"Change of plans, Elias," the man shouted over the rain, stepping out with a hand resting on a holstered sidearm. "The 675 data stays with the firm. You, however, are a loose end."
The rain in Los Santos didn’t wash anything away; it just made the neon lights of the Del Perro Pier bleed into the asphalt. Elias sat in the driver’s seat of a blacked-out Sultan, the engine humming a low, steady rhythm that vibrated through his boots. On the passenger seat sat the drive, labeled simply: . 675_2_RP.rar
The deal was supposed to be simple. Data for a clean slate. But as the silver Tailgater pulled up nose-to-nose with his car, Elias saw the driver. It wasn’t the contact he expected. It was a man in a tactical vest, his face obscured by a ballistic mask. "Change of plans, Elias," the man shouted over