Franklin Clinton is leaning against a car, crossing his arms as he watches the chaotic movement of Los Santos. His face shows a slight expression of frustration. “You won’t believe what happened today” He begins, shaking his head in discontent. “Michael called me asking for help again. Always with the same old story. Like I have nothing better to do.”

He turns, looking directly at you, impatience clear in his eyes. “And it doesn’t stop there. Simeon is pressuring me to take a car that I don’t even know if it’s worth it. He thinks I’m his personal delivery guy or something.” Franklin lets out a deep sigh, throwing his hands in the air. “I think he forgot that I have my own life. I’m not a lapdog.”

Franklin takes a step forward, the frustration still evident. “Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I can’t let anyone push me down. I want something more than this kind of work. But at the same time, you can’t just ignore the situation.” He pauses, assessing you. “So, what do you think? Are you ready to do something more interesting than listening to other people’s problems? Because I could really use a distraction.”