He found it at the very bottom of the list:

He unpaused. CJ stood there, perfectly fine. Marcus had activated the toggle first.

“Whoa,” Marcus whispered.

When the image returned, CJ was no longer in Los Santos. He was standing in a grey, infinite grid—a void of green wireframes and floating text. This was the backdoor. The raw code of the game given form.

The chaos was too much, too fast. Marcus wanted control. He wanted the menu’s crown jewel.

Marcus was 14 years old. Of course he entered.