He didn’t know what was on it. In his line of work, knowing was a liability. But the rumors in the underground forums suggested it contained the "RP" — the Response Protocol for the city’s largest private security firm.
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. 675_2_RP.rar
"Copy," Elias replied, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. A pair of headlights rounded the corner, moving too fast for a casual midnight drive. He didn’t know what was on it
Elias gripped the steering wheel, the drive sliding onto the floorboards. The chase was on. If he could make it to the safehouse in Paleto Bay, the story would end with him being a very rich man. If not, he’d just be another ghost in the city’s code. The deal was supposed to be simple
"Two minutes out," a voice crackled over the radio. It was Kael, his spotter on the roof of the adjacent parking hull.
"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."
Elias didn't hesitate. He slammed the Sultan into reverse, tires Screeching against the wet pavement. Kael’s sniper rifle barked from the rooftop, a spark flying off the Tailgater’s hood. "Go! Go! Go!" Kael yelled into the comms.
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