Ride to Hell is the 11th mission in Grand Theft Auto: King of The Hill.
It's the first mission given to Miklos Lipton by Victor Sax.
Pre-Mission Phone Call
Miklos stares at his phone for a long moment before finally dialing Perry. The call connects quickly, Perry's voice smug as ever.
Perry: Miklos! Thought you'd never call. So, what's it gonna be? Are you IN or OUT?
Miklos: I've been thinking, Perry... and my answer is YES. I'm IN.
Perry: That's the spirit! I knew you'd see the light. Meet me and Victor in Sandy Shores at the Yellow Jack, ASAP. And don't you dare bail, Saint. We've got an empire to build!
Miklos hangs up, pocketing his phone and grabbing his trusty jacket, determination etched across his face. There's no turning back now.
Plot
Thomas's Apartment
The smell of sizzling bacon wafts through the tiny kitchen, drawing Miklos from his room like a moth to a flame. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he leans against the doorway, watching Thomas flip eggs in a cast-iron pan. The sound of crackling grease fills the room, accompanied by the soft hum of an old radio playing Weazel News.
Thomas: Morning, cousin. Thought I'd make us a proper breakfast for once!
Miklos smirks faintly, wanting to rush off to Sandy Shores, but his body unconsciously moves to the table, stripping off his jacket and sitting down. He hadn't realized how much he missed simple moments like these. Just the two of them, sharing a meal. A calm before the storm.
Miklos: Smells good. You've been holding out on me.
Thomas: Well, someone's gotta take care of you. You sure as hell don't eat right.
Miklos: Says the guy who almost lives off potato chips...
Thomas scrapes the bacon and eggs onto two plates, on lovely buttered toast, and brings them to the table, setting one in front of Miklos alongside a steaming mug of black coffee. Sunlight streams through the window, cutting through the faint haze of the previous night's tension.
Thomas: So, what's the plan today? More Merryweather war crimes?
Miklos takes a sip of coffee, staring into the black liquid as if searching for answers. With a grip on both utensils, he eats what feels like the nicest breakfast he has ever had. Between chews, he replies.
Miklos: I've got a new opportunity. Big one. But... risky.
Thomas: Risky how?
Miklos: Let's just say it's... unconventional. But it could pay off in ways I can't even imagine.
Thomas: I hope it could pay off the free room you've stayed in, haha... Ahem... You sure about this?
Miklos: Not entirely. But I can't ignore it.
Thomas: Look, I know you're trying to make something of yourself, but don't lose sight of who you are. Money's not worth it if you have to sell your soul for it. You're already walking a thin line working with Merryweather.
Miklos doesn't reply, instead finishing his coffee in silence. The clinking of cutlery finally comes to a stop as Miklos relishes the last bite of toast. He stands, grabbing his jacket draped over the back of the chair, and claps a hand on Thomas' shoulder. He pats the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a crisp wad of cash.
Miklos: Thanks for breakfast. And if all goes well, cousin, I won't forget you. Here, here's a grand, for the room.
Thomas looks at the money in disbelief, hesitating before taking it. His expression is a mix of gratitude and concern.
Thomas: You don't have to do this, Miklos.
Miklos: I know. But I want to.
Thomas: Thanks. Good luck, cousin. Don't lose yourself out there.
Thomas watches as Miklos steps out to his Baller parked below. The morning sun gleams off its hood as he starts the engine, the rumble echoing down the quiet street. Miklos takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the long journey ahead, and pulls away from the curb.
Sandy Shores
The dusty road leading to the Yellow Jack Inn is eerily quiet, the distant hum of desert life broken by the low rumble of Miklos' Baller. By the side of the road, Perry Harris leans casually against his black Gauntlet, a smug grin plastered across his face. An almost-empty champagne bottle rests in one hand, a cigarette in his other, aviators perched lazily on his nose. Wearing a leather jacket and jeans in this heat?
Perry: I knew from the beginning you'd see the light, Miklos. You couldn't turn this one down if you tried.
Miklos: It sounds so tempting. But let's be clear. I'm no criminal.
Perry: Doesn't matter. These morons just need a violent, resolute leader. Someone who gets shit done. That's you, Saint. Just stay strong, you're the KING. Now, let's go, Victor's waiting around back.
At the back of the Inn, Victor Sax stands by his Warrener HKR, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He flicks it away as Perry and Miklos meet him. Victor looks up, squinting against the harsh desert sun.
Victor: Yo!
Perry: The time has come.
Victor: What? Right now?
Perry: Yes!
Victor: Alright... I'm with you.
Turning to Miklos and Victor with a dramatic flourish, Perry swings his arms wide. He finishes the champagne bottle, dropping it in the sand.
Perry: Gentlemen, today marks a new era. A new figure will rise from the ashes to rule the criminal underworld of San Andreas. He will crush his enemies, lead with an iron fist, and claim the riches of the land! He will take over the underworld and he will lead it to new heights! And his name is... Miklos Lipton!
Awkward silence follows as Victor glances at Miklos skeptically. Miklos rubs his temples, thinking if this was worth his time.
Victor: Uhhh.... Him?
Perry: Yes.
There is another silence. Even longer than the last one. You could hear a tumbleweed pass. Victor sighs, crossing his arms.
Perry: Vix, you promised.
Victor: I promised, didn't I? I promised, I promised..
Perry: You did. No problems, then. Miklos, I've got to run. Important Merryweather business. You and Vic, get to know each other. Start planning.
Perry hops into his Gauntlet through the window and peels away, leaving a cloud of dust and confusion behind.
Miklos: Wait! Planning?! I thought YOU HAD A PLAN!
Perry: Lead us to the riches, Miklos! See ya!
Miklos and Victor stand awkwardly in the sweltering desert heat, staring at each other in silence. Victor lights another cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he shrugged. Miklos wiped sweat from his brow, struggling to hide his uncertainty.
Victor: So, uh... what now?
Miklos: So... um, any ideas?
Victor: Weren't you supposed to be the great leader?
Miklos: You're right... I mean... yeah... well...
Victor: What exactly did Perry tell you, about this "plan"?
Miklos: We're going to become the rulers of the criminal underworld... What did he tell you exactly?
Victor spat on the ground, eyeing Miklos strangely.
Miklos: He said I'd lead, and you'd help.
Victor: Help? HELP?! Kid, you don't have a damn clue, do you? YOU would be the spearhead of the project.
Miklos: And I WILL.. But.. at the moment I'm kinda short on ideas, for unknown reasons.
Victor: Now what the fuck does Perry see in you? Have you ever made a plan, boy?
Miklos: Shut up. I'm thinking... Okay, what's the most powerful gang around here?
Victor: That'd be the Armenians, I guess.
Miklos snapped his fingers, a spark of confidence igniting. Vic takes a long drag of his smoke.
Miklos: A-ha! That's how we start! We show those guys who's boss.
Victor: And how do we do that, genius?
Miklos: H-hold on... I'll think of something...
Miklos paused, his confident facade cracking slightly under the blistering heat. Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering curses under his breath before speaking up.
Victor: Alright, listen up, amateur: Those sleazy Armenians rely heavily on two biker gangs for their business. The Lost MC and the Drebin Family. If we make those two gangs go at each other's throats, the Armenians will suffer a major blow to their business.
Miklos: Yes! That's... exactly what I was thinking! How do we do that?
Victor: Jesus, by disguising ourselves as either The Lost or the Drebins and attack the other, obviously. Do you do any thinking for yourself?
Miklos: Hey! That's what I was gonna say!
Victor: Then do it. Go. The Drebins have a Cocaine Lockup by the Alamo Sea. I've helped enough and need a drink.
Victor shook his head, taking a long drag from his cigarette dismissively as Miklos heads off.
Victor: This is so fucked up. No way this ends well.
Objective: Steal a Lost Slamvan
Miklos paces in the scorching Sandy Shores heat, muttering to himself as he scans the dusty streets for a Lost MC Slam Van. Frustrated, he pulls out his phone and dials Perry to no answer. Sadly, he calls his old battle buddy, Private Dennis Oak, a scrawny, overly enthusiastic kid from Merryweather who idolizes Miklos, much to his annoyance.
Miklos: Hey, Oak. I need backup for something. You free?
Dennis: Mikkey!? You actually called me!? Hell yeah, I'm free! What's the mission? Extraction? Recon? Heavy assault?!
Miklos: (Groans) No, nothing like that. Just... meet me at the Yellow Jack in 5 minutes. Don't ask questions.
Dennis: Roger that! On my way, battle buddy!
Miklos hangs up, pinching the bridge of his nose. He mutters under his breath.
Miklos: Crissakes...
True to his word, Dennis shows up exactly four minutes later in a Merryweather Mesa, skidding feet from Miklos and stalling it. Bursting with excitement, Oak is decked out in full Merryweather gear, complete with a tactical vest, oversized helmet, and a rifle strapped across his back. Miklos stares at him, exasperated.
Miklos: For the love of... Take that shit off. You look like a damn Righteous Slaughter cosplayer.
Dennis: It's regulation! I'm ready for anything, battle buddy!
Miklos: (Sighs) You're not with Merryweather right now. This is... freelance work. Black ops. Undercover. Lose the gear.
Dennis reluctantly removes his helmet and vest, tossing them into the back of Miklos' Baller. He hops into the passenger seat, practically vibrating with energy.
Dennis: Okay fine... So, what's the job?
Miklos: We're looking for a Lost MC Slam Van. Keep your eyes peeled.
Miklos drives slowly through the dusty streets of Sandy Shores, his Baller kicking up clouds of dirt. Dennis fidgets in his seat, scanning every corner like an overenthusiastic scout, his rifle shaking in his hands.
Dennis: Lost Slamvan... Slamvan... I think I saw one of those vans at a liquor store in Grand Senora Desert! Its there all the time!
Miklos: Huh? You're sure?
Dennis: Pretty sure! It had flames painted on the side, and it was parked outside. The boys send me there all the time to get them drinks...
Miklos: Good enough. Let's check it out.
The duo pulls into the parking lot of a run-down liquor store in Grand Senora Desert. Sure enough, a Lost MC Slam Van sits outside, its worn paint job adorned with faded flame decals and edgy The Lost symbolism. Miklos eyes it warily while Dennis bounces in his seat.
Dennis: I told you! I told you!
Miklos: Yeah, great. Now shut up and let's steal it. Keep an eye out.
As Miklos approaches the van, he keeps an eye out for any Lost members. Finding the coast clear, he slides into the driver's seat while Dennis clambers into the passenger side, giggling like a kid on a field trip. It takes him a minute but Miklos manages to hot wire the beast.
As Miklos starts the engine, Dennis rummages through the back of the van, only to find a stash of C4 and detonators hidden under a tarp. His eyes widen in awe.
Dennis: Holy shit, Mikkey! This thing's loaded with C4!
Miklos: You've got to be kidding me... Just don't touch anything back there, alright?
Dennis: You got it, battle buddy!
Miklos grips the steering wheel tightly, his mind racing as he drives the Slam Van away from the liquor store and toward the Alamo Sea. Maybe these bombs were a blessing?
Objective: Destroy Drebin Family vans
Miklos floors the gas, heading toward the convoy route Victor Sax had mentioned. The van's engine roars as it tears through the desert roads, with Dennis grinning ear to ear in the back, clutching a stash of sticky bombs.
Dennis: This is gonna be awesome! I've never blown up a convoy before! Just like in Righteous Slaughter 5!
Miklos: Just don't drop one in here, alright!? We're driving a rolling bomb.
Dennis: Relax, buddy! I've got this! You just drive!
The dusty road stretches out before them as Miklos spots the Drebin convoy up ahead, five drug vans in formation, flanked by armed bikers riding shotguns on their choppers. The sun glints off their chrome, and Miklos tightens his grip on the wheel.
Miklos: There they are. You ready?
Dennis: Born ready! So much exp! LETS FUCKING KILL EM!!!
Miklos accelerates, closing the gap between the Slam Van and the convoy, running one of the bikers over. The bikers notice and begin firing at the van, bullets pinging off the reinforced body. Miklos returns fire with an SMG, and swerves to dodge their attacks.
Miklos weaves through the convoy, giving Dennis clear shots at the Drebin vans. Dennis opens the back door and throws bombs out. With a quick flick of the detonator, the first van erupts into flames, scattering debris across the road and into another van. Miklos swerves to avoid the wreckage, keeping the Slam Van steady despite the chaos.
Dennis: EXTRA CRISPY!!! Double kill!
Miklos: Just shut up and do it, kid!
Dennis grins, throwing another bomb onto a third van, sending it into another fiery explosion which lights up the desert. Bikers scatter in horror as the convoy struggles to reorganize.
Dennis: Three down! Man, this is better than Righteous Slaughter!
Miklos pulls up on the final two vans, blasting the driver of one with and SMG, allowing Dennis to nail it with a bomb. Then he rams the back of the final van, causing it to swerve and flip into a sandy ditch. Dennis tosses all the payload on it, sending the van flying into the air like a rocket.
Objective: Lure the Drebins
Miklos and Dennis celebrate as the last Drebin van erupts into flames, but their victory is short-lived. The roar of motorcycles fills the air as a group of Drebin family bikers closes in on their stolen Slam Van. One biker shouts, pointing directly at them.
Drebin Biker: That's the van! Fucking Losers MC! Get them!
Miklos grips the steering wheel, his eyes narrowing as the bikers begin firing.
Miklos: Let's lure these pricks to Stab City... Let The Lost handle this mess.
He slams on the accelerator, the Slam Van roaring as it kicks up a storm of dust behind them, covering the bikers. The Drebin give chase, their bullets ricocheting off the reinforced body of the van. Dennis ducks down to the floor, clutching the ground nervously.
Dennis: Uh, Mikkey... what's the plan? They're gaining on us!
Miklos: Relax, Oak. We're leading them to a reunion they won't forget. Shoot back!
Miklos barrels into Stab City, the infamous HQ of the Lost MC, a poverty-stricken trailer park on the western coast of the Alamo Sea. The encampment is alive with bikers drinking, arguing, and repairing their rides. As Miklos speeds through crashing through a fence, he honks the horn to get their attention, causing heads to turn and tempers to flare. Seconds later, the Drebins roll in, hot on his trail.
Johnny: What the fuck?! Who's this asshole?
The Lost begin shouting as the Drebins screech to a halt, their leader, Daniel Drebin, dismounting his bike with a furious glare. His second-in-command, Tommy Bell, flanks him, arms crossed.
Daniel: HEY! What the hell are you doing blowing up OUR vans?! I thought we had a fucking deal!
Johnny: What are you talking about?
Daniel: Don't play dumb with me, Johnny! We know it was your boys! Using one of your vans, no less!
Johnny: Oh, please. If we wanted to blow up your shit, we wouldn't use our rides. Sounds like you've got your head too far up your ass to think straight.
Daniel: You son of a bitch! That's it, this means war! Ante up, boys!
Guns are drawn on both sides, and chaos erupts as the Lost MC and the Drebin family start shooting at each other. Miklos smirks as he quietly steps out of the Slam Van and slips away. As the gunfire intensifies behind him. Dennis, still rattled from the chase, jogs to catch up.
Miklos and Dennis sprint through the chaos, weaving between bullets and scrambling bikers. Spotting an idle Lost MC bike near a stack of crates, Miklos jerks his head toward it.
Miklos: There! Grab on, Oak. Time to vanish.
Dennis: Uh, Mikkey? We're just gonna leave them to kill each other?
Miklos: Why not? Saves us the trouble. Lets go.
Objective: Return to Vix
Dennis hesitates for a second, his wide eyes darting between the raging firefight and the roaring bike engine.
Dennis: Uh, are you sure about this? I don't even know how to hold on!
Miklos: Just don't let go!
With a swift kick, Miklos ignites the engine and speeds off, the bike screeching as it tears out of Stab City. Dennis clings to Miklos for dear life, screaming as stray bullets zing past them.
Johnny: Stop!!! MY FUCKING BIKE!!!
The gunfire gradually fades into the distance as they race into the desert night. They stop by a secluded stretch of road near Miklos' parked Baller. Miklos hops off and signals for Dennis to help him push the bike into the brush, concealing it before heading back to the truck.
Dennis: Holy shit, I'm shaking! That was insane! We're alive! I can't believe we made it!
Miklos: It's not over yet. Come on, let's get back to the Yellow Jack.
As the Baller rolls into the dusty parking lot of the Yellow Jack Inn, Dennis hops out, grinning ear to ear despite the chaos they just escaped.
Dennis: Mikkey, man, that was... awesome! Seriously, thanks for calling me. I mean, I thought I'd just be, like, a driver, but this was next-level stuff. Anytime you need help, seriously, anytime, call me!
Miklos leans out of the driver's side window, smirking faintly.
Miklos: Sure, Oak. I'll keep you in mind. You did good, kid.
Dennis salutes awkwardly before heading to his Mesa parked nearby and drives off, visibly thrilled by the night's events. Miklos spots Victor Sax leaning casually against his Warrener HKR, smoking a blunt. Miklos approaches him, brushing off his jacket as Victor raises an eyebrow.
Victor: Well, well, well. Look who's still breathing. I didn't think you had it in you, King.
Miklos: (Smirking faintly) Thanks for the vote of confidence, Vix. The Drebins and Lost are at each other's throats. The Armenians? They've got no biker buddies left to back them up.
Victor: Huh. Gotta admit, I didn't think Perry's pet project would pull it off. But damn, you actually did it. Maybe you've got more potential than I thought.
Miklos crosses his arms, leaning against his Baller, his smirk growing wider.
Miklos: Told you I could handle it. Now, about that reward?
Victor chuckles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of cash. He tosses it to Miklos, who catches it mid-air.
Victor: Three grand. Don't spend it all in one place, King. And hey, since you're proving useful, you've earned yourself a little upgrade. The Aztecas are letting you bunk here at the back of the Yellow Jack in the trailer. Congrats. Your first criminal underworld safehouse.
Miklos: Cozy... Thanks, Vix.
Victor: Don't mention it. But don't get too comfortable. The Armenians aren't gonna stay down for long, and Perry's got big plans for you.
Victor pats Miklos on the shoulder before sliding into his truck, revving the engine. He leans out the window, a sly grin on his face.
Victor: Don't screw this up, King. You've got potential, but you've also got a long way to go.
With that, Victor drives off into the night, leaving Miklos standing in the dusty lot. Miklos pockets the cash, glancing at the bar's entrance where a few Aztecas are lounging, nodding at him as if to acknowledge his new status. He exhales deeply, looking up at the stars before heading inside for a drink, ready for whatever comes next.
The next missions, I Believe I Can Fly and Night Out, are now unlocked.
Objectives
- Find and Steal a Lost van
- Use the sticky bombs to destroy 5 Drebin Family vans
- Lure the Drebins to Stab City
- Return to Victor Sax
Gold Medal Objectives
- Time - Complete in 5:00
- Accuracy - Don't waste any of the stickies
- Slammed - Run over a Biker
Reward
- Monetary Reward: $3000
- New Weapon: Sticky bombs
- New Safehouse: Yellow Jack Inn
Trivia
- The name of the mission is a reference to video game Ride to Hell: Retribution.
|