Ready for whatever comes next, you climb onto the shack. The wooden planks creak under your weight, and the salty sea air fills your lungs. The structure looks like it's about to collapse, but you press on, determined to find what you came for.
Inside, the shack is sparsely furnished, with only a few old chairs and a table covered in dust. Your eyes scan the room, looking for anything out of place. Then, in the corner, you notice a small, rusted safe partially hidden under a pile of rags.
You approach the safe, a sense of anticipation building. Kneeling down, you push the rags aside and examine the lock. Realizing you don't have the tools to pick it, you decide on a more direct approach.
"Let's see how you like this," you mutter, pulling out your gun. You take aim and fire a single shot - the last bullet case in the gun chamber flying out as the bullet hit the lock. The bullet hits with a loud clang, and the lock shatters, the door swinging open.
You lean forward, eager to see what's inside, but your heart sinks as you find the safe completely empty. No documents, no device, nothing.
"Son of a bitch," you curse, stepping back. It was all for nothing. Your frustration builds as you kick the safe, the empty metal box rattling in protest.
As you turn to leave the shack, something catches your eye. A small piece of black cloth is stuck on a nearby splintered piece of wood outside the shack. You pick it up, examining it closely. It looks like it's from a black vest, but there's no other clue to its significance.
You ponder the piece of cloth, wondering how it's related to the safe and what it means. With no answers in sight, you head back to the boat, your mood sinking. The journey back feels even longer, the weight of your failure pressing down on you. The sharks have dissipated, leaving the water eerily calm. As you fire up the engine and steer back towards Vice City, you can't shake the feeling of being watched.
The lights of Vice City come into view, but they offer little comfort. You dock the boat and step onto solid ground, your mind racing with questions and no answers. This lead has taken you nowhere, and you need to figure out your next move.
You have to return the boat to Diaz first.
After steering the boat back towards Diaz's mansion, trying to piece together the significance of the black cloth and what your next step should be. As you approach the dock, you notice something unusual—Diaz isn't there.
You dock the boat and head inside the mansion, looking for any sign of Diaz. The place is eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the usual chaos that surrounds him. You search the rooms, but there's no sign of him anywhere. Frustration builds as you realize you're at another dead end.
"Where the hell is he?" you mutter to yourself, pacing back and forth.
Just as you're about to leave, one of Diaz's henchmen approaches, his tone full of sacarsm. "Tommy, Diaz had to step out for a while. He left a message for you—says he'll be back later tonight."
Before you can react, a bunch of Diaz's henchmen appear out of nowhere, surrounding you. You instinctively reach for your gun to remember that you're already out of bullets. They close in, weapons drawn, a menacing look in their eyes.
"You picked the wrong day to mess with me," you growl, launching yourself at the nearest henchman. You punch and kick, dodging the bullets coming in while using some of them as meat shield, then taking down a few more with swift, brutal moves. The fight is intense, fists flying, bullets grazing, bodies slamming into walls and furniture. The henchmen keep coming, but you hold your ground, adrenaline surging through your veins.
"Get him! Now!" one of them shouts, and they swarm you all at once. Despite your best efforts, there are too many of them. They hit you from all sides, blood spurting from your mouth, your vision darkening, everything spinning around you. For every one you take down, another takes his place.
"You're a tough one," one of the henchmen grunts, landing a hard blow to your gut. "But not tough enough."
The world starts to blur as the hits keep coming. You fight to stay on your feet, but your strength is fading. With a final, brutal strike to your head, everything goes black.
Before you lose consciousness, you hear one of them say, "The boss will be back soon. He'll deal with him personally."
You wake up sometime later, your head pounding and your body aching. As your vision clears, you realize you're tied up on the pool deck behind Diaz's mansion. The ropes dig into your wrists and ankles, securing you tightly to a chair. The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the water.
You struggle to look around, your eyes bruised and your muscles aching. Every movement feels like you're being burned alive. You spot a sharp piece of broken glass stuck in a nearby piece of wood. Carefully, you inch your body towards it, feigning unconsciousness as best as you can.
Just as you reach the glass and begin cutting the ropes binding your wrists, you hear footsteps. One of Diaz's henchmen walks over, checking on you. You go limp, keeping your breathing steady and slow. The henchman nudges you with his foot, muttering something under his breath.
Suddenly, his radio crackles to life. "We caught Lance. He's at the junkyard. Keep him there and make sure he talks."
The henchman responds, "Got it. I'll check on our guy here and head over."
As he turns to leave, you continue cutting the ropes, your movements slow and deliberate to avoid detection. Finally, the ropes give way. You spring to your feet, catching the henchman by surprise. Before he can react, you slam the piece of glass into his neck. He drops to the ground, clutching his wound.
"Wrong place, wrong time, fucker" you mutter, grabbing his gun and heading for the exit.
You sneak through the mansion, taking out a few guards silently. As you approach the garage, you see a Blista Compact, it is a red, two-door hatchback with a sleek, sporty design. It features a compact frame, black trim, and alloy wheels, giving it a nimble and agile appearance parked there. Perfect. You jump in and start the engine, the car roaring to life.
"Lance, you troublemaker. Your mess is my mess now," you sneer in your mind as you speed out of Diaz's mansion and head towards the junkyard.
The streets whoosh as you push the car pedal, your mind focused on saving Lance and getting out alive. The tires screech as you make sharp turns, speeding through the chaotic crossroads. Leaving out the cursing of pedestrians.
You arrive at the junkyard, the smell of oil and rust filling the air. You can see the storage hangar at the rear, where Lance is likely being held. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for the fight ahead.
You sneak through the junkyard, taking out a few guards silently. As you get closer to the hangar, you spot more of Diaz's goons. There's no avoiding it now. You open fire, your bullets cutting through the air and dropping the guards one by one.
"Who the hell is this guy?" one of the henchmen shouts as you take down another of Diaz's men.
"It's Vercetti! Take him out!" another yells, firing wildly in your direction.
You duck behind a stack of rusty barrels, returning fire and hitting the henchman in the shoulder. He falls back with a cry of pain, dropping his gun.
"Come on, you bastards! Is that all you got?" you taunt, moving forward and taking down another guard.
The gunfire echoes through the junkyard, drawing more henchmen out of the shadows. You fight your way to the storage hangar, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Each step is a struggle, but you push through, determined to save Lance.
As you reach the hangar, you find Lance tied to a chair, battered and bleed a lot of blood. He might not be alive.