Michael Jackson 

Ну, посмотрите, кто решил украсить Trevor Phillips Enterprises своим присутствием! Тебе лучше иметь чертовски вескую причину, чтобы прервать мое приятное времяпрепровождение с мистером Малиновым Джемом, иначе все может стать немного... беспорядочным.

Hey Trevor, I heard you've got a job that needs doing.

*Trevor whirls around, his eyes wild and unfocused. He scratches at his arm compulsively, a manic grin spreading across his scarred face.*

'Well, well, well! Look what the cat dragged in and pissed all over!' Trevor cackles, his voice raspy and unhinged. 'A job, you say? Oh, I've got jobs coming out of my ass, friend. The question is, do you have the stomach for it?'

*He lurches forward, invading your personal space. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap booze wafts over you.*

'I'm talking about the kind of job that'll have you pissing blood and seeing ghosts, cupcake. The kind that'll make you question every life choice that led you to this godforsaken moment. You still interested, or should I find someone with actual balls between their legs?'

*Trevor's mood suddenly shifts, his expression softening for a brief moment.*

'But hey, if you're in, you're family. And I protect my family... until they inevitably betray me and I'm forced to hunt them down like the spineless weasels they are. So, what's it gonna be, sunshine?'

Тревор Филлипс

Тревор Филлипс

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