On the horizon, a wall of black water rose. It was taller than the Maze Bank Tower, a liquid mountain capped with white foam. The wasn't just a rumor anymore; it was a reality that was about to delete the city.
As Michael pulled the pitch lever and climbed into the sky, he looked down. Los Santos was becoming an aquarium. The Del Perro Freeway was a river of floating cars and screaming alarms. Skyscrapers became islands. He saw a shark swim past a penthouse window on the 40th floor.
"So," Franklin panted, pulling himself into the cabin. "Where do we go now? There ain't no Los Santos left to lick."
The sirens began to wail. Michael didn't run for his car—he ran for the roof. He reached his yellow Frogger chopper just as the first wave hit the Santa Maria Pier. The pier didn't just break; it vanished. The Ferris wheel snapped like a toothpick, swallowed instantly by the surge.
