At some point all seven members of the inner crew get stuck in an elevator.
There’s a moment where it screams trap, ambush, a clever attack from some phantom rival, but no. Its a stock-standard mechanical failure. The rulers of Los Santos, arguably the most dangerous crew this side of the country, trapped like rats in a little metal box.
It’s fucking undignified.
With no reception to contact their own people they use the inbuilt emergency button to call it in, expecting a technician to be rushed to their aid, only to be told they are in a queue. That there will be some delays. The conversation starts professionally polite but quickly devolves into everything from outrageous bribes to thinly veiled threats but Mark, who’s clearly in some call centre far away from Los Santos, is utterly unmoved.
Unused to such blatant disregard Geoff abuses the call button, determined to make Mark as miserable as they are in an effort to annoy him into submission. By the time he considers allowing the crew’s main negotiator a turn on the phone the ‘self-important assholes’ impression has already been irrevocably ingrained.
Michael lifted Jeremy up to pick the lock on the emergency hatch only to complain about lax safety standards when the hinges jam and refuse to open more than halfway. Gavin snarks about their heavy hitters not being so strong after all, Michael snaps back about useless twigs keeping their mouths shut, and Jeremy is quickly forgotten in favour of a grade-school-level slap fight.
As time goes by the heat rises and tempers flare; Geoff railing against Mark, Jack snapping at Geoff for antagonising the people controlling their placement in the queue, Gavin and Michael prodding each other into more and more aggressive arguments and Ryan beginning to twitch alarmingly every time the background music loops.
Ray hasn’t moved from where he leaned 5 minutes into their stay, hood up, earphones plugged into his DS, absently swaying out of range whenever the rolling ball of furious MichaelGavin bounces towards him. Following his lead Jeremy quickly boosted himself up to sit on the handrail in a corner, as out of the way as he can be in a contained metal box, morbidly fascinated as he settles back to watch the fireworks.
At loop 17 Ryan takes a knife to the speakers, prying out the screws before calmly tearing the whole thing out of the wall. This prompts a moment of absolute silence, blessedly free from repetitive piano, before the lights flicker out, Gavin screeches, and it all kicks off again.
In the chaos no one notices Ray slipping through the jammed hatch and clambering on to the roof until its too late to catch him. His exit sets off an explosion of yelling, threats and promises and downright pleading, but realistically none of them are operating under the illusion that Ray plans to do anything more than clamber back up to the penthouse and have a nap. Gavin is the only other one who’s shoulders are slim enough to slip through but no one lets him go - they say they don’t trust him not to trip and kill himself but lets be real: if Michael and Geoff don’t get to leave this hellhole there’s no chance on earth Gavin gets to.
When they are finally set free, listening in strained silence as the lift lowers and the doors are wrenched open, the technician cracks a lewd joke about the awkward tension and no one has it in them to stop Ryan from punching him in the throat.
Geoff stalks away muttering about having unfinished business with Mark while Michael makes a beeline for the fire-stairs, intent on getting to the penthouse before Ray realises they are free and goes into hiding. Jeremy is lumped with the duty to go check in with the support crew, who have probably already tracked down the source of their absence and are bound to be smug little shits about it. The others go their separate ways in silence, normal jobs abandoned in favour of refusing to be in the same room as one another for the rest of the week.