You come to the address Cortez gave you, finding yourself in front of a dilapidated shack. The Skumole Shack in southeastern Downtown, Vice City, looks like it hasn't been maintained in years. Its walls are cracked, paint peeling off, and the windows are either boarded up or shattered. The roof sags ominously, and the entire structure seems to lean slightly to one side.
You take a deep breath and approach the door, half expecting it to fall off its hinges as you push it open. Inside, the air is musty, filled with the scent of decay and neglect. The interior is dimly lit, with only a few rays of sunlight piercing through the gaps in the walls. Dust motes dance in the air, and the floorboards creak under your weight.
The place is eerily quiet, but you press on, knowing this is where you need to be. The address leads you further inside, deeper into the gloom of the shack.
You step carefully, the creaking of the floorboards echoing in the oppressive silence. The interior of the shack is filled with the remnants of its past—a broken chair here, a rusted metal table there, and stacks of yellowed newspapers that crumble to the touch. Cobwebs stretch across the corners, and a thick layer of dust coats every surface.
As you move further in, you notice strange markings on the walls, symbols you don't recognize, scratched into the peeling paint. The shack's dilapidated state gives it a haunting, almost post-apocalyptic feel. Each step you take stirs up more dust, making you cough slightly as the particles fill the air.
You glance around, your eyes adjusting to the dim light. There's an odd feeling of being watched, a sense that you're not alone in this decaying space. Your instincts, honed by years in the underworld, tell you to stay alert.
Suddenly, a glint catches your eye. You look up and see a small, barely noticeable camera nestled in the corner of the ceiling, its lens trained directly on you. The red light next to it indicates it's active, and you realize that someone, somewhere, is watching your every move.
Then you feel the cold, hard barrel of a gun press against the back of your head. You freeze, your instincts screaming at you to stay calm.
"Who the hell are you?" a voice growls from behind.
"Relax," you say slowly, your hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Cortez sent me."
"Turn around, slowly" the voice commands.
You do as you're told, turning to face a man in his late forties with graying hair and a weathered face. He's holding a handgun steady, his eyes full of suspicion. He urges you to get inside the secret room he has just walked out. Inside the room, you can see a lot of military tech: a set of encrypted radios, a dismantled FH-1 Hunter attack helicopter's targeting system, and several crates labeled "Property of US Army."
The man lowers his gun slightly but keeps it ready. "Cortez, huh? What's he got you doing now?"
You reach into your pocket and pull out the small device, holding it out for him to see. "I need to know what this is. Cortez thought you might have the answers."
He takes the device, turning it over in his hands and examining it closely. "This is military-grade tech. Not something you find on the streets. What's your interest in it?"
You shrug, trying to play it cool. "Let's just say it's part of a bigger puzzle I'm trying to solve. Can you help or not?"
He looks at the device and then you. He seems to be weighing his options, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk.
"Alright" he finally says, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I can help you with this. But it's gonna cost you."
You raise an eyebrow. "What do you need?"
He leans forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I've got a couple of issues that need handling. You do this for me, and I'll open that device and give you all the help you need. Deal?"
You nod, signaling for him to continue.
"Here are a few ideas," he begins, ticking them off on his fingers:
Intercept a Shipment: "There's a shipment of advanced tech arriving at the docks tonight. I need it intercepted and delivered here. The catch? It's heavily guarded, and you'll have to avoid or neutralize the security detail without drawing too much attention."
Rescue an Asset: "One of my top guys got pinched by a rival gang. They're holding him at an old warehouse in Little Haiti. I need you to get in there, free him, and bring him back safely. He knows things that can't fall into the wrong hands."
Sabotage a Competitor: "There's a tech lab downtown that's been causing me a lot of problems. I need you to sneak in there and plant this virus on their mainframe. It'll set them back months, maybe even years."
Retrieve Sensitive Data: "A certain briefcase full of sensitive documents got lost during a deal gone bad. Last I heard, it was in the hands of some street punks over in Viceport. Retrieve it, and I'll make sure your device gets the attention it needs."
Eliminate a Threat: "There's a hitman who's been sniffing around, asking too many questions about my operations. I need him... taken care of. Discreetly."
You ponder the options, knowing that each task comes with its own set of risks and rewards. "Alright. I'll take care of one of these for you. But you better hold up your end of the bargain."
He nods, the sly grin never leaving his face. "You do this for me, and I promise you'll get what you need. Just don't keep me waiting."
You decide on the last option. Eliminating a threat feels more straightforward than navigating complex heists or dealing with potential hostages.
"Then..." you say, leaning forward. "I'll take care of this hitman for you. Where do I find him?"
His grin widens. "Good choice. The guy's name is Victor 'Viper' Sanz. He's been seen around Viceport, usually hanging around the docks. Last report had him holed up in a rundown warehouse near the old shipping yard. Be careful. He's good—real good."
You nod, feeling the weight of the task ahead. "Consider it done."
He leans back, seemingly satisfied. "I'll be waiting for your call."
You leave the Skumole Shack, your mind focused on the mission ahead. As you head to Viceport, you mentally prepare yourself for the confrontation. This isn't just about getting the device opened; it's about securing your position and removing a dangerous threat.