up the road.
Miklos: Hang on!
The Caracara roared to life, its engine growling as Miklos floored it, heading straight for the LS River entry. Behind them, Izzy leaned out of the back, chucking homemade bombs onto the road. One landed directly in front of an oncoming Mesa, exploding into a fiery wreckage that jammed itself in the drain tunnel entrance, blocking the reinforcements. A second Mesa crashed into the wreck, completely sealing the tunnel.
Izzy: Jammed up, just like that!
From his speaker, 2Pac's "Hit 'Em Up" blared tinny and distorted, much to Miklos' irritation.
Miklos: Really? The speaker now?
Izzy: It's for morale, boss!
The Caracara tore down the graffiti-covered drain tunnel, its tires splashing through puddles and barely missing a few homeless people who scrambled out of the way, shouting curses. The truck burst out onto the slanted concrete of the LS River, skidding as Miklos yanked the wheel hard to the left. The rain began to fall, drumming on the hood as the Buzzard reappeared overhead, its miniguns spinning up.
Twin rockets fired from the helicopter, spiraling downward and slamming into the bridge behind them, sending chunks of concrete raining into the river. Miklos swerved wildly, the Caracara skidding but staying steady.
Dennis: That thing's not letting up!
Dennis leaned out of the back, firing bursts from his rifle as Izzy, in typical chaotic fashion, elbowed the back window, shattering it.
Miklos: My window!
Izzy: It's an emergency, Mik!
Izzy leaned out through the broken window, firing wildly at the Buzzard, while Dennis crouched low in the bed, aiming for its engines. The truck roared under another bridge, the helicopter's miniguns spitting bullets that chewed through concrete but missed the Caracara.
Victor: Watch out for the river crossing!
Miklos spotted a small construction site with a makeshift bridge spanning the river. He veered sharply to the right, splashing through shallow water and crossing into Rancho, just as another rocket slammed into the riverbank behind them.
Miklos: Hold on, this ride's about to get rough!
Dennis and Izzy kept firing as the Buzzard began to smoke, their bullets finally finding their mark. The helicopter wobbled, one of its rotors sparking, before it lost control. It spiraled wildly, smashing into a telephone wire system and getting stuck, its miniguns spinning uselessly as the crew cheered.
Dennis: Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking about!
Izzy: Told you my speaker works, man!
Rain poured harder as Miklos pulled the Caracara onto the main roads, the tires screeching as they climbed up the embankment. The crew, drenched and battered, piled back into the cab.
Miklos: You owe me a window, Izzy.
Izzy: Worth it!
As they drove away, the heavy weapons cache in the back rattled with every bump. Izzy fiddled with his speaker, switching tracks.
The Caracara barreled down the dark streets of Rancho, its wipers swiping away the rain. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, adrenaline, gun smoke, remnants of tacos, and victory.
The soft, nostalgic beat of "Kingston Town" crackled through Izzy's terrible Bluetooth speaker, the contrast between the reggae tune and the chaos they had just survived making the moment surreal.
Miklos flicked his gaze between the rearview mirror and the road ahead, half-expecting to see more Merryweather reinforcements or another Buzzard gunning for them. But nothing. No headlights. No helicopters.
They actually did it.
Victor, seated in the passenger seat, exhaled deeply and lowered his bandana to his neck, rubbing his face.
Dennis: We did it, baby! Holy shit!
Dennis was practically bouncing in his seat, pulling off his lucha mask, his excitement infectious.
Izzy: Hell yeah! That was some cinematic shit!
Even Victor, usually the serious one, couldn't help but grin as he leaned his head back, nodding to the music. For once, the tension wasn't there.
Miklos' phone buzzed. He snatched it up and answered without hesitation.
Tederev: Mr. Lipton.
Miklos: You made it?
Tederev: Murrieta Heights. No tails. We split up from here. You should, too. Lay low.
Miklos nodded, glancing at the boys, who were still celebrating in the back.
Miklos: Got it. I'll be in touch.
Hearty Taco
Hanging up, he drove toward Hearty Taco, the spot where they had planned earlier. The lot was quiet. only Izzy's lowered G-Wagon and Dennis' beat-up Mesa remained, waiting under the buzzing neon glow of the restaurant's orange sign.
Miklos pulled in and let the engine idle.
Miklos: Alright. Lay low. I'll let you know when your cuts are ready.
Dennis fist-bumped Miklos through the window.
Dennis: Appreciate it, Mikkey. Best day of my life, man.
Izzy, chains clinking, pulled off his makeshift mask and smirked.
Izzy: Yeah, yeah, just make sure my cut has enough zeroes, baby!
Miklos just shook his head as the two wandered toward their cars, still buzzing with energy and trading jabs.
He sighed, rolling his shoulders, ready to finally head back to Alta Tower for some peace and quiet-
Victor: Hey, uh...
Miklos glanced at Victor, still in the passenger seat. He wasn't getting out.
Miklos: What?
Victor: ...You mind giving me a ride?
Miklos: What happened to your ride?
Victor sighed, rubbing his forehead.
Victor: Carmelita happened. If I call her again, she's gonna murder me. Just drop me at Rancho... please.
Miklos scoffed but shifted the truck into gear.
Miklos: Fine.
For a while, they drove in silence, the rain letting up as the city lights blurred past.
Victor: I gotta say, man... this whole thing? Wasn't what I expected.
Miklos: In a bad way?
Victor hesitated, rubbing his jaw before answering.
Victor: Nah. You handled it. But I gotta be real with you. I don't like this Ukrainian shit. And I sure as hell don't like you working with the Armenians or the Triads.
Miklos kept his hands steady on the wheel, jaw tightening.
Miklos: It's just business.
Victor: Yeah? And what about Los Aztecas? You remember us? Or you too busy making new friends?
Miklos exhaled, keeping his tone measured.
Miklos: You know it's not like that.
Victor let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
Victor: I dunno, holmes. Feels like it.
They pulled up outside Carmelita's place in Rancho, the porch light flickering in the rain. The moment the truck stopped, Carmelita stormed out, arms crossed, launching into a rapid-fire barrage of Spanish curses before Victor could even open the door.
Carmelita: ¿Dónde chingados estabas, cabrón?!
Victor sighed, rubbing his temples before stepping out. He pulled his SMG from his waistband and tucked it into his belt.
Before shutting the door, he looked back at Miklos.
Victor: Just... don't forget who's had your back.
He closed the door, stepping onto the porch, Carmelita still going off on him as he disappeared inside.
Miklos sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel. Then, he exhaled, throwing the truck into drive and heading home.
Alta Tower Safehouse
The Caracara rumbled into the underground parking garage of Alta Tower, the automated gate scanning Miklos' key card before flashing green and rolling open. The truck, now soaked from rain, pulled into his reserved space, the weight of the weapon crates making the suspension groan slightly.
Miklos sighed, stretching his arms before reaching over to the intercom and buzzing his apartment unit.
Miklos: Tommy, get your ass down here. I need help.
There was a long pause before a groggy, annoyed voice crackled over the speaker.
Thomas: ...Help? ...With what?
Miklos: Just get down here.
A long sigh.
Thomas: Fine...
A few minutes later, the elevator doors dinged open, and out waddled Thomas, wearing slippers, plaid pajama pants, and a hoodie, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He took one look at the four massive crates in the back of the Caracara and groaned.
Thomas: Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.
Miklos: Quit whining and grab a side.
Thomas clutched the nearest crate, his arms trembling under the weight. His face instantly turned red as he struggled to lift it, his noodle arms barely managing.
Thomas: Crissakes, what's in these, bricks?!
Miklos: Just lift, damn it.
Grunting, staggering, and nearly dropping them more than once, they managed to shuffle the crates to the elevator. The space was tight. Four large weapon caches and two grown men, one of whom was already regretting every decision leading to this moment.
The elevator doors slid open into Miklos' penthouse floor, and after an agonizing struggle down the corridor, they dumped the final crate onto the living room floor. Thomas collapsed onto the couch, wheezing.
Thomas: I think... I slipped a disc.
Miklos just rolled his eyes, wiping sweat from his forehead. But as he looked at the crates, curiosity gnawed at him. What the hell did they just steal? He couldn't resist.
He reached to his belt, pulling out his Ka-Bar combat knife, and began hacking away at the first crate's locking mechanism. It was stubborn as hell, taking longer than expected, but after some aggressive stabbing, wedging, and prying, the latch finally snapped open.
Just then, a door creaked behind him. Jenni stepped into the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes, wearing only a tight shirt that showed her belly and lace undies. She paused, blinking at the scene. The two men, panting, surrounded by giant military crates.
Jenni: ...Do I even want to know?
Miklos ignored her, flipping the lid open. Inside, layered in foam, were Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotguns and Atchisson AA-12 automatic shotguns, stacked neatly alongside drum mags and shells.
Miklos' eyes widened, his hands instinctively reaching for an AA-12. He pulled it out, eying the large frame, the sheer size and weight of the thing making it feel almost surreal. Like a military-grade cheat code. He flipped it in his hands, taking in the drum mag, sleek frame, and menacing barrel.
Thomas: What the hell is that?
Miklos: ...This is a shotgun, Thomas.
Thomas: That's a fucking anti-aircraft gun, Miklos!
Jenni just stared, jaw slightly open.
Jenni: Jesus Christ.
Miklos wasn't even listening anymore, he was enamored with the shotgun, running his fingers along the frame, feeling its power. Oh yeah. He was keeping this one.
Curiosity fully taking over, he moved onto the next crate, popping it open. Inside, stacked neatly, were M67 fragmentation grenades and AN/M14 thermite grenades, packed in rows like candy. Thomas took a cautious step back.
Thomas: This just keeps getting worse.
The third cache contained FN SCARs and XM7 rifles, still in their protective wrappings. Miklos gave them a passing glance. Solid weapons, but he still preferred his M16A1.
Finally, they reached the last crate. The largest of them all. Miklos grunted, this one was stubborn as hell. Wedging his knife and boot against the side, he gave it hard stomps. The lid finally popped open, revealing a massive weapon inside.
All three of them just stared.
Jenni: ...What the hell is that?
Miklos reached in, pulling it free with effort. A colossal M60 machine gun, its metal still factory-clean. The sheer weight of it made his arms flex.
Thomas just threw his hands up.
Thomas: Oh come on! First the shotgun, now an LMG?! What's next, a damn tank?!
Miklos smirked, cradling the M60 like a newborn.
Miklos: ...Not a bad idea.
Jenni sat down on the couch, shaking her head as she tried to process it all.
Jenni: Its too early for this. I think I need coffee.
Miklos just grinned, looking over their haul. This was something else. Whatever they had just stolen from Merryweather, they had hit the jackpot.
The next mission, Win-Win Situation, is now unlocked.
Objectives
- Meet the Crew at the Hearty Taco
- Gear up and assign roles for the Heist.
- Scope out Popular Street.
- Wait for the road to be blocked by Izzy.
- Ambush the Merryweather convoy.
- Breach the Shipment and steal the weapons cache.
- Escape through the Los Santos River.
- Evade the Buzzard and reinforcements.
- Drop off the Crew at Hearty Taco.
- Give Victor Sax a ride to Rancho.
- Go back to the Alta Tower Safehouse.
Gold Medal Objectives
- No Witnesses - Eliminate all Merryweather personnel at the ambush site.
- Terrorist - Use at least four explosives during the heist.
- Stone Throw - Take down the Buzzard in the LS River.
- Clean Getaway - Escape with less than 95% vehicle damage.
Rewards
- Monetary Reward: $500,000
- New Weapon: AA-12
- New Weapon: Thermite Grenades
- New Weapon: M60
Aftermath
Weazel News
"Sheila Hall, Weazel News. Breaking news tonight, Merryweather Security suffers its most embarrassing defeat since their last embarrassing defeat, as an entire military convoy is wiped off the map in a brazen ambush on Popular Street in East Los Santos. The criminals, still at large, made off with what experts are calling 'enough firepower to start World War III'."
"Bryan Wilkinson, also Weazel News. Authorities believe this could be the same crew responsible for last week's Fleeca Bank Heist in Rockford Hills, which resulted in millions of dollars in stolen bearer bonds and a getaway so clean it made the LSPD's budget look even worse. Eyewitnesses describe today's attack as 'loud, violent, and somehow coordinated,' a description not commonly associated with Los Santos criminals. Officials now fear that we're dealing with a group that is not only dangerous, but also somewhat competent. Let's go to the scene, Jenny, are you there?"
"Mary Cummings here, Weazel News. I'm at the scene of what can only be described as Merryweather's new scrapyard. Behind me, you can see what remains of their 'highly trained' security force, two completely obliterated Mesas, two heavily damaged APCs, and at least one taco truck that is somehow involved."
"We now go to one of the few witnesses who saw the criminals make their daring escape through the LS River. A homeless man. Sir, you were here during the heist. What did you see?"
"I ain't see nothin'."
"Really? Nothing at all?"
"I see rain, I see river, I see nothing else."
"Come on, sir, we just need a description of the suspects. Its for the news."
"I need cash for crack, lady. My memory's got selective memorying."
"...Weazel News has agreed to compensate the witness."
"Ohhh yeah, now I remember! It was like a damn movie! Trucks flying, explosions everywhere. It was definitely Jefe Enigma who did it!"
"And where did they go?"
"Fuck, I dunno. Maybe they already left the country! What I do know is, Merryweather got fucked. Again."
"Ermm... Back to you, Bryan, Sheila."
"Thanks Cummings. Joining me now is Captain Otto Matic, the Merryweather commander in charge of the convoy... and, presumably, someone's anger management case study. Captain Matic, what went wrong here?"
"What went wrong?! Everything! Let me make one thing perfectly clear! This was a well-organized terrorist attack on a private military convoy, a disgraceful act of aggression, and if I have to personally fly a drone strike on the degenerate scumbags who did this, I WILL!"
"Mr. Matic, some reports indicate the attackers were heavily armed and highly organized. Do you believe this is the same group responsible for the Fleeca Heist?"
"Absolutely! These low-life gutter rats are becoming increasingly emboldened because Los Santos law enforcement is a joke! You think these criminals are afraid? Hell no! They hit a bank, now they're robbing MY military hardware, what's next?! STEALING A SUBMARINE?! You think this is funny?! You think I'm gonna sit here and let these low-life scum turn my security force into a damn punchline?!"
"To be fair, Captain, they don't exactly need help with that."
"Oh, you wanna be a smartass?! How about I break into your house, huh?! Steal your TV, take your furniture, kill your dogs, and then ask you why your security sucks?!"
"Okay... thanks for your time Mr. Matic."
"Tonight's big question, who's responsible? The criminals? The security forces? Or, as one government official told Weazel News, 'the President's failure to crack down on private military contracts'?"
"We reached out to the President's Office for comment. Their response? 'No comment.' Then they sent us a cease and desist."
"At the end of the day, one thing is clear, Merryweather Security is not secure at all."
"And neither is the economy after today's stock crash."
"We'll be covering this story as it unfolds, but for now... if you're driving around Los Santos tonight, be extra careful. There's a high chance someone out there has military hardware."
"And they probably listen to really weird music while doing it."
"For Weazel News, I'm Sheila Hall."
"And I'm Bryan Wilkinson."
"Stay safe out there, Los Santos. Or don't."
"And now, BAWSAQ in wild swings again as stocks drop!"
Bleeter Posts
@xXDenzXx - "Damn rip in peace my Merryweatehr broithers💀 RIp🕊️ hope we get thm. 🔫😡"
@Attack-a-Taco - "We at Attack-a-Taco want to clarify that none of our valued employees were involved in today's heinous act against Merryweather. Our hardworking, totally legal staff had nothing to do with the taco truck used in the heist. DO NOT INVESTIGATE. Thank you. 🌮"
@Karen4Justice - "DISGRACEFUL! First, they steal our hard-earned tax dollars, NOW THEY STEAL OUR MILITARY? Where is the NATIONAL GUARD?! Where is the PRESIDENT?! #DefundCrime #MakeLSGreatAgain"
@OurOwnReality - "Someone tell Otto Matic to start updating his resume. 💀😂 #L"
@vivalaraza - "Lemme get this straight.. a taco truck blocked the road, then Jefe Enigma with an RPG robbed MERRYWEATHER? Los Santos is NOT REAL, man. 💀💀💀"
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