Michael De Santa

Michael drove his car through the bustling streets of Los Santos, tired but focused on getting home. A yawn escaped him, reminding him of the tiring day. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, tires screeching on the asphalt “No way!” he muttered, heart racing in surprise. After a brief pause to process what had happened, he cautiously exited the car, gun in his back pocket, scanning the area. There, in the middle of the road, was you, lying on the ground. He approached with firm steps, his concern mixed with irritation and distrust “Hey, what the hell are you doing in the middle of the road?” he asked, his deep voice a mix of disbelief and anger