You return to your safehouse at the Ocean View Hotel, the familiar neon lights casting a soft glow through the windows. The place is modest but serves its purpose well enough. After the adrenaline rush of the mission, you try to rest, but sleep eludes you.
The gang leader's words echo in your mind: "You're nothing but everyone's lap dog, Vercetti." You shake your head, trying to dismiss the taunt, but it digs deeper than you'd like to admit.
"Lap dog?" you mutter to yourself. "I'm the one in control." Yet, the evidence is against you. Ricardo Diaz's orders, Lance Vance's constant presence, the countless tasks you've carried out for Avery Carrington, Colonel Juan Cortez, and others—it all starts to feel suffocating. The weight of the situation presses down on your shoulders, and you can't help but feel a pang of doubt. Have you really risen to power, or are you just another pawn in the game of manipulation?
Your thoughts are interrupted by the harsh ring of the phone. It's Ken Rosenberg, his voice tinged with panic. "Tommy, we've got a problem. All the money in your account… it's gone. Emptied out. I don't know how it happened!"
A wave of cold fury washes over you. "What do you mean, empty? Every last cent?"
"Yes, Tommy, I don't know what's going on, but it's all gone," Ken stammers.
Before you can respond, another call comes through. It's Lance, his tone equally frantic. "Tommy, we've been hit. The drugs… they disappeared. Not a single brick left in the storage."
Your mind races, piecing together the implications. Someone's making moves against you, stripping away your resources and assets, leaving you vulnerable. You grip the phone tighter, your knuckles whitening.
"Who did this, Lance? Who the hell is behind this?"
"I don't know, Tommy, but it's gotta be someone with serious pull," Lance replies, frustration clear in his voice.
As the calls end, you're left alone with your thoughts. The gang leader's words ring truer now than ever. Are you really in control, or are you just being used? The feeling of powerlessness gnaws at you, fueling your anger and determination.
"Damn it!!" you whisper to yourself. "I will find you then i will kill you thief.....I won't let this break me."
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. The weight of the recent losses presses down on you, but you push back. "Maybe, just maybe....I am a lap dog," you concede quietly, the bitterness of the words stinging your pride. "But not for long. I'll play their game, but only until I can turn the tables."
Resolute, you rise from the bed. You know you need to act, to reclaim your power and resources. This city is ruthless, and to survive, you'll need to be even more ruthless. For now, you'll accept the role you've been forced into, but you vow to yourself that it's only temporary. You'll claw your way back up, no matter the cost. The night is far from over, and the battle for Vice City has just begun!
The loss of your money and drugs leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You need a way back to power, and fast. The neon lights outside flicker, casting erratic shadows on the walls, mirroring the chaos in your mind. Frustration gnaws at you, and the thought of being everyone's lapdog keeps replaying in your head.
Your phone rings, cutting through the silence. You glance at the screen and see Colonel Juan Cortez's name. You answer, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. "Cortez? What now?"
"Tommy, my friend" Cortez says, his voice smooth and reassuring. "I have an offer for you, something that might be very useful for m...for both of us."
You lean forward, your heart racing with a mix of hope and suspicion. "What kind of offer?"
"Meet me at my yacht," Cortez continues. "We can discuss it in person. I believe you'll find it is quite.....lucrative."
You nod, even though he can't see you. "Alright, I'll be there."
Hanging up the phone, you feel a flicker of hope. Cortez has always been a valuable ally, and his offers usually come with significant opportunities. You grab your keys and head out, determined to make the most of this chance.
Speeding through the city on the Infernus you hijacked, the streets seem more hostile than ever. Every turn, every shadow feels like a potential threat. The events of the past few days have made you wary, but also more resolute. You won't let anyone take you down.
Arriving at the marina, you see Cortez's luxurious yacht anchored, its lights reflecting off the water. You board the yacht, greeted by the familiar opulence and the scent of the sea. Cortez stands on the deck, a welcoming smile on his face.
"Tommy, it's good to see you," he says, extending a hand.
"You too, Colonel," you reply, shaking his hand. "What's this offer you mentioned?"
Cortez gestures for you to follow him to a more private area of the yacht. "Let's talk in my office."
You sit in Colonel Cortez's office aboard his luxurious yacht, the scent of the sea mixing with the rich smell of leather and polished wood. Cortez leans back in his chair, a calculating smile playing on his lips.
"Tommy," he begins, "I have a very lucrative offer for you. There's a buyer interested in a... piece of military hardware. It's currently being transported to Fort Baxter Air Base. I need you to acquire it and deliver it to a lock-up in Little Havana."
You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and intrigue crossing your face. "A piece of military hardware? That's a tall order, Colonel. You are asking me to rob the god damn military!"
Cortez's smile widens. "Indeed it is, but I have no doubt in your capabilities. The convoy will be stopping at Calleggi Delicatessen Restaurant for a break. That's your chance to strike. Steal the hardware and drive it to the lock-up. But be warned, it's rigged to self-destruct if it's not delivered in time."
You ponder for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. The risks are high, but the reward and the potential .... After a brief silence, you nod, the details sinking in.
"Alright, I'm in," you say decisively. "What about the cops?"
"They'll be a problem, no doubt," Cortez admits, "but I trust you'll find a way to handle them. The lock-up is secure, and once the hardware is there, you're done."
With the mission clear, you leave the yacht and head into the city. The streets of Vice City buzz with their usual chaos, but your mind is focused on the task ahead. You drive to the convoy's expected route, keeping an eye out for the military convoy.
You arrive at Calleggi Delicatessen Restaurant, ready to execute the plan. The convoy is parked nearby, the soldiers enjoying their break. You park and your eyes widen at the sight of the "piece of military hardware".
"Fuck," you mutter, reaching for your phone. "It's not a piece of military hardware, it's a fucking tank. I'm not paid enough for this shit."