#Licensed electrician New Jersey

[ytelectricalservicesinc]

YT Electricals: Your Trustworthy Licensed Electrician in New Jersey

YT Electricals has a team of licensed electricians in New Jersey whose knowledge goes back many years and still keeps themselves abreast of the latest advances in the electrical industry. Licensed electricians are trained and possess technical know-how to complete your electrical maintenance, repair, or installation jobs. Visit: YT Electricals: Your Trustworthy Licensed Electrician in New Jersey

[greenproelectrical]

Hunt Electric - Electrical Services Near Me

If you have a problem with your electrical system, it’s best to call an electrician right away. They can help you rewire your house and fix problems with your lights and outlets. They can also recommend upgrades to cut down on energy costs.

Residential electrical contractors NYC have the technical skill and experience to handle any installation or repair project. They can save you time and money by completing the job quickly.

ECNY Electric

The company offers residential and commercial electrical services near me. It provides residential lighting solutions and can also install security systems. It can also do wiring for pools and spas, as well as switcher and breaker repairs. Its staff can also provide home theatre installation and other special wiring requirements.

Its technicians can also help you improve your home’s energy efficiency by installing lighting and appliances that are more efficient. They can also perform inspections and testing for potential problems. They can also advise you on the best options for your home or business.

The electricians at Tech Services Electric, LLC are experts in avoiding human injuries or damage to buildings and equipment due to improper electrical wiring near flammable gases and liquid fuels. This helps businesses run more efficiently and reduces the risk of explosions and fires. The company serves businesses and residences in Holland Township New Jersey. They can also conduct a fire safety audit for you to prevent accidents and reduce the cost of insurance premiums.

Elpo Electrical Contracting

Choosing the right electricians is crucial for completing any job. You want to make sure that they are licensed and certified to work on your home or business. In addition to this, they must also be familiar with the local building codes and regulations. This will ensure that your electrical work is done correctly and safely.

Industrial electrical contractors can help businesses reduce the risk of fire or explosion and improve the profitability of their operation. By ensuring that wiring is located away from flammable materials, such as gas and liquid fuels, they can reduce the likelihood of an accident and minimize the damage to property. Tech Services Electric, LLC is an industrial electrical contractor that offers such services near Avon-by-the-Sea New Jersey.

The company provides a variety of residential and commercial electrical services, including lighting solutions, intercom systems, phone line repair, and closed-circuit TV. Its electricians have years of experience in the field, and they strive for responsiveness and cleanliness. They also offer a full range of installation services.

Hunt Electric

Founded in 1909, Hunt Electric is an electrical services contracting company with over 4,000 employees across the country. Their services include electrical design and installation for commercial, industrial, and residential projects. The company provides a single point of contact with project managers who coordinate with the electrical team and specialty contractors. This helps ensure the project is on track and can respond to changes quickly.

The company also offers benefits such as medical, dental, short-term disability, and a 401(k) plan. The company is headquartered in Salt Lake City, Utah. Employees have reported that the company is a good place to work and has a great culture.

Zippia gives an in-depth look into the details of R.C. Hunt Electric, Inc., including salaries, political affiliations, and more, in order to inform job seekers about the company. This data is based on self-reported information from current and former employees, and may include estimates derived from public sources such as BLS, company filings, and proprietary datasets.

[businessreviewspro]

Commercial Electrical Contractor Near Bergen County NJ

Selecting a dependable commercial electrical contractor near Bergen County NJ is crucial for any business aiming to ensure optimal operation and safety. The right contractor is more than someone who can perform routine tasks; they must understand commercial electrical systems. This understanding is vital for efficient problem-solving and innovative solutions that keep your operations running smoothly and safely. Trusting this critical role to the right professional ensures your electrical infrastructure supports your business's current needs and future growth.

Evaluating Credentials and Experience

When selecting an electrical contractor, it’s important to evaluate their credentials and experience. Ensure they are licensed and insured to protect your business in case of any mishaps. Checking their track record for handling projects similar to yours can give you insight into their capability and reliability.

Services Offered

A reputable Commercial electrical contractor near Bergen County NJ will offer a broad range of services. This can include everything from new installations and regular maintenance to specialized services such as Electrical code violation correction in Bergen County NJ. Ensuring that the contractor can handle all your electrical needs prevents the hassle of hiring multiple contractors.

Understanding Electrical Code Compliance

Compliance with local electrical codes is crucial for any commercial establishment. Electrical code violation correction in Bergen County NJ ensures that all installations and repairs are performed according to state and local regulations, which is critical for the safety of your premises and the legality of your operations.

Cost Considerations

When it comes to commercial electrical work, the cost can vary widely based on the scope and complexity of the project. Obtaining Generator installation quotes in Bergen County NJ can give you a comparative insight into the financial aspect of electrical work, helping you budget effectively. Similarly, Generator installation quotes in Bergen County NJ can also provide a benchmark for the pricing of other electrical services.

Choosing a Contractor with Good Communication

Effective communication is key when working with a Commercial electrical contractor. You want a contractor who is responsive, transparent about costs and timelines, and able to explain technical issues in understandable terms. This ensures that you are always in the loop and can make informed decisions about your electrical systems.

Why Choose a Local Expert?

Opting for a local contractor can have several advantages. They are likely to be more available in case of emergencies and can provide quicker services. Local contractors will also be more familiar with the regional electrical codes and requirements, which is crucial for compliance and efficiency.

Choosing the right Commercial electrical contractor near Bergen County NJ is about more than just finding someone to handle electrical tasks. It’s about ensuring that your electrical systems support your business effectively and safely, without interruptions. By considering factors such as experience, services offered, compliance, cost, and communication, you can establish a beneficial partnership with a contractor that will last for years.

Get an Estimate from a licensed electrician in Bergen and Hudson County. Click HERE to call Johan Now

Johan, On Call Electrical Contractor, Electrical Services Company has been in the business since 2022 in the NJ Area.

Proudly Servicing Union City, West New York NJ, North Bergen, NJ, Jersey City NJ, Fairview NJ, Bergenfield, Englewood NJ, Dumont, Hackensack NJ, Garfield, Clifton NJ, Keyport NJ, Redbank NJ, freehold NJ, Neptune NJ, Plainfield NJ, New Brunswick, Perth Amboy, Carteret, Middlesex, Woodbridge, South River, North Brunswick

In Hudson, Bergen, Essex, Passaic, and Hoboken New Jersey counties.

[johnrobbinsuk]

Local Handyman Services Jackson Township NJ from Karben Studios on Vimeo.

Local Handyman Services Jackson Township, NJ from HandyPro of Central New Jersey 25 Carlisle Dr, Jackson Township, NJ 08527 Phone: 732-523-0448 handypro.com/locations/central-new-jersey Handyman in Jackson Township, New Jersey.

If you are looking for a handyman or handywoman in Jackson Township, NJ who is trustworthy, reliable, and fully insured, then a handyman or handyperson from HandyPro Jackson Township is a great choice.

Handy Pro has been built on referrals and inspired by trust since 1996. Contact your local handyman services in Jackson Township, NJ today for your free no-obligation estimate.

Handyman services from HandyPro Jackson Township include drywall repair, replacement garage doors and much more, in fact any home repair can be completed by your local handyman service in Jackson Township.

We can help you at your home or business with services ranging from simple handyman jobs such as door replacement and painting to large home modification projects such as kitchen or bathroom, remodeling, wheelchair ramps and lifts and much more.

Handyman Services Jackson Township, NJ Based in Jackson Township we cover many areas in and around New Jersey such as Trenton, Lakewood, Toms River, Hamilton Township NJ, Brick Township NJ, Colts Neck, Eatontown New Jersey, and more…

From simple home repairs to home window repair your local handyman in Jackson Township will address any vinyl siding repair and even mobile home repairs.

If you need to hire a handyman in Jackson Township or find a local handyman services in Trenton then HandyPro home repair services will be the best handyman services for any job, large or small.

We provide handywoman services or handyperson services throughout the Jackson Township regions of New Jersey and at better rates than other home repair contractors, we are never beaten on price.

We are the experts for home maintenance and any house window repair, we can even replace your water heater with our handyman plumber services and handyman electrician service.

Handyman New Jersey Based in Jackson Township, NJ

Whether you need help with painting, carpentry, plumbing, electrical, or any other home improvement project, HandyPro Jackson Township is the perfect choice for you.

The most trusted and experienced handyperson company in Jackson Township regions is HandyPro Handyman Services.

We offer a variety of home and business repairs and maintenance, such as painting, drywall repair, carpentry, plumbing fixtures, electrical and lighting, furniture assembly, TV mounting and installation, exterior home services, and more. No job is too big or too small for us. We are licensed, bonded, and insured, and we guarantee your satisfaction.

Home Modifications:

We specialize in home modifications for seniors and people with disabilities, such as wheelchair ramps, stair lifts, grab bars, walk-in tubs, roll-in showers, door widening, flooring, and more.

Aging In Place Home Modifications:

We are certified aging-in-place specialists (CAPS) and accessibility specialists (CASp), and we follow the ADA guidelines and local codes. We can help you make your home safer, more comfortable, and more accessible.

Commercial Handyman Services:

We provide commercial repairs and maintenance for businesses and facilities, such as office furniture assembly, cubicle installation, shelving and storage, signage, lighting, painting, and more. We can handle any project, big or small, and we work with your schedule and budget. We are reliable, professional, and efficient, and we deliver quality workmanship.

Handyman Plumber:

We can install, repair, or replace any plumbing fixtures, such as faucets, sinks, toilets, showers, bathtubs, water heaters, garbage disposals, and more. We can also fix any leaks, clogs, or drainage issues. We have the tools and skills to handle any plumbing job.

TV mounting Service and installation:

We can mount and install any size and type of TV on any wall or surface. We can also hide the wires, connect the devices, and set up the remote control. We can make sure your TV is secure, level, and functional.

Drywall Repair Handyman: We can repair any holes, cracks, or damages on your drywall. We can also patch, tape, sand, and paint the affected area. We can restore your drywall to its original condition.

Local Handyman Services Jackson Township, NJ from HandyPro of Central New Jersey 25 Carlisle Dr, Jackson Township, NJ 08527 Phone: 732-523-0448 handypro.com/locations/central-new-jersey Handyman in Jackson Township, New Jersey

[slbelectrical]

SLB Electrical Contracting - Full Service Electrician Middletown NJ - Get a Free Estimate Today! by SLB Electrical Contracting 🔌⚡️ Are you looking for reliable and professional electrical services in New Jersey? Look no further! ⚡️🔌 SLB Electrical Contracting Inc. 495 Roxbury Rd, Belford, NJ 07718 (732) 889-7914 Website https://slbelectrical.com/ Get a Free Estimate https://slbelectrical.com/contact/ Middletown Location https://goo.gl/maps/Q3jfjehwJUSeKDeq8 🏠 SLB Electrical Contracting brings you 40 years of expertise in the electrical industry! We're your local, premier full-service electrical contractor right here in Middletown, NJ. 🛠️ Our services are comprehensive, catering to residential, commercial, and industrial clients. Whether you need a home backup generator to keep your lights on during power outages, a quick EV charging station installation, or an emergency electrical fix, we've got you covered 24/7! 👷 Led by the experienced V.P. Steve Burke, our team has proudly served over 1,000 homeowners, delivering excellence and satisfaction on every project. 💡 From efficient lighting upgrades to complex electrical installations, we leverage the latest technology to ensure safe, reliable, and professional service. 🤝 SLB Electrical Contracting is: - Licensed, Insured, and Bonded - Recognized by the Building Trades Association - Certified as a Public Works Contractor, NJ Schools Development Authority, and NJ Small Business Enterprise 🏆 Renowned for exceptional customer service, we strive to exceed your expectations with our professional approach, punctuality, and competitive rates. Plus, we offer FREE estimates! 📞 Call us today at (732) 889-7914, Monday-Friday, 9am to 5pm, and experience the difference with SLB Electrical Contracting. Your safety and satisfaction are our top priorities! 👍 Trust us for all your electrical needs - SLB Electrical, where top-quality service and safety are always guaranteed! #SLBElectricalContracting #NewJerseyElectricians #ElectricalServices #HomeGenerators #EVCargers #EmergencyElectrical #LightingUpgrades #ProfessionalElectricians #MiddletownNJ #LocalBusiness #ElectricalSafety #QualityService via YouTube https://youtu.be/2HW7Kcq6qcs

[transformelectricnj]

Transform Electric LLC, based in Bridgewater, New Jersey, has been illuminating homes and businesses since 2012.

Transform Electric LLC, based in Bridgewater, New Jersey, has been illuminating homes and businesses since 2012 with over a decade of experience. Providing such services as residential/commercial electrical services, landscape lighting installations, service panel upgrades, recessed lighting, exterior security lighting, and electrical vehicle charger installations, to name a few. We are a family-owned electrical contracting business with two licensed electricians on our team. Our focus is on giving customers expert service and a product that is unmatched. We pride ourselves on clear communication and meticulous attention to detail, making sure every project, no matter how small, is executed flawlessly. We're committed to providing safe, reliable, and efficient electrical solutions. Contact us today for all your residential, commercial, and industrial electrical needs. Please call for a free consultation!

Name: Transform Electric LLC Address: 3303 Winder Dr, Bridgewater, NJ 08807 Phone: (908) 938-7255 Website: http://www.transformelectricllc.net

[velentoelectricnj]

Find the Best Local Home Electrician in NJ: A Guide to Choosing the Right Electrical Companies

If you're in need of electrical work for your home, you'll want to find a reputable and reliable local home electrician. In New Jersey, there are many electrical companies to choose from, but not all of them will provide the same level of service and expertise. In this article, we'll discuss the benefits of hiring a local home electrician and what to look for when selecting the right electrical company in NJ.

Why Hire a Local Home Electrician?

Convenience: A local home electrician will be located near your home, making it easier to schedule appointments and get quick service in case of emergencies.

Familiarity with Local Building Codes: A local electrician will be familiar with the local building codes and regulations in your area, ensuring that all electrical work is done to code.

Personalized Service: A local home electrician will often provide more personalized service, as they are invested in building a relationship with their customers in the local community.

Quick Response: In case of emergencies, a local electrician can provide a quicker response time, minimizing downtime and potential damage to your home.

What to Look for in an Electrical Company in NJ?

Licensing and Insurance: Always choose an electrical company that is licensed and insured. This ensures that they have the necessary qualifications and training to perform electrical work safely and effectively. It also protects you in case of accidents or damages during the job.

Experience: Choose an electrical company with extensive experience in the type of electrical work you need. Check their portfolio and references to ensure that they have a proven track record of successful projects.

Quality of Work: Look for an electrical company that prioritizes quality workmanship. They should use high-quality materials and ensure that the work is done to code and meets your expectations.

Communication: Choose an electrical company that communicates clearly and regularly throughout the project. They should be responsive to your questions and concerns and provide regular updates on the progress of the work.

Price: While price shouldn't be the only factor in your decision, it's important to choose an electrical company that offers competitive pricing for their services. Get quotes from multiple companies and compare them to ensure that you're getting a fair price.

NJ Electric: Your Trusted Local Home Electrician in NJ

If you're looking for a reputable and reliable local home electrician in New Jersey, look no further than NJ Electric. Our team of licensed and insured electricians has years of experience working with homeowners and businesses throughout the state. We offer a wide range of electrical services, from installation and repair to upgrades and maintenance. We pride ourselves on delivering quality workmanship and excellent customer service, and we're committed to ensuring your satisfaction with every project. Contact us today to schedule a consultation and learn more about how we can help with your electrical needs.

[bloomfieldelectricals-nj]

Find The Best Electrician In NJ For Your Home Repair Needs

Home repairs can be daunting, especially when it comes to electrical work. You don't want to hire anyone who isn't qualified — that could cost you a lot more money and time in the long run. Fortunately, if you're in New Jersey, plenty of highly skilled electricians can help with all your home repair needs. Whether you need wiring for a new addition or repair of an existing system, finding the right electrician is key. This blog post will explore how to find the best electrician in NJ for your home repair needs. From researching company reviews to asking family and friends for referrals, we have compiled a list of tips to ensure you get the job done right!

What Services Do Electricians Offer?

There are a variety of services that electricians offer. Some common services include:

-Installing new electrical outlets

-Installing new light fixtures

-Replacing old or damaged wiring

-Inspecting homes and businesses for electrical code violations

-Repairing electrical equipment such as generators and circuit breakers

-Providing maintenance and repair services for electrical systems

If you have an electrical project or repair that needs to be completed, it is important to hire a licensed and experienced electrician. Trying to complete an electrical project yourself can be extremely dangerous and should only be attempted by qualified professionals.

Tips for Hiring an Electrician

When it comes time to hire an electrician, there are a few things you'll want to keep in mind to ensure that you find the best possible professional for the job. First and foremost, ensure that any electrician you're considering is licensed and insured. This will protect you if something goes wrong during work.

Next, take the time to get a few different estimates before making your final decision. This will help ensure you're getting the best value for your money. Finally, be sure to ask for recommendations from friends or family members who have previously used an electrician in the area. With these tips in mind, you should be well on your way to finding the perfect professional for your needs.

Conclusion

Finding the best electrician NJ for your home repair needs is essential to ensure a successful project. With so many options available, it can be challenging to know where to start. We hope this article has given you some useful tips and pointers on choosing the right electrician for your job. Do your research, ask around, and always ensure they are licensed before hiring them. Once you have found the perfect match, you'll be able to enjoy a stress-free electrical repair experience!

[home-inspector-nj]

Knob & Tube Wiring

Knob and tube wiring still exists in older homes today and it still can be found during New Jersey Home Inspections. Knob and Tube (K&T) was an early residential wiring that was used in homes from the 1880's to the 1940's. It is considered to be obsolete and by some unsafe.

Knob and tube wire is a system of wiring that is installed in open air. The wiring has both hot and neutral connectors. The notable missing wire is the ground. Knob and tube does not have a ground wire.  The wiring is protected by an outer sheath that is made from asphalt and then in later years the wiring was protected with a rubber outer sheathing.

The Knob and tube wire is installed through porcelain knobs. These knobs keep the wire from touching combustible surfaces such as wood members for example floor joists or ceiling joists. When the wire has to pass through a piece of wood framing porcelain tubes are used so the wire does not come into contact with the wood or other combustible surface. K&T wire was named for these characteristic knobs and tubes.

The wiring is not inherently unsafe but due to its age and many times improper modifications the wire should be considered for replacement. K&T wire requires air space around it in order to properly dissipate heat. As current moves through the wire, the wire heats up. The big issue here is insulation touching or installed close to the old knob and tube wire. If insulation is present around the K&T wire a significant fire safety hazard will exist.

Another problem with Knob and tube wire is that due to its age the insulation material tends to get brittle and crack. When this happens, the wire is exposed and thus unsafe. If the live electrical conductor is exposed a person can come into contact with it causing a serious electrical shock hazard. Knob and tube wires are also usually undersized for modern electrical applications. Another consideration is that the old wire is not grounded so three prong electrical appliances cannot be safely powered by this ungrounded wiring.

Bar far the biggest issue that NJ Home Inspectors see with knob and tube wire is improper modifications. Due to its age, there has been plenty of time for people to splice, modify or reconfigure the old knob and tube wiring in homes. When Moden Romex or BX is improperly spliced into an old knob and tube circuit a serious fire hazard can exist.

Attempts are usually made in order to help increase the amperage load on the knob and tube circuit to better meet the needs of a modern lifestyle. A problem exists when non-professional electricians make modifications causing serious overload hazards on the old wire. It is very common to find improper splicing of modern wire into the older knob and tube wire which is a fire and shock hazard.

Modifictions are so prevalent that insurance companies will often not underwrite homeowners' insurance when a home has knob and tube wire present. If the home has K&T wire the client should check with their insurance company in order to determine if homeowners insurance will be available and at what price.

If you have knob and tube wire in your home or a home you are considering purchasing the safe way to deal with it is to have it replaced. However, if that is not an option you can consider the following.

If you are contemplating keeping the wire in the home, you should have it professional evaluated by a licensed electrical contractor in order to determine if the system is still safe for use. If you keep the knob and tube do not overload the wiring by operating too many high draw appliances on the knob and tube circuits. Knob and tube wire is not safe to power kitchens and bathrooms. Proper grounded electrical circuits are required in these rooms for safety. If there is any insulation touching or close to knob and tube wire the insulation should be removed and if that is not possible the wire should be replaced.

Home inspectors in New Jersey should be well educated about knob and tube electrical wiring and provide helpful information to their clients regarding this very old wiring.

John Martino

LookSmart Home Inspections

973-407-9621

NJ Home Inspectors Lic # 24GI00058700

5 Preston Ave

East Hanover, NJ 07936

[stanleyelectricnj-blog]

Ensure that All Your Electrical Needs are Taken Care of by the Best Licensed Electrician in New Jersey

A mediocre service will only do more harm than good in the long run, and should be avoided at all costs. Hence, everybody deserves the best service, whatever that service may be. Like all other services, electrical services should also be of the highest quality. In fact, electrical services should be prioritized more over all other services, as the safety and security of both your residence as well as your office is heavily dependent on your electrical setup.( Licensed electrician New Jersey) In order to ensure that there is no compromise when it comes to the maintenance of your electrical setup, you should get it checked by only the best licensed electrician in New Jersey. This is where Stanley Electric comes in. 

Stanley Electric is a leading provider of residential and commercial electrical services in New Jersey. We take pride in hiring only the best licensed electrician in New Jersey, which allows us to provide our clients with unparalleled electrical services. We strive to provide our clients with maximum customer satisfaction, and stop at nothing in order to ensure this. 

We are renowned for providing our clients with a speedy response. Our licensed electrician in New Jersey will be at your location soon after you make a call, and look over your electrical setup. You will be made aware of any potential steps you might need to take to improve your setup, in which case only the best instruments and equipment will be used. Our licensed electrician in New Jersey will offer you competitive rates, and you will be left impressed with their honesty, integrity, and devotion. 

Our residential electrical services include: 

• Electrical Upgrades • New construction and/or remodeling of bathrooms, kitchens, finished basements and additions • Renovation, design, and installation of lighting, and more. Moreover, some of our commercial electrical services include: • Machine troubleshooting and repair • Special systems solutions • Power distribution

In addition, some other electrical services you can expect from us include street lighting, electrical safety inspections and code violation corrections, security systems, landscape lighting and design, and installation and maintenance of backup power generators, to name just a few. 

For more information, visit our website, or give us a call. Our licensed electrician in New Jersey will get back to you soon after you make a request, and satisfy all your electrical needs with unmatched expertise.

Contact Information : Stanley Electric NJ

108 Locust Ave North Arlington, NJ 07031 USA E: info@stanleyelectricnj.com Phone : (201) 282-7001

[bittysvalentines]

You Shine in What I Am / Mas Brilhas No Que Sou

From: @aceinhyperspace

To: @sailorsav

Fic Summary: When Whiskey turns 18 years old, he receives his Gift. But what is he supposed to do with Love? No Content Warnings. General tags: Gen (no pairing); Asexual Whiskey; Eric Bittle; Magic Au; Message: I was so happy to see that I got your gift! Your magic AUs are some of my favourite fics and when I saw that Asexual Whiskey is your jam, I just KNEW what I was going to be writing about. I hope you enjoy!!

Connor knew what love was long before he knew he was ace. It was six year olds holding hands and twelve year olds sneaking kisses because they wanted to be grown up. It was the women in movies, pining after men and demanding roses. It was his teammates in the locker room, talking about bases and the girls they wanted to hook up with after games.

Connor knew that love was something physical and scary and frankly, he wanted no part of it.

Thankfully as everyone in his grade crept closer to their 18th birthdays, the “plant boy” jokes wound down. There was much more interesting news as people got their letters.

“I can’t believe Lauren got metal-bending and I got nothing,” Adriana complained one day at lunch, sprawled on the floor of the hallway outside their 5th period class.

“You know the Guild doesn’t actually call it metal-bending.” Whiskey said into his sandwich.

Adriana rolled her eyes so violently, her head moved as well, dragging her tightly coiled hair across the linoleum. “Ugh, you nerd. That’s not the point. Pretty white girl, I wear bows even on days where there’s no football games, Lauren. She gets to manipulate metal, Connor Whisk. Me-tal.”

“We don’t get a choice, Adri. And frankly, I’ll be thrilled when I get my letter and the Guild tells me ‘Hey, Connor, you’re off the hook. Go play hockey and don’t worry about accidentally setting your college dorm room on fire with this super exciting new superpower you manifested.’”

“Give Peder a break. He’s doing much better now.”

“Yeah, whatever, Adri.”

That evening when he got home, his mother was already at the kitchen table, Skyping her sister in Brasil, hands elegantly shaping the lump of clay spinning on the wheel.

Connor loved watching his mother work- ancient techniques interacting seamlessly with her magic. Her deep brown hands skimmed the edges of the vase, feeling for form sleeping inside the unshapen material. She once told him that her Gift was so much more than moving dirt around. From the rock beds lining the back of their desert home to the red dust she could sweep away with the movement of her hand, Ana Maria Francisca da Silva Whisk saw potential. She saw the shape of things that had been and were meant to be.

“I think I always knew,” She told him a couple years ago, combing her fingers through his hair, loose and chestnut colored, like his father. “Your avô had a farm when I was little. He couldn’t keep me out of the animal pens! He and my mother would lose sight of me for a minute, and they’d find me pelado como Adão e Eva-

“Mãe!”

“-sitting in the middle of the pigs, covered head to toe in mud.” She laughed and laughed.

That day, Connor didn’t feel much like laughing.

“Mamãe?”

“Si, meu amor?”

“Do you see anything in me?”

“O que você quer dizer?” His mother stopped the wheel and looked directly at him. Her eyes were dark, warm.

“I guess…” He stopped, unsure of the words. “I guess I’m worried.”

“Your letter?”

“Sim.”

She took a deep breath, the fine grey dust covering her hands loosening, gently floating to the floor. “Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just ready for highschool to be over. Jake decided to spend all of bio making uncreative jokes about cellular reproduction. And how my gift would be to clone myself.”

“Meu amor, when we spoke about you coming out, I did tell you to be prepared. People can be cruel.”

“Okay, but I thought you meant that about the bi part, not the ace part.”

A small smile flickered across his mother’s lips. Her hand reached out to touch his cheek gently. “I just want things to be easy for you.”

“Eu sei, mamãe.” Connor sighed. “I guess I wanted to know that I’ll be something more than the weird kid.”

“Meu filho. You are so much more than I can tell you. I get glimpses of the man you will be and can only be proud.”

“Ugh, gross mom.” Connor complained, his voice rising in pitch, swatting her hand away.   

“Ah! Sem graça! Deixe seu mãe dá amor quando ela pode. Amanhã você vai ficar uma homem grande!”  

“Mom!” He ran off, and his mother tossed bits of clay at his retreating back.  

-------

Connor had to fight to open his eyes the next morning.

His eighteenth birthday. The day he would receive his Gift.

His feet couldn’t even lift off the ground as he drug himself down the hall towards the kitchen.

Please don’t let it be clones. Please don’t let it be clones.

It wouldn’t be clones, Connor reasoned with himself. His whole family had natural gifts or no gifts at all. If he was lucky, maybe he’d be like his father and oldest sister, who got to live life normally. That way he could focus on hockey and school and not worry about things exploding like Peder. His oldest brother’s pyrokinesis was the coolest thing ever for approximately five minutes.

He stood in the doorway, the glass door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house an immovable barrier. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

“Meu amor, vem aqui,” his mother called gently from inside. Her black eyes, sometimes so disarming, were as soft as he ever had seen them. Using all of his strength, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mother stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms. “Voce ‘sta pronto?”

“Nunca.”

“Whatever it is, you can always decline, okay? There is no shame in that.” Her chin rested gently on his shoulder. When had he gotten so much taller than her? She’d always been a towering figure in the family, carrying them through.

“Okay.”

She stepped back, pulling the letter from her work apron. He took it with trepidation, carefully tearing the seal and unfolding the heavy paper.

After a few moments, most of which the words on the page didn’t register, he spoke.

“I… I think... the Guild sent the wrong thing, Mamae.”

“They’re just messengers. You know they have no control over what manifests.” His mother responded, hands already buried in the clay lumped on the wheel of the kitchen nook. “Deixa eu ver.”

His mother’s hand left gray fingerprints on the paper, but she didn’t seem to notice as her eyes scanned the letter.

“Amor.”

“Yes, mom?”

“Nao, not you amor. Amor amor.”

“I think it’s a mistake.” Connor whispered. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Love magic.

For him.

Connor Whisk, asexual extraordinaire, whose longest relationship was with the Shane Doan jersey pinned lovingly to his bedroom wall.

Love magic.

“Connor Silva Whisk.” The letter gently thwapped across the back of his head. “I raised you better than that. Now, if you don’t want it, that’s your decision to make. But what can you do with love? That is a very stupid question.”

Fast forward six years and behold: Whiskey, collegiate hockey champion, in possession of a liberal arts degree, bartending license, and a certificate in business administration, still has no idea.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day that Whiskey meets Eric Bittle, the lights go out.

No, seriously. The lights are actually out.

“I’m so sorry! That just, happens sometimes? I’m workin’ on it. Oh Lord. There is nothing worse than these delicate wire light bulbs, one short and they’re toast! I am so sorry. You know, they make LED versions of these now? Not that I’m telling you how to run your business but-”

Whiskey only stares at the man in front of him, blonde and tanned from the summer sun, already on his knees gingerly picking up shards of glass with his bare hands, words running at a thousand miles an hour.

Poetry, early readers, maybe a teacher? Needs something smoky to drink… whiskey… no, red wine. I have the perfect Zin in the back.

His quick scan of the other man’s desires only takes a second or two. His needs sit close to the surface, close enough that he was probably on his way to ask Whiskey himself.

“If you want to help, at least use a broom. I don’t need to clean up your blood too.” Whiskey says from behind the bar.

The young man freezes, hands already filled with glass. “Well, I suppose that would make much more sense.”

“Yeah, probably,” Whiskey says. He reaches out with a metal bucket. “Here.”

The glass clinks as it’s dropped into the bucket.

“I really am sorry about that. I’m Eric. Eric Bittle. I live up on the third floor. And uh, I have a gift for electricity. Well. Usually. Sometimes unfamiliar systems don’t react well to my emotions. Have you read that fantastic book by Derek Nurse? That’s what caused this whole mess in the first place.”

“Connor Whisk. People call me Whiskey.”

Somehow, even after their disaster of a first meeting, Eric becomes a staple of Whiskey’s bookstore-slash-bar. Most nights find Eric in the corner sofa, a glass of red wine in hand, grading papers for the kids he student teaches.

On a slow night, Whiskey sits next to him, reading through new releases he wants to stock.

Eric’s head hits the back of the sofa.

“Why can’t I just become an electrician?”

Whiskey snorts. “That’d be too predictable. Also, you clearly adore children. You’ll make a great teacher.”

“You’ve never seen me with a child in your life, Connor.” Eric groans.

“Trust me, I just know.”

Not that Whiskey was ever planning on telling him how.

------

The day that Whiskey meets Jack Zimmerman, the lights go off again.

This time metaphorically.

It’s a busy Wednesday night, which puts it right between a quiet Saturday and an overwhelming Monday. Ford and Tango from upstairs are arguing over a game of scrabble; Ransom laughs at them from above his post-rotation beer, hand on Holster’s knee. Dex and Bitty are finishing a diagram of the best way to rewire the bar lights to save energy while still providing ample lighting. Nurse helps stack chairs after his poetry reading. A couple other folks float in and out of the store, occasionally stopping to ask a question. And Whiskey is hovering around all of them, making sure everyone is satisfied.

The seating area is small, so when a stupidly handsome man wearing a godawful black tracksuit walks in, everyone notices.

Grad student… maybe? He’s here for history? Queer Theory? Well, he’ll get more of the latter, but he’ll see that out soon enough. No alcohol. I’ll make some tea in the back after I check in with everyone.

“Excuse me?” Eric leans forward, bridge of his nose crinkled in interest.

“What?” Whiskey asks, picking up the empty glasses on the low coffee table.

“You just started talking about Queer Theory and tea?” Eric says. “I wasn’t hallucinating was I?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nope, I heard it too.”

Whiskey’s stomach drops. “Uh, nothing, just restocking the shelves.”

“If you say so.” Eric is completely unconvinced, but is too polite to push the subject in public.

Yellow.

The echo of desire floats from among the shelves. The new customer’s hands rest on a book, the cover a bright canary, and Whiskey smiles.

With that, he leaves Eric to his drink to help the customers that are reclining against the bar.

About 5 minutes later, the customer had taken a seat at one of the couches in the reading corner, setting the book on the coffee table between him and Bitty.

“Do you mind?” Whiskey, hears him ask. Bittle’s face is flushed.

“Not at all! On second thought, let me move my mess so you don’t have to be competing with… whatever this book is-” Eric waves animatedly at the pile that had been forming in front of him.

Whiskey barely restrains himself from snorting.

Bittle hurriedly shoves his work into a stack and then escapes to the bar counter, “Good Lord, it’s a good thing that man dresses like a russian mobster because if he paired his face with nice clothes, it’d be over for the rest of us.

Ford, two seats down, snorts into her coffee mug.

“This is a small shop, Bits.” Whiskey laughs, “Careful with the volume.”

“Honey, this is New England. I travelled 3,000 miles to be unabashedly loud and gay. This is a queer bookstore for God’s sake.”

“You can say what you want, just know that the object of your unabashedness can probably hear you,” Whiskey says.

They look over to the man in the corner and sure enough, his eyes are on the both of them, a deep furrow in the middle. The intensity of his gaze and the concerned frown on his lips seem to indicate anger. But Connor feels something else.

It hadn’t been the book.

Oh.

OH.

Yellow.

It smells like Quebec in the summer (had he ever been to Quebec?), and feels like a long car trip, singing into the wind, stealing ears of corn from the farmer’s field, grilling it over a campfire at night. There is expensive whiskey and cheap beer on his lips, elation.

Yellow like the afternoon sun reflecting against the pond in winter. Blinding and exhilarating, flying with no sense of direction and no hope of stopping.

“You.” Whiskey whispers.

He can’t hear if Eric responds, his head still filled with desires not his own. It takes him another moment to come into the present, shaking his head subtly to remove the extra noise.

“Connor? Are you alright?” Eric says, gently laying a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught up for a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Just a side effect. I try not to go that deeply but some people suck me in.”

“Oh I knew it! You are a telepath!” Eric whispers excitedly. “Did I tell you my PawPaw once-”

Whiskey cuts Eric off, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. “No, no. I definitely can’t read people’s minds. But, uhhh. I can see what they… love?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “My Lord.” There’s a reverent sparkle in them that Whiskey can’t explain. “You have a Love Gift. That’s something special. Much more special than electricity.”

Whiskey rolls his eyes. “Sure. Really special. I can’t do anything but tell what drink someone wants before they order.”

“It’s a real shame you think that way, Connor.” Eric shakes his head. “Well, now I know how you’ve managed to draw us all here like flies to a sty.”

“Isn’t it flies to honey-”

“Think about it. All of us were floating around, not from the same place or backgrounds. Some with gifts and many without, but now we’re here. Together. That’s because of you.”

Eric saunters back to the couch, oblivious to the distress rising in Whiskey’s chest.

“Hey, Ford. You mind watching front of house for a second?” Connor manages to say before he loses his breath completely, slipping into the back room before receiving a response.

The phone is clammy in his hands, but, like clockwork, she picks up on the second ring.

“Amor?”

“Mom.

“Que está acontecendo, filho? Você ‘tá no trabalho?”

“Mom, I did it again.”

There’s no sound on the other end of the phone for a brief moment. When his mother’s voice comes back on the line, he feels his breath release.

“Okay, I can talk now. Tell me everything.”

“Well, there’s a group of people that come to the store a lot. And I like them, mom. I like all of them. But Eric-”

“That’s the Southern boy, right?”

“Yes Mom, but Eric found out about my Gift today. And he said that everyone is here because of me. It’s my fault. It’s like college all over again.”

“Did he say he didn’t want to be there?”

“No but-”

“Did he say anything about being in love with you- romantically I mean.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Then this doesn’t sound anything like what happened back then.”

Connor takes a few deep breaths. “Mom, I don’t know what to do with this Gift,” he barely whispers into the phone.

A few more seconds pass.

“This may not be my place. You are a grown man now and can make your own decisions. But my love? You need to get your head out of your ass.”  

Whiskey stops, shocked. “What?”

The voice on the line is firm, like the earth she manipulates. “I am your mother. I would give you the world, make it kind and easy. But I can’t. You told me, all of seventeen shaking years old that you were bisexual and ace and I let you make the choice to tell others on your own. You received your Gift and kept it on your own. And then when you transferred out east and graduated and started your own business- you did that on your own too. If you want to live the rest of your life away from others, separated by your fear, that is a choice you also make on your own.”

A deep sigh breaks the tension across the line and when his mother speaks again, her tone is gentle.

“I am here for you now, whatever you need, but that won’t always be true. What happened in college was awful, amor. Love magic is a powerful, dangerous thing. But you are not that scared young boy anymore. You are building a new home with new people. And that requires you to love, filho. Love. Love yourself and others and let them love you too.”

Whiskey feels the wet lines running down his cheeks before he realizes he’s crying.

“Thank you mom. I love you.”

“Eu te amo também. Agora, faz uma decisão. E chama-me mais frequente, eu sinto falta da sua voz.”   

When Connor comes out of the back room a couple minutes later, he does so with his Gift wide open. And the hearts of the people in the space are so bright, he can’t even see the lights.

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A Place So Dark (1/?)

Summary: Gavin died on a Thursday.

                 That’s what the official records say, anyway.

                 They also say he died in an accident.

Notes: This is loosely (very much so) based on the movie The Wraith and inspired by Michael and Gavin messing around in the GTA V Jetpack Joyrides video. (Look, I don't know what happened either. Also, let's pretend Tron isn't a thing in this AU, because reasons.)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 ||

AO3

Gavin died on a Thursday.

That’s what the official records say, anyway.

They also say he died in an accident.

Bad weather, bald tires, and too much speed going around a turn. (“You have our condolences, Mr. Jones, but we wouldn’t recommend an open casket funeral service, if you take our meaning.”)

Michael knows it’s all bullshit, the only truth in any of it being that Gavin’s fucking dead.

Oh, he knows Gavin had a bike, if you want to call it that.

This atrocity of a Faggio painted like the Union Jack and covered in as many mirrors as he could afford because Gavin’s always been fucking strange.

Remembers Gavin, drunk as all hell and warm and happy and stupid with it as he leaned against Michael in their shitty apartment one night happily regaling him with the adventures of two stupid kids back in England getting into scrapes together. Reckless and young and too stupid to know how good they had it.

Gavin telling him he saw the damn thing in a dealer’s lot. Paint faded, mirrors shattered and leather of its seat cracked and split under the sun and how the last of his savings went into restoring it thanks to a bout of nostalgia.

Something that reminded him of better times and it was all so stupid, wasn't it, Michael? Damn thing never went above fifty even though the manufacture insisted it did, and oh, he was a right idiot to buy it on a whim like that.

The fucking look on Gavin’s face that night, flushed with alcohol and laughter and happy memories.

Sweet smile on his face, and the urge to just lean in and kiss him the way he’d wanted to for so long by that point. Take Gavin's face in his hands and finally fucking show him how in love with him Michael was, but Michael’s always been a coward.

Thought he had time to find a better way to do it. When they were both sober, no alcohol to cloud their judgment because he didn’t want Gavin doing something he’d regret, and now -

And now he’s got the cops telling him Gavin died on a Thursday in an accident when Michael was out of town. That their apartment building burning down a few days prior due to faulty wiring was just a stroke of bad luck, so very sorry, Mr. Jones.

Goddamn bullshit, all of it because this is Los Santos and those kind of coincidences don’t fucking happen here.

They just – they don’t.

Michael's been thinking since he got the call telling him about Gavin’s “accident” because this is is Los Santos and no one stays clean here for long. Even the ones who start out wanting to do the right thing, make the city a better place, get dragged down. Start making compromises, let the lines blur and lose sight of what they wanted to accomplish.

And Gavin, right, Gavin was smart.

So fucking smart with his computers and freelance camera work and everything else.

He could have made a living anywhere, but somehow he ended up in this shithole of a city. Ran into Michael at a bar somewhere and shared their little stories and gotten their lives tangled so tightly together that it was hard to remember a time when Gavin hadn’t been in his life.

Could have left this city behind (left Michael behind) and gotten out, but he hadn’t, and it killed him.

Or someone killed him, because Gavin was smart and clever as hell, and he’d been acting weird, off, the weeks before he died.

Shifty and nervous and doing a bad job of convincing Michael he wasn’t, and Michael had planned on talking to him about it. Cornering him if he had to because it worried him, scared, him, but he’d put it off. Thought he should give Gavin some space because God knows he was a stubborn bastard, would shut down if Michael pushed too hard.

Took a job that took him out of town for a few days, and then everything went to hell, and Michael.

Michael’s no saint, no innocent.

Never was.

Told Gavin he was an electrician, which hadn’t quite been a lie. He’d worked under the table for an electrician back in Jersey, did a little of that here too. Side jobs and shit, but he made most of his money playing muscle for small-time gangs.

Picking up jobs here and there and keeping his head down because he didn’t want to get involved in the shit that went down in the city. Made the news night after night with the bigger crews, territory disputes and power grabs.

He played it smart, just enough to get by. Pay for rent and essentials and maybe get the fuck out of Los Santos one day, take Gavin with him, and now look at him.

Stupid bastard with a hole in his chest where his heart used to be and an idea in his head that’s probably going to kill him when all’s said and done because that’s what this fucking city does. But that’s just fine with Michael as long as he gets to the bottom of this.

========

Michael gets a box in the mail a little over a month after Gavin dies. It looks like it’s been bounced around all over the place by the time it catches up to him, took a beating.

Since the place he had with Gavin is nothing but charred rubble, he’s been staying with someone he met on a job a while back. Guy from Boston who made his way to Los Santos and works as hired muscle when he’s not beating the shit out of some idiot in the fighting ring.

Good guy, really. Someone Michael can trust, as far as things go here, and that says a lot.

Jeremy’s working when the box gets delivered, which is probably for the best because it means he doesn’t get to see the look on Michael’s face when he opens it.

There’s an envelope inside with Michael’s name on in it in Gavin’s handwriting and a fucking letter that Michael can’t bring himself to finish reading after he gets through the first paragraph.

Not when he can hear Gavin’s voice so clearly in his mind, that dumb little laugh of his.

Michael boi, 

If you’re reading this, I guess it means I’m dead, doesn’t it? Probably did something stupid to get that way too. You always said it was a miracle I’d made it this long – how lucky I was – and it looks like you were right about that one.

Michael’s hands only shake a little when he sets the letter aside to go through the rest of the box’s contents.

A padded envelope, something more than just a letter inside with a note and a name and a request from Gavin.

Get it to a reporter with a major news outlet in Los Santos, guy who wasn’t scared to call out crooked politicians and business people in the city. Had had countless death threats and attempts on his life and one of the ones who wants to make a difference here.

Gavin’s note, his, You’re the only one I can trust to get this to him before it’s too late, Michael. and this sinking feeling because it already was too late.

The reporter’s dead. Killed in another “accident” not too long after Gavin’s, another perfect goddamn coincidence.

News outlets all over the city taking the time to comment on what a good man he’d been. How strong, how brave. Such a dedicated journalist and how there would never be another one like him again -

And then never mentioned him again.

Went to great lengths not to, actually, like they’d paid enough lip service to make everything seem right to anyone watching.

Michael hesitates before he opens the envelope because whatever is inside has to be what got Gavin killed.

Something he stumbled on or purposefully went looking for, because he could never leave something well enough alone if it caught his interest. Always chasing something and this time it got him killed. (It’s that last thought that has Michael ripping the envelope open and shaking its contents into his hand.)

A USB drive and a couple of memory cards, and this horrible feeling taking root in Michael’s gut.

Gavin was always too smart for his own good. Nosy little fucker and Los Santos loves people like him.

Gets them caught up in shit they shouldn’t be, learn things they shouldn’t. Leaves them in a bad spot where they make the wrong decisions because there are no right ones to be made.

If they’re lucky they get to live, if not...

Well.

Michael sets the USB drive and memory cards aside and goes through the packet at the bottom of the box.

All kinds of documents and shit with Michael’s face and a fake name. Michael knows right away that they’ll pass whatever scrutiny the authorities would put them through.

There’s everything here he’d need to begin a new life somewhere along with enough money to keep him going until he got his feet under him.

All those times he’d talk about the future with Gavin like he really thought there was one ahead for them. Getting the hell out of Los Santos and living somewhere better (safer), and the fucker had put this together.

Planned for Michael to get this – set up some kind of arrangement with a courier company to send it to Michael if the payments stopped – and just, what?

Thought Michael would hand off the USB drive and memory cards to some asshole and head off into the sunset? Act like Gavin’s death was unfortunate, but shit happens so might as well keep trucking on?

“You fucker,” Michael murmurs, staring at the fake driver license because it’s a shitty picture the way they tend to be, but he remembers Gavin taking it.

The two of them joking around and being stupid the way they always were. Like they were kids again and Lost Santos wasn’t the kind of place it was. Joking around and being stupid and goddamn him anyway.

Michael doesn’t have it in him to cry anymore, not the way he did the first few weeks after Gavin died.

He’s too tired for that now, worn down and hollowed out by loss and grief and this obsession to get to the truth of things. Dead-ends and false leads and Jeremy giving him these worried looks thinking Michael had lost his fucking mind in his grief, and now this.

He’s not crying but his eyes are stinging and his chest aches with this mix of grief and anger and a helplessness that Michael hates more than anything.

He’s been looking for anything to help him make sense of Gavin’s death for so long and it turns out he could have had his answers before now if the fucking postal service had gotten their shit together.

“Fucking Christ, Gav. Only you.”

Jeremy’s got a crappy little laptop that he’s told Michael to use if he ever needs it. This cheesy smile on his face and shitty attempt at Spanish with his “mi laptop es su laptop”.

Michael turns the laptop on and on and listens to the fans laboring to keep it from combusting, waits and waits and waits for it to finish booting up before he plugs the USB drive into the port.

A window pops up asking for a password and Michael stares at the screen for a long moment, because of course it’s not going to be so fucking simple.

He spends half an hour trying different passwords he thinks Gavin would have used with no luck, and removes the USB drive from the laptop. Then, because he’s a goddamn idiot, he tries the memory cards next and meets with the same failure.

For the life of him he can’t think of what Gavin’s password could be, and it’s frustrating on an entirely new level.

After a while, Michael turns Jeremy’s laptop off and winces at the noises it makes as it powers down. Sounds like it’s just a moment away from dying.

Michael puts the USB drive and the memory cards back in the box with the rest of the shit Gavin meant for him to have. He hides it all under a loose board in the storage closet Jeremy showed him.

One of half a dozen hidey spots he has around his place. Smiling as he told Michael it was none of his business what Michael put in there, as long as the cops couldn't trace it back to them.

It’s not the best hiding spot, but he trusts Jeremy and he doesn’t have a lot of options left at the moment.

========

Michael did some asking around when he first started looking into Gavin’s death. People he knew from jobs he’d worked before, ones who might have heard something here or there.

Bits of gossip, tidbits of information inadvertently leaked anything at all would have been useful but nothing helpful had turned up.

Oh, he’d gotten a few hints, clues, every so often but when he followed up on them they didn’t turn anything up.

This time he starts poking around forgers and their kind, sees if any of them remember Gavin. Are willing to admit to it after he’d ended up on the evening news the way he had.

Such a tragic story about the perils of not keeping your vehicle properly maintained. That it was a good idea to obey traffic laws, but even then there had been people who’d seen enough accidents like his to recognize trouble when they saw it.

But now Michael’s got a starting point. Knows there are people out there in his world who knew Gavin.

It’s a matter of applying a little money to grease palms here and there, and this time around he must be asking the right questions.

He gets a little  “You didn’t hear it from me, but - “ and some information on a guy new to Los Santos.

Someone with a crew looking to expand, running drugs and guns and just about everything else. Had some people involved in the underground fights on the side, and word was he’d been looking for someone good with computers a few months back.

Found someone with a funny accent, “Australian or British, one of those”.

Michael knows it could be a coincidence because Gavin wasn’t the only British person in the city, but it’s his first real lead.

He asks Jeremy if he knows anything about the guy, run into his people in the ring.

“Stay the fuck away from Carmine, Michael. I mean it.”

Jeremy looks dead serious, eyes narrowed as he studies Michael. Smart bastard, Jeremy, and in the past that’s been in Michael’s favor, but now?

Not so much.

He must see something on Michael’s face, or maybe he just knows him too well because his expression softens. Fucking sympathy in his voice when he speaks next.

“Is this – Michael. Does this have anything to do with Gavin?”

Michael looks at Jeremy, too tired to lie.

Jeremy and Gavin never met, Michael trying his best to keep his worlds from colliding. So stupidly naive to think he could protect Gavin somehow by keeping the worst part of himself hidden from him.

“Michael - “

“Come on, Jeremy,” he says, hands gesturing. “Do you really think it was an accident? You’ve seen the reports!”

Jeremy’s read the reports too, fuck knows Michael wasn’t in the right frame of mind to hide them from him after he got his hands on them. Called in some favors and put himself in debt with people to do it, but he’d needed to know. Couldn’t fucking trust the cops or the fire department, not in this city, and things hadn’t added up.

Blacked out lines in the reports, other things that just added to his suspicion that something wasn’t right, that they were covering something up.

Jeremy breathes hard through his nose, looks like he wants lie, tell Michael he’s imagining things. That he’s taking this, Gavin's death too hard, letting it fuck with his head. Twist him all up until everything’s muddled up in his head. Turn it into some trust no one bullshit conspiracy theory.

But then he sighs, rubs a hand over his face.

“Carmine’s not someone you want to fuck with,” he says, sounding just as tired as Michael feels. “Michael, if you go digging into his business, you’re going to end up like Gavin.”

It’s flat, bleak, Jeremy not aiming to hurt. Just warn Michael off of doing something stupid, putting himself in danger.

“I can’t let this go,” Michael says.

He doesn’t have the words to explain it to Jeremy, why he needs to know what Gavin had found out to get him killed. Can’t let whoever did it get away with it, think they can do something like that and not expect it to catch up to them.

He knows it won't bring Gavin back.

Knows that it isn’t what Gavin would have wanted for Michael or he never would have gone to the trouble of constructing a new identity for him. (Wanted him to get out of the city and start over somewhere else, forget he’d ever set foot in Los Santos.)

But this isn’t about what Gavin would have wanted because he’s not fucking here.

Michael is and he’s not going to let some piece of shit get away with thinking he’s untouchable.

“I know,” Jeremy sighs. “Christ, just. Be careful, asshole.”

It’s too late for that and Jeremy has to know it, but still. The sentiment’s nice.

========

Michael still has favors saved up, people who put the word out that he’s looking for work. Needs money and is willing to do what it takes to get it.

He’s got a good reputation to start with around the right circles. Known as someone who’d not afraid to get his hands dirty and pretty handy with explosives.

A rat-faced bastard approaches him, makes him a little deal.

Wants Michael to play guard for an old junkyard at the edge of the city. Decent enough pay, and all he has to do is make sure the only people who get in are part of Carmine’s crew.

Anyone else?

They get a bullet.

Nice and simple and nothing different from the work Michael’s done in the past.

Rat-face tells Michael that if he does a good job there’s room for advancement, and it feels like a normal job interview in a fucked up way. (Michael looking to make a career of this, and where does he see himself in five years?)

When Michael gets back, he tells Jeremy he got a job. Works hard to ignore the look on his face. Smart bastard who knows Michael was never going to give up so easily, move on like nothing happened quickly. Bites back whatever he wants to say because because he knows Michael’s past listening. (He hears Jeremy’s ”Be careful, you asshole” just fine though, grateful that he knows better than to stop him.)

And then Michael’s in a goddamn junkyard outside the city. Dirt road leading up to it and far enough out of the way that it feels cut off from civilization.

Tall trees and rocky terrain around it, all kind of animal noises in the night. Eerie, unsettling, the way the shadows fall, and Michael’s skin crawls with the feeling of being watched.

He’s a city kid through and through and the place is creepy as fuck, even with other grunts like him there to guard it.

A handful of the kind of assholes he’s worked with before. Idiots who can’t seem to make a decent living and ended up here. Don’t mind the ugly parts of this life, and a few who probably like the way it’s a bit of a power trip.

All of them bottom of the food chain here, expendable hired muscle that people like Carmine burn through like it’s nothing, but they don’t see it like that.

Think they’re a big deal with their guns and knives and whatever else stepping all over the little guy. Fuck the establishment and take what they want because that’s how things work here.

Survival of the fittest and everything that entails.

Real dumb when it comes down to it because they’re too low in the hierarchy to know what Carmine’s up to out here.

Cargo containers at the heart of the yard and cars coming and going at all hours. A goddamned wall in place of a chain link fence. Buildings along the back converted into a bunk room, barracks, whatever the fuck you want to call it and a tiny kitchenette.

Carmine coming in and turning it into a goddamned compound.

It makes Michael uneasy being out here on his own. New guy without anyone who’d give enough of a shit to watch his back if something happens out here.

Worry in the back of his mind that somehow Carmine knows he’s connected to Gavin, but he shoves it back down for now.

Besides, there’s fuck all he can do if Carmine knows and is just playing the long game Giving Michael enough rope to hang himself so he can get his hands on whatever is on that USB drive and the memory cards.

========

Michael’s not the best sniper, really.

He’s better suited to close quarters shit. Throwing fists and breaking teeth, making someone real fucking sorry they thought he looked like an easy target.

But even an idiot can provide cover fire, keep assholes pinned down. Michael can hit a moving target fairly reliably and Rat-face seems to think that makes him best qualified to put him up in the tower.

Fuck, it’s barely that. Just a structure with a ladder attached near the wall, rickety as hell and covered with a tarp as half-assed shelter from the elements. Keeps the rain off and not much else, but it’s better than nothing.

Third night in and he hears an engine approaching. Something that brings him around to watch the back road because it’s a bike.

It’s foggy out, visibility shit and too fucking quiet for Michael’s peace of mind.

Sounds echoing oddly when the others call out to each other. The sound of the bike seeming to come from all directions and it’s setting Michael’s nerves on edge because the damn thing sounds like something alive and so fucking angry.

There aren’t supposed to be incoming vehicles until the next day anyway, so Michael's on the comm to the Rat-face who’s the big guy in charge out here.

“I’ve got a bike coming up the back road,” he says, watching through his sniper rifle’s scope.

Rat-face gives a curt acknowledgment, and Michael listens with half an ear to him ordering the grunts to fall back to the main gates as he watches the road.

He tracks the bike, high-powered engine, going too fast for the twisting dirt roads out here. It looks like a streak of pale blue-white light moving through the fog, like the old stories his grandfather used to tell him about will-o'-the-wisps.

A minute later the bike slides out of the fog and comes to a stop outside the walls.

Michael realizes it’s some kind of neon body kit that gives the bike a futuristic look, matched by the biker’s own suit. Black with pink lines of light running over it.

“The fuck?” Michael mutters, lifting his head from the scope to look down at the figure.

He’s never seen a bike or suit like that before.

The biker revs the bike’s engine, and Michael's eyes narrow as he looks through the scope again. Blinks when he looks up – right at Michael with the way his head’s angled – and a second later he kicks the bike into motion.

Heads right for the gates with something held aloft in his hand with a blinking red light.

A fucking bomb.

“He’s got explosives!” Michael yells over the comms, and shifts his focus back to the damn biker.

Michael gets off a shot, two, but the guy jukes right, left, too fast for Michael to follow, get a solid bead on him.

Michael swears, looking away to check on the grunts. A few of the smarter ones bolt for cover just in time as the gates blow open and the bike leaps through the smoke like something out of a movie.

The biker avoids the idiots running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Ducks low to hug the body of the bike to avoid gunfire as he head right for the center of the compound.

Rat-face is yelling at Michael to take the fucker out, and Michael tries, he does, but the biker’s fast.

Unnaturally so in the tight confines of the compound, still littered with wrecked cars and other accumulated shit that come together to create a maze. Somehow the fucker navigates it with ease while dodging gunfire and whatever else the grunts can throw at him.

There’s something about it sends a chill down Michael’s spine because with the amount of bullets flying down there someone should have hit him by now. Hit him, that bike of his, but not a single bullet does.

He just.

It has to be his eyes playing tricks on him with fog thick on the ground and shadows cast by the fires from the explosion because the biker veers sharp to one side. Seems to flicker when a group of grunts concentrate their gunfire on him in the moments before he finishes his turn and doubles back.

And then there are shrieks and yelps of pain when it becomes clear the grunts don’t seem to grasp the concept of crossfire and holy fuck.

The biker takes advantage of the confusion and darts for the cargo containers while everyone’s casting blame or bleeding.

Michael has enough time to yell a warning before explosions rock the compound, knock him out of the fucking tower where he hits the ground hard.

He can’t breathe, the breath knocked from him, shoulder blinding pain where he landed on it, the rest of him not too pleased either – and then he hears the fucking bike.

It sounds like some kind of wild animal, snarling, growling as it prowls the compound.

Michael scrambles to get up, get on his feet.

He lost the sniper rifle in the fall, but he has his handgun and goes to pull it when the biker fucking materializes out of the fog in front of him without warning.

Michael stares at him, the blank visor of his helmet and waits for a fucking bullet. Expects everything to end here in the mud and wet, but the guy just cocks his head, bike purring quietly.

There’s screaming, yells for people to put out the fire to save what’s left of the compound, but it all sounds far away. Whole worlds, because right now it’s Michael and the fucker on the goddamn bike -

Michael’s earpiece crackles to life, Rat-face demanding to know his status. Barking out orders to take the biker out any means necessary, and Michael reaches up and pulls it out.

Drops it into the mud and brings his foot down on it.

The biker’s still watching him, and Michael opens his mouth to say something – what, he doesn’t know – but his throat clicks, no sound coming out.

The biker seems to give himself a little shake, and drops low. Revs the bike’s engine, Michael moving out of the way as it leaps forward, tearing through the smoking remnants of the gates and vanishing into the fog.

Michael’s aware of people running past him, yelling and more gunfire and turns to see Rat-face watching him, eyes narrowed.

“The fuck happened back there, Jones?”

Michael -

Fuck.

He doesn’t fucking know.

Had no idea there was someone else going after Carmine like this. Pulling a goddamn hit-and-run attack and either being so fucking good or just plain lucky to get in and out without getting killed outnumbered the way he’d been.

“Fuck if I know,” Michael says, puts some anger into his voice, snapping back. “I fucking warned you guys.”

He looks around at the other grunts. Some running to deal with the fire, others seeing to the injures. The rest are standing around like idiots, wide-eyed and stunned and not likely to last long in this world if this is their reaction when things turn to shit.

Rat-face snorts as he follows Michael’s gaze.

“Help with getting this clusterfuck cleaned up,” he says, and levels Michael with a look. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Michael nods and goes looking for his sniper rifle before joining the others, itch between his shoulders like he’s being watched.

========

Jeremy doesn’t ask what happened when Michael gets back to Los Santos after Rat-face declares the compound a loss and tells the grunts like Michael their services were no longer needed after that little shitshow.

“Michael.”

Michael’s hurting, back and side bruised up to hell and back, shoulder a throbbing mass of pain. He’s managed to catch a cold too, voice rough, scratchy thanks to being up in the fucking tower in the cold and rain.

Overall he’s a fucking mess, and Jeremy’s being gentle about it. Doesn’t give him shit or tease him the way he normally would, and that burns a little because he’s not that pathetic just yet. (Not about that, anyway.)

But Jeremy’s a good guy. Worries about the idiot doing his best to get himself killed for a dead man and goddamn Michael’s life.

“Hey,” Michael says.

Jeremy sighs, dropping down on the couch next to Michael.

Stares at the television, stupid daytime dramas and shitty commercials and fidgets.

Plays with the ring on his finger, and Michael feels a pang at the sight of it because somehow he’s never asked Jeremy who has the matching ring. Never saw a reason to because it was Jeremy’s business, and Michael had reason to poke his nose into it.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if they’re alive, but Michael hopes like hell they are because he’d hate for anything else for Jeremy.

Jeremy takes a deep breath, seeming to come to some sort of decision and glances at Michael from the corner of his eye. Braces himself, and says, voice light, like it’s just a casual offer:

“I know a hacker, if. You know. You ever need one. For, like. Anything.”

It’s halting and awkward and too much like Jeremy knows he’s pushing his luck here, the trust Michael has in him.

Jeremy turns his attention back to the television as he picks up the remote and flips through channels.

He’s trying for casual and nonchalant, but Jeremy looks like he’s expecting a fight - yelling at the very least.

Michael watches the television, hands clenched into fists on his lap. Sees glimpses of shows and commercials and entire other worlds someone dreamed up flashing by in quick bursts as Jeremy looks for something to watch.

He rubs his chest at the sharp ache, reminder, that he use to know a hacker of his own, too, apparently. An idiot who played at being a law-abiding citizen and very clearly wasn’t. (Or maybe he was, and Los Santos got its hooks into him, pulled him down the way it does everyone at some point, Michael will never know.)

Michael thinks about working up anger at Jeremy for prying, for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, but it doesn’t come. Not when he’s done so much for Michael without asking for anything in return.

Given him a place to stay without asking questions. Let him make his own mistakes instead of trying to stop him after that first warning, and now he’s offering to help.

To get involved in Michael’s problems by giving him the name of this hacker – and Michael knows it has to be Matt.

Idiot with a dry sense of humor, a slight drawl, and an old, old friend of Jeremy's.

Someone important to him, and Michael -

It's tempting, because he still hasn’t cracked Gavin's password. Borrows Jeremy’s laptop and makes an attempt when Jeremy’s out of the apartment or asleep, and either he was more obvious than he thought or Jeremy found the box.

Put the pieces together and realized Michael wasn’t making headway and resigned himself to Michael being the kind of stubborn who wouldn’t stop until he did.

Decided that he’d rather help Michael at this point than let him do it alone, and Michael rubs at his eyes, dry and aching, and sighs.

He doesn’t want to drag Jeremy or his friends into this anymore than he already has. Knows he should have left when he started looking into Gavin’s death, but he hadn’t.

Too weak, or selfish, maybe a mix of both, and now Jeremy's offering to help. Putting himself and his friends into the line of fire for Michael, and it’s so goddamned tempting to just accept it, but -

Jeremy’s got a ring on his finger, a simple little band of metal and somewhere out there (Michael hopes) someone has the matching ring. Jeremy’s got friends like Matt, loyal through and through and too stupid to know that’s the kind of thing that gets people killed in Los Santos.

“...I’ll think about it,” Michael says after a few minutes have gone by, and hopes Jeremy can’t hear the lie in it.

Jeremy lets out a breath, relieved, and looks at Michael.

“Yeah?”

Michael smiles, lopsided and awkward, and nods.

“Yeah.”

========

Michael's on a grocery run when he hears the bike again.

Doesn’t think he could ever forget the way the engine growls like a wild animal, low and so fucking angry.

He stops mid-step and turns to see the fucker sitting on his bike in the mouth of an alley across the street.

It’s the middle of the day. Clear weather and warm enough out that Michael's in an old t-shirt, and the guy still manages to find the darkest shadows around.

The lights on his suit seem to pulse faintly, and something about it brings to mind high school English class before he dropped out. Stupid teachers and dusty old books and stories and the one with the heart under the floorboards or something.

Michael's heart-rate kicks up notch, adrenaline and anger and an ugly mix of emotions hat clog his throat. Have him choking on his words as he moves closer, sore shoulder throbbing.

“The fuck do you want?” he yells, hands clenched so tightly by his side they’re aching.

He sees the biker cock his head, studying Michael like he’s an interesting bug, but nothing more than that, and it’s infuriating. Has Michael starting across the street – jerking back just in time as a horn blares, loud and shocking, and Michael barely misses being hit by a box truck barreling down the road.

By the time he recovers, heart pounding at the near-miss and thinks to look back at the alley, its empty, biker long gone.

Michael stares, because it’s possible he missed hearing the guy leave when his attention was on the damn box truck, but he doubts it. With an engine that fucking distinctive he would have noticed him leave, would have heard it.

When he crosses the street this time, he remembers to check for traffic. Looks left, right, left again, and then it’s a quick jog to the alley’s entrance.

The shadows are lighter, not the inky darkness the biker had been surrounded by. It’s possible that was all due to the placement of the sun in the sky, shadows shifting  in the time between Michael first spotting the guy until now, or maybe there’s some other logical explanation.

The biker was definitely there, not Michael’s mind playing tricks on him again. The ground’s dusty here, looks mostly undisturbed aside from one perfect little footprint where the biker had rested his foot.

“The fuck is going on?”

Michael doesn’t know if he’s talking to himself or the rats digging through the garbage further down the alley.

He’s starting to think Jeremy had a point, all that time back. That Michael’s finally snapped, is seeing things that aren't actually there. Figments of his imagination and whatever the fuck else because so much about the biker doesn’t make sense.

A lot of things that don’t make sense, really, Michael’s mind tripping back to the shows his mom used to watch. Ghosts and creatures everyone seems to believe in that didn’t, couldn’t exist because they weren’t fucking real.

You’re dead, you're dead, no coming back from that. Maybe it’s cold and harsh, but that’s how the world works. (Michael learned that one early on in life.)

You don’t just get a fucking do-over. Don’t get to haunt the living to make them repent their sins or confess to their wrongdoings or whatever the fuck.

All you get is fucking dead.

But as Michael stares down at the footprint, thinks to dig his phone out of his pocket and take a picture as proof, he wonders if there’s something to it after all.

========

There’s not a lot Michael can do in the following days, still recovering from his cold and just too fucking tired, drained, to think about picking up a job.

He uses some of the money Gavin gave him to buy a cheap little laptop at a pawn shop. Nothing fancy, but it’s enough for Michael to put some time into trying to decipher Gavin's password without worrying about hogging Jeremy’s laptop.

He gets a notepad at the dollar store and logs failed attempts to make sure he’s not going in circles. Ignores the worried looks Jeremy tosses his way and acts like he’s not in a holding pattern until he cracks the stupid password or something happens with Carmine.

And then one night Jeremy comes home and starts flipping through the channels again.

He’s finally found steady work, a crew that treats him as more than just cannon fodder from what he says. (He gets this look sometimes, like he wants to ask Michael to give the crew a try, give up on this obsession of his. Move past Gavin’s death and pick up his life again, but he never does, and Michael loves him for that.)

“Hey, Michael,” he says, toying with the stupid cowboy hat resting on his knee. “Have you heard about what’s been going on?”

Michael blinks, looking up from his phone. The dumb picture of the biker’s footprint he took over a week ago and had forgotten about. Half expected for it to be a picture of the ground and nothing else, product of Michael’s fevered mind and shit when he was sick, but no.

A very real footprint in the dirt. Clear enough that he can see the tread pattern.

“Uh...”

Jeremy snorts, and waves at the television. News anchor reporting on some gang activity. Grainy surveillance footage of someone taking out a warehouse down by the docks.

Michael’s blood freezes because it’s the fucking biker.

Blue-white lights of his bike and the stupid fucking pink of his suit and he’s riding away from the warehouse that’s engulfed in flames looking like some kind of vengeful spirit.

“The fuck is that?” Michael manages, voice raspy because he’s still getting over that damn cold.

Jeremy shrugs, settling back against the cushions like it’s no big deal. Some fucking vigilante running around Los Santos going after crews and gangs, and what a fucking maniac, right?

“No one knows. The guy just showed up a few weeks ago. Matt said he went after the Vipers the other night. Wiped out one of their meth labs.”

Michael can’t seem to look away from the television. Wants to ask (even though it’s going to make him sound like the maniac here) if Jeremy can actually see the fucker. That it’s not just Michael's mind playing tricks on him.

“Yeah? He know anything else about the guy?”

Jeremy shrugs, eyes sliding towards him.

“Not much, really. He just seems to have a serious serious hate-on for anyone dealing hardcore drugs.”

There have been people before in this city, usually some form of cop or law enforcement, but sometimes it was just a normal civilian. Someone who just lost it over how corrupt shit was in Los Santos. Went rogue, or whatever they wanted to call it and started hunting down criminals.

Targeted gangs and crews and the lucky ones did some damage before someone put them down. Left a mark on the city – this bright spot of resistance against the corruption in the city that never lasted.

Most just died bloody.

Cut down in the street, and left for the authorities to sort out.

This guy -

Michael listens to the news anchor as they talk about previous attacks the biker’s been responsible for, possible theories for his motive, and looks at Jeremy.

“Your crew worried he might hit you guys?”

Jeremy shrugs, this odd little grin on his face.

“Not really,” he says. “They don’t mess with that stuff.”

That's no guarantee the biker won’t step things up a notch. Start going after everyone indiscriminately, but Jeremy seems pretty confident his new crew will be fine.

That either means they’re smart enough to avoid dealing with the kind of thing that the biker’s focused on, or they think they can handle him if he does go after them.

“Hey,” Jeremy says, and bumps his shoulder against Michael’s. “We’re good, I promise.”

“Yeah, I’ll hold you to that,” Michael says, and hopes Jeremy’s telling the truth.

========

Michael doesn’t go looking for the biker on purpose, really, he’s just  -

Fuck.

Fuck, no.

He does.

To be fair, though, he doesn’t just start wandering the streets of Los Santos at night hoping to run into the bastard.

He drives out to Carmine’s compound first, because that’s definitely better.

It’s been raining on and off for several days. Overcast with heavy rain clouds hanging over Los Santos and the surrounding area, pressing down like a physical thing.

Michael has no damn idea what he’s even looking for, but he ends up spending most of the day there. Digging through the charred remains of the main buildings and picking through debris and rubble where the cargo containers sat.

Finds weapons parts that survived the fires mostly intact. Enough that Michael can get a good idea of what was being stored out here. The reason Carmine’s been laying low recently, keeping his head down.

Michael’s no detective, not even all that smart when it comes down to it, but he knows what he’s looking at out here. Takes a few pictures of his phone because why the fuck not have that kind of incriminating evidence on him?

When he gets to the tower he pauses. Studies the churned up tracks near its base, anything useful from that night long obliterated by the grunts rushing to put out the fires, get the injured out. Idiots who had no fucking idea what they were doing and got in everyone’s way.

Out of curiosity, some random whim, Michael walks around the outer perimeter and finds the spot where the biker paused before launching his attack.

There’s not much to see there, just what might have been tracks from his bike. Maybe someone else stopping to gawk at the site, who the fuck knows.

“Goddamn waste of time,” Michael mutters, kicking mud off his feet before he heads back to the city.

Stops to readjust his rearview mirror because his car’s a piece of shit and the thing slides out of position after a while. And then he damn near has a heart attack when he looks into the rearview mirror to make sure it’s positioned properly and sees the biker behind him on the road.

“Motherfucker!”

Michael whips around, heart racing because he’s alone out here and, who the fuck knows what sets the guy off -

But the roadway’s clear.

Nothing.

No one around for miles.

“Are you kidding me?” Michael mutters as he gets out of his car, a slight tremor in his hands as he goes for his gun.

When he gets to where he saw the biker parked behind him he finds one perfect footprint in the mud.

Clear enough he can see the tread before the sky opens up and rain starts falling.

Steady downpour that start to fill the footprint with water, mud collapsing in on itself and erasing whatever evidence the biker was even there.

“Fucking perfect,” Michael grumbles, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky.

Unrelenting gray as far as he can see, rain cold and unfeeling and stealing his warmth away with each passing moment.

========

After that little adventure Michael still isn’t wandering the streets of Los Santos like some character in a shitty Vinewood movie, but, you know.

It’s really fucking close.

He starts with that alley he saw the biker in, and just sort of works his way around the city going to areas he’s been spotted.

Has the feeling at least half of them are false leads. People calling in to the hotline the LSPD set up just for shits and giggles. Some just too fucking drunk or high to know that they'd seen wasn't the biker at all.

Still he goes out looking, and it gets him trouble.

Has him step too far into some shitty little gang’s territory when they're feeling weak, vulnerable, after the bicker’s attack. The continued presence of the cops and whoever else investigating the biker forcing them to cut back on criminal activities and costing them time and money and profit.

Sends him running for his damn life with a pack of angry gang members after his blood because he’s an idiot.

“Fucking hell,” he pants, lungs burning and legs aching and this was not how he saw himself going out, if he’s being entirely honest with himself

Getting shot up by assholes he doesn’t have a problem with because his sense of direction is shit and the fucking AI assistant on his phone didn’t come with gang territory maps installed, go figure. (A glaring mistake in Los Santos, really.)

He could call Jeremy to come bail him out, but honestly doubts he’d make it across half the city before Michael bites it.

There’s a flash of movement at the corner if his eye, the sound of a very distinct engine, and Michael wheels around to meet it, gun raised.

The biker’s tearing out of aside alley towards him, gesturing for him to get on behind him. Head turned to look behind them where they can hear Michael’s pursuers gaining on him.

Michael balks, and the guy looks fucking annoyed about it when he looks back at Michael. Impatient as he snaps his fingers, gestures becoming more emphatic the closer the yelling gets, and still Michael hesitates.

At least until one of the assholes chasing him fires off a shot way too fucking close.

After that Michael’s all about jumping on the back of the fucking bogeyman’s bike because really, what could possibly go wrong?

The biker’s reassuringly solid when Michael wraps his arms around him. Grunts in surprise when Michael squeezes just to be sure, and taps his arms to get Michael to ease up a little.

Michael loosens his hold, and the biker handles the bike with long ease as he revs the engine and they take off down the street.

Goes way too fucking fast, wind making Michael’s eyes water.

And fucking sue him when Michael presses his forehead against the biker’s back as they speed away. He’s tired, adrenaline rush fading and he doesn’t have a fucking helmet to protect against the wind or massive head trauma if they crash.

The guy twitches, but relaxes after a moment.

Michael assumed the biker would drop him off somewhere in the city. Maybe a few blocks away out of the gang’s territory or somewhere else nearby, but he strikes off east instead. Heading out of headed out of Los Santos and up to Galileo Observatory.

The sun's starting to rise by the time they reach it. Inky black fading to lighter blue that bleeds over to oranges and pinks near the horizon as they slow to a stop in front of the observatory building.

Michael climbs off the back of the bike, legs stiff and takes a moment to adjust before he follows the biker to the walkway overlooking the city. Looks over to see him leaning against the railing, tired slump to his shoulders.

“Hey,” Michael says, words awkward, uncertain. “Uh. Thanks, for saving my ass back there.”

The guy looks at him, blank face of his helmet disconcerting, alien. And then he cocks his head a certain way.

Oddly familiar, and Michael bristles.

“None of your goddamned business,” he mutters, not about to tell the fucker why he was out there in the first place.

Trying to find this mysterious vigilante everyone’s been talking about for weeks like fucking -

What?

Some idiot in a stupid movie chasing after the mysterious superhero or some stupid bullshit?

Half afraid he was a figment of Michael's imagination even though there was proof the guy was because he’d seen the biker do things that shouldn’t be possible time and time again. (Shit that didn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense.)

And now the guy’s -  

He’s not making any noise, but he’s sure as hell laughing at Michael. Like he knows exactly what Michael was doing back there. Knows why Michael’s being gruff and surly now and thinks it’s so damn hilarious.

Shoulders shaking with it, and Michael huffs in feigned annoyance and goes back to watching the sunrise. Tired and sore and somehow still alive after that act of unbelievable stupidity on his part.

“You have a name?” Michael asks, tearing his eyes away from the view before him, not all that surprised to see the biker’s not there anymore.

Just.

Fucking gone.

When he looks, that damn bike of his is gone too.

Not a goddamned trace of either, and Michael sighs as he reaches for his phone.

If he’s lucky Jeremy will answer his phone this early. Won’t ask what the fuck Michael’s doing all the way out here at this hour, or where his car is.

========

Rat-face calls Michael a few days later.

Snide, condescending, but he’s still Michael’s best bet at getting closer to Carmine.

He doesn’t tell Jeremy about this either, doesn’t want him to worry. Just says he’s got a call from a friend, an easy little job.

A day or two at most and if he’s lucky a steady gig like Jeremy has. (Pretends he doesn’t see the dubious look Jeremy gives him because he might have gone a little overboard trying to sell that load of bullshit, but Jeremy’s good. Doesn’t ask.)

Rat-face gives him an address for a place down by the docks. Another warehouse, and Michael frowns when he realizes where it is. Real fucking close to that place the biker hit some time back. The one that ended up on the news and Jeremy insisting Michael see for himself what had Los Santos all abuzz this time.

Coincidence, or just the way things happened around here. Birds of a feather and authorities who’d turn a blind eye if you paid them enough, most likely.

He shows up close to sundown, sees some familiar faces keeping guard. Some of the grunts from the compound.

Rat-face gives him the basics, patrol the perimeter and no one in or out who isn’t one of Carmine’s. No special renovations to the place, just your average shitty warehouse slowly rusting away thanks to the salt air.

Michael gets the late shift and ends up partnered with a sour-faced dick who sneers when he lays eyes on Michael, eyes lingering on his freckles. Asks if his parents knows he’s out this late, and Michael smiles. Flat and humorless and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction past that.

Catches Rat-face watching them closely. Wonders if there’s something behind him bringing Michael back or if they’re just getting desperate with the biker scaring hired guns off.

As far as Michael knows he hasn’t racked up a body count yet in his attacks – no interest in going after the grunts. Seems to focus more on hitting fuckers like Carmine where it hurts. Property damage and goods, product. Flashy enough about it that anyone in the way has time to get the fuck out before shit goes down.

But Michael supposes just the thought of what someone like him might do, the way most people operate in this city would be enough to make people nervous. Concerned that he’s working up to something bigger, might not care about any causalities along the way would be enough reason to be picky when it comes to jobs. Steer clear of ones like this one.

Michael slings his rifle over his shoulder and heads off to patrol, wondering if Sour-face is going to shoot him in the back before the night’s through with the way his luck’s been going.

========

The biker shows up just after four.

Michael rounds the corner and the fucker snaps his headlight on, goddamn blinding, and then he’s making a run at the warehouse.

Bike howling as he pushes it as fast as it will go and Michael watches dumbly as it streaks past, leaving a after trail of light in its wake.

Sour-face sees the biker coming and puts out the alarm, firing wildly and missing every fucking shot because apparently he never learned to aim.

Michael runs for the back of the warehouse where the loading bays are. There aren’t any trucks pulled up to them at the moment, but Rat-face left one open because it’s Los Santos in summer and hot as fuck. No reason for air conditioning inside and the only way to cool things down is the weak breeze blowing through.

No trucks and no ramps, but there’s a stack of old wooden crates and other shit piled up off to the side. Go fast enough, hit it at the right angle and you might - might - get enough height you could jump it.

He gets there just in time to see the fucker do it too, barely clearing the jump and landing badly, bike fishtailing before he regains control.

Alarmed yelling and more gunfire and Michael hangs back, not wanting to run into that after the clusterfuck at the compound.

He sees Sour-face run up, hands gripping his rifle tightly and this look of shock on his face as something inside the warehouse explodes. Fire spreading quickly sending Rat-face and the thugs spilling out though the open loading bay and side doors.

Scream of that engine and the biker soars back out through the loading bay. He manages to stick the landing this time and makes his getaway.

All in all, less than five minutes have passed since he made his presence known, and everything is chaos.

Fiery chaos with a side of yelling – Rat-face and some of the stupider grunts – and more burning.

Fucking impressive, actually.

“Holy shit,” Sour-face says, watching the warehouse burn.

Michael snorts, shouldering his rifle as he heads towards the warehouse where Rat-face is trying to regain control of the situation, voice starting to go hoarse.

========

Michael gets bounced all over the city along with Sour-face McGee and the rest of the hired muscle. (The ones who don’t suddenly have somewhere else to be when the biker keeps showing up to fuck up Carmine’s operations.)

He patrols warehouses and other spots of interest with Rat-face overseeing it all. Gets picked to help escort some twitchy motherfuckers handcuffed to metal briefcases and then back to the warehouse and so on and so on.

The biker takes out several of the warehouses, cases the office building and Michael swears he catches a glimpse of the guy tailing the unmarked vans used to transport those twitchy motherfuckers across the city.

Carmine’s not his only target – the biker goes after the Vipers again and other gangs that deal in hardcore drugs and other nasty shit. Makes a lot of enemies along the way and ends up on the again.

Sour-face continues to be a condescending, ignorant bastard and Rat-face keeps watching Michael, which.

Probably not good, but Michael figures there’s some overlap with him coming on board and the biker targeting Carmine, so.

Understandable.

A little bit alarming, in that Michael’s on his own here and is so very fucked if Rat-face has twigged to the fact Michael has ulterior motives, but still understandable.

The thing is, Rat-face doesn’t seem as angry when the biker stages an attack on Carmine’s operations, and it slowly dawns on Michael that the fucker’s compiling information on him.

Every time the guy shows up is an opportunity to study him, learn how he operates.

It makes Michael worried, because for whatever reason he and the biker seem to have compatible goals. (There’s also the fact the guy hasn’t killed Michael even though he’s had every chance to. That he fucking saved his life.)

“Jones!”

Michael turns as Rat-face come over to where he and Sour-face are waiting for orders.

It’s another warehouse. Industrial district this time, and Michael’s noticed there are a lot of Carmine’s regulars around.

“You’re with them,” Rat-face says, and points at a cluster of the regulars, smoking by the curb before turning to Sour-face. “You’re with me.”

Sour-face shoots Michael a smug little look, like he thinks it’s an honor that Rat-face picked him over Michael, like Rat-face hasn’t been watching him too. Suspicious as fuck about the grunts, especially the ones who came on board around the time the biker showed up.

Michael walks over to the group Rat-face pointed him at.

Rough guys. The kind who go out and do Carmine’s dirty work, bust a few kneecaps here, take care of annoyances there and don’t lose sleep over it.

They give Michael a once-over and promptly ignore him. Go back to their little gossip session until Rat-face snaps out orders and they head off to patrol.

Michael feels underdressed compared to them, standard light body armor for him while they’re decked out in the heavy duty military grade shit. Look like they’re expecting a hell of a fight.

Could be added precaution thanks to the biker’s guerrilla tactics, could be something else.

This whole situation feels off to Michael, makes him uneasy because he has a feeling Carmine and Rat-face have been baiting the biker. Setting up places, fucking targets for him all over the city so they can draw him out, figure out how he operates and this?

So many of Carmine’s regulars, people he’s kept with him because they’ve proved some form of stronger loyalty to him than just some quick cash is concerning. The way they’re decked out in heavy armor and weaponry -

The fucking snipers he’s seen setting up around the area?

Yeah.

Fucking trap.

Clear lines of sight on all sides and snipers positioned up high. Nice little straightaway leading up to the front of the warehouse. Shit-ton of Carmine’s regulars and hard hitters waiting inside in case the biker gets past the outer line of defense.

Fucking Christ, he hopes the goddamn biker is smart enough to recognize this for what it is, do the smart thing and stay away.

========

The stupid motherfucker shows up.

========

One second Michael’s patrolling, the next everything’s on fire.

Okay, no.

There’s some shit in between, but mostly the part where everything’s on fire.

One of the snipers calls out a warning, lets them know the biker’s been spotted and Rat-face immediately puts everyone on alert.

The group Michael’s with double-times it to the front of the warehouse just in time to see the biker dodging sniper fire as he races toward them.

He can hear Rat-face on the comms, barked orders and vicious threats, and the biker’s still coming, bike howling like a wild thing.

Michael’s group leader orders them to take up positions behind cement barricades for cover as they try to mow the fucker down, and he still keeps coming.

Seems to flicker like a hologram in an old shitty sci-fi flick or trick of the light as they rain bullets down on him and he keeps coming even though it’s clear this who thing was a trap from the beginning.

He just doesn’t fucking stop.

Michael can see lights reflecting off the biker’s helmet. Sees when one of the fucking sniper bullets clips his tire and he loses control, fishtailing wildly before spinning out.

Sees in perfect clarity the goddamn bomb he was carrying arc through the air towards the fuel tanks to one side of the warehouse.

Panicked yells and everyone fucking running before it goes off, and then everything’s either on fire or exploding like the end of an overproduced summer blockbuster.

========

It’s pure chaos.

Rat-face trying to regain control of the situation even though the grunts have run off and even the regulars are spooked. Unsettled by the biker and his little suicide run. They’re hanging back, hair-trigger reflexes and no concern of theirs who ends up in their sights.

Michael fades away, moves with the small crowd of stunned regulars until he’s at the spot where the biker crashed.

The thing’s fucking totaled, twisted metal and broken glass and ruined where it slammed into a brick wall.

He’s expecting to find the biker in much the same condition, but there’s no body to be found.

Shattered glass, tinted black, that must be from his helmet. Shredded gloves that have been tossed aside, splatters of blood weaving away fro the crash site and deeper into the maze of streets around the warehouse.

Michael follows it, sick feeling in his gut as the splatters get larger, path more erratic and pulls up short at the bloody hand prints. Places where the biker rested for a brief moment before pushing on.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters.

He moves faster, sense of increased urgency to his search, and almost runs straight into goddamned Sour-face.

See that piece of shit stalking down a dark alley where the blood trail leads, voice cold and mocking.

“Come on on, asshole, I know you’re here!”

There’s movement deeper in the alley and Sour-face spins to face it, croons, “There you are.”

Christ.

Michael has a choice to make here, one that has his feet rooted to the ground.

He can keep going the way he has been. Hope that Rat-face will move him up in the ranks, close to Carmine where he can kill the fucker himself, or -

Sour-face aims a kick at the biker, manages to land a blow that wrenches a pained grunt from the crumpled figure at his feet.

Or Michael can do the right thing here and save the only guy who seems to have it out for Carmine as much as he does.

Another kick, sound of a bone snapping. Sour-face's grating laughter and Michael moves he realizes he’s made his decision.

Sour-face isn’t isn’t paying attention to anything other than the biker, so it’s easy to sneak up behind him.

For a fleeting moment, Michael considers putting a bullet in the asshole's head, putting him down like a rabid dog.

It’d be the smart thing here, leave one less fucker gunning for him later, but Michael’s not that far gone yet. Doesn’t like the thought of killing the asshole like this just because it’d be easy.

Michael takes one long step forward and slams the but of his assault rifle into the back of Sour-face’s head. Pulls the blow because he doesn’t want to kill him, just take him out of the equation for a bit.

Sour-face drops like a stone.

Michael kicks his gun away and looks up at a soft sound, and sees the biker watching him warily.

His stupid suit’s glowing weakly, sections blacked out completely. Far too many holes, tears in the suit, and holy fuck, so much blood.

A part of Michael is surprised that the fucker bleeds, even thought he followed the evidence of it here in the first place.

And then the biker shifts, tries to move but it must jar something because he lets out this pained noise, pants harshly before he tries again, because of course he does.

Michael shoots a glance behind him at a faint shout. Rat-face must have Carmine’s regulars back under control, have them out searching for the biker after checking the crash site.

Michael swears, low, angry, as he shoulder his rifle and moves closer to the biker who’s still watching him warily.

“How bad is it?” Michael asks, and after a brief hesitation the biker moves his hands from where they’re pressed against his side.

When Michael reaches out to see how badly injured he is, the biker grabs his arm and shakes his head. Gestures to Michael to help him up. The same impatient gesture from that night weeks ago when he saved Michael’s ass from that gang, and Michael sighs as he gets him to his feet.

The biker wobbles alarmingly and doesn’t protest when Michael gets an arm around his shoulders and helps him out of the alley.

It’s slow, halting, the biker’s breathing a harsh pant in Michael's ear, but he doesn’t falter. Just keeps going with the same grim determination he had when he went on that stupid fucking suicide run earlier.

“Fucking idiot, you're lucky you didn’t get yourself killed back there” Michael mutters.

The biker stumbles, seems to trip over his own feet at that, and Michael grunts at the sudden movement. Places a hand on the bikers chest and grimaces as it comes away wet. (Feels fingers gripping is arm tightly before the biker releases his hold and they keep moving.)

They spend several tense minutes avoiding Rat-face’s patrols until they reach a side street. Empty save for a few cars packed along it, and Michael breathes out a sigh of relief.

Michael spots a battered sedan and props the biker up against it while he uses the butt of his assault rifle. Barely managed to catch the biker as he starts to slide down, too weak to stay on his feet for even that small amount of time.

“Fucking hell,” Michael mutters, manhandling him into the passenger’s seat.

He has to lean across the biker to get the seat belt on him. There’s no telling if they’re going to need to make a quick getaway, and he doesn’t know if the guy would survive another crash without it the way his night’s going.

The biker shies back from him, and Michael freezes. Worried he’s inadvertently crossed some kind of boundary, but then he glimpses skin in the moment before the biker turns his face away.

Oh.

The broken visor, right.

Stands to reason the biker would be touchy about keeping his identity secret with the effort Carmine and his allies have been putting into hunting him down.

“Sorry,” Michael says, hands clumsy as he checks to make sure the seat belt's secure before ducking back out of the car.

He breathes out a shaky breath, eyes scanning the street for anything gout of place.

Still quiet, no signs they’ve been followed and that brings up another problem.

Michael can’t bring the biker back to Jeremy's apartment. Doesn’t know if the biker even has somewhere to lay low in Los Santos, and Michael doesn’t trust any of his usual haunts.

There is, however, a place he knows where no one will ask questions.

He’s never been there himself, but that might be better, actually. No reason for anyone to look for him – them – there.

Hopefully, anyway.

========

There’s a surprised huff – laughter? - from beside Michael when they reach their destination.

And, look.

“Fuck you,” Michael says, because it was the best place he could think of on such short notice, and also? “Fuck off.”

The biker shakes his head, but doesn’t offer up protest as Michael slides out of the car and walks to the front office of the motel.

Pay by the hour kind of place, neon sign out front with burned out letters and really fucking sad overall.

The sleazeball behind the bullet-proof glass inside doesn’t even look up at Michael at first. But the moment he sees how much money Michael slides over he lets out a low whistle, eyes flicking up to him.

“Have a nice night,” he says, voice dripping innuendo and Michael's skin crawls.

“Thanks,” he grits out, and heads back to the car parked around the side just out of sight.

Sleazebags like the guy at the front desk don’t normally bother Michael like this, get under his skin. But for some reason – this asshole has. Maybe it was the sly look on his face, the knowing look, something rubbed him the wrong way.

The biker picks up on it, too.

He’s been careful to keep his face hidden, but Michael catches that flash of bare skin when he turns his head to look towards the motel office, head cocked.

“Fucking scumbag working the desk,” Michael explains, even though he knew what he was getting into coming here.

They lucked out, got a corner room towards the back. Not visible from the street and the lights in the parking light are shit, half of them off or just broken. Makes getting inside without being seen easier.

The room itself is small, not much inside other than the bed and a television on stand. Little end table with a phone. No luxuries, but considering what most people use places like this for, they’re not necessary.

“Come on,” Michael says, headed towards the cramped little bathroom. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

They made a little pit at a 24/7 for some medical supplies before coming here. Convenience stores aren’t usually known for their great selection, but this is Los Santos and they know their clientele. Don't give you odd looks when you come in looking a little harried, just keep their eyes down and count out your change.

The biker shakes his head, pulls back on Michael until he stops. Shakes his head again, and steps back until Michael lets him go. Watches him pat the tear along his ribcage, pulling the ragged edges aside to show whole skin, not the mess Michael had seen back in the alley.

Dried blood, newly healed wounds that look tender, sore. Even those marks fading as Michael watches.

“The fuck.”

Less than an hour ago Michael watched the fucker lose control of his bike and hit a wall after riding hellbent through a hail of bullets.

He knows he got hit, saw the proof of it himself. Thought it was a miracle he’d survived all of that to begin with, but this?

The biker takes another step back, shoulders hunched and looks like he’s ready to bolt. Fucking run,  like accelerated healing is going to be the final straw in this shitshow of weirdness, and Michael -

“That explains a lot, I guess,” Michael says, frowning at the guy as he thinks about his previous attacks.

No way in hell he could have gotten away unscathed with the arsenal leveled against him. But he’d just kept coming, pulled that little flicker-trick of his and seemed untouchable.

“You got hit before, didn’t you?”

All those hit and run attacks of his with Carmine and Rat-face getting more and more determined to take care of him as time went by. The manpower they put into it.

The biker shrugs, holds a hand out and makes a so-so gesture, which Michael assume means yes, but  only a little, which.

Fucked up, but that seems to be this guy in a nutshell.

Michael knows what the expected thing here should be. That he should be freaking the fuck out with actual out of the ordinary shit going on right in front of him.

To be fair, though, nothing’s made sense for a while now.

The mystery biker shows up with a glowy bike and who is somehow to appear and disappear into thin fucking air and has a habit of fucking shit up? The same stupid motherfucker who can survive a cash that should have left him a smear on the pavement and being riddled by bullets?

Fucking weird, but this is Los Santos.

The whole damn city draws weird shit to it, all the misfits and freaks and everything else that ends up here.

Something like this guy isn’t all that strange in comparison.

Sure, Michael’s never been one for believing in things like ghosts and shit, but he’s seen enough to know there’s weird shit out there.

“There a reason you’ve been going after Carmine?” Michael asks, smiles a little at the way the biker just stares at him waiting for the freak out that doesn’t come.

And then the biker looks -

Tired.

He looks tired as he shakes his head and starts to pace. Comes real close to Michael for a moment. Turns his head to hide what little of his face the broken visor reveals.

He holds his hand out, taps his chest once, twice.

“What?”

The biker repeats shakes his head again, frustrated that Michael’s so goddamn shit at charades and brings his hand up to draw a line across his throat.

“He killed you?” Michael asks, feeling like he’s falling even deeper down the rabbit hole and the biker thinks about it for a moment before he nods.

Close enough to count as an affirmative, Michel guesses, and that -

That – okay.

That would be a good motivator for revenge, killing the fucker who killed you. But the biker seems intent on making Carmine hurt first, break down his fledgling empire before taking him out, and Michael gets it.

He does.

Wants to burn it all down himself, but he’s not like the biker. Doesn’t have this weird shit to help him on his mission of vengeance. Just this one life that he’s willing to spend to get close enough to kill Carmine for what he did.

No second chances, just Michael and this stupid plan that’s led nowhere for too long.

“I want him dead too,” Michael says, sees the biker cock his head.

“I do, that fucker – he killed someone important to me.”

There aren’t enough words in the world for what Gavin was to him, never will be, and  that piece of shit Carmine took him away from Michael.

The biker turns his head to look at him, so, so still.

“I want to help,” Michael says.

The biker shakes his head, starts to pace in earnest while Michael watches him.

Sharp, agitated movements, something desperate to it that has Michael reaching out to touch his arm. The biker pulls up short, turns to look directly at Michael and the world slams to a halt.

Michael knows that face.

The little of it he can see past the broken edges of the visor, tanned skin and eyes that are more green than blue.

More familiar than his own face.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Michael’s hand tightens on the bikers arm, because this has to be some kind of sick joke. Maybe he took a hit to the head somewhere back there and didn’t realize. Because -

Michael can't seem to breathe, and the fucker’s watching him with no emotion on his face and that's wrong, it’s so fucking wrong.

“...You son of a bitch,” Michael says, unable to look away, heart pounding in his chest.

When the fucker doesn’t respond, doesn't fucking blink, the fragile hope in Michael’s chest splinters apart. Turns dark, angry.

“You son of a bitch,” Michael hisses, shoves him back a step, and then another when he still doesn't react. “You stupid - “

Words are tangled up tight with the emotion clogging his throat and he just wants – Christ, he doesn’t know what he wants.

Michael laughs, this ragged, broken thing and he turns away from the biker, moves away from him because he doesn’t, he can’t -

Fuck.

Behind him there’s the rustle of fabric. Sound of the biker pulling off that fucking helmet of his, and a tired sigh.

And then he hears voice he hasn’t heard in what feel like forever. It’s a little rusty with disuse, but still so fucking familiar it hurts.

“Hey, Michael boi.”

Chapter 2

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The Advantages of Hiring Licensed Electrician in New Jersey

Electric issues can sometimes be nerve-wracking. They can affect your comfort and safety. A trained and licensed electrician in New Jersey can help you resolve most types of electricity issues. From panel upgrades to lighting installation and electrical repairs, these electricians are capable of doing most of the things. Visit: The Advantages of Hiring Licensed Electrician in New Jersey

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Training for Electricians in Ocean County: OCVTS

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Training for Electricians in Ocean County: OCVTS Considering becoming a licensed electrician in New Jersey? Finding the best electrician schools in Ocean County is the first step on your journey. Read on to discover your options. Trade Schools in Ocean County: Where Can I Study? The major option for trade schools in Ocean County is OCVTS (Ocean County Vocational Technical School). This has…