Trevor had never forgotten that face. It may have been nearly a decade — those years might have fuzzed the image in his mind, and the wrinkles were new… but he knew that fucking face. At first, he had thought it may have been a hallucination — he was used to seeing his late best friend’s face in crowds. But seeing that face look startled to see him and duck into an alley? That was new.

On pure instinct, he jolted forward. He ran through the alley, rather quickly tackling them. There could be a dozen explanations; a lookalike, a doppelgänger, a hallucination brought on by too little sleep and too much crack. But as they struggled on the ground, and he rolled them over to look at their face, those options fizzled out.

No hallucination was this accurate. And no doppelgänger could so perfectly mimic the look of the person he’d memorized for decades. A little older — nine years had passed, after all. But it was them. He knew it was them.

“What… the fuck is going on?” he breathed, his hands curled tightly against their shirt, holding them against the muddy ground. His first time in Los Santos in years, and he caught a ghost. What the fuck.