Chương 55: Chapter 55: Reflection

"We're almost there!" Lance says, relief evident in his voice.

"Just a little more!" you shout, skidding around a corner and finally bursting through a line of bushes, skidding to a halt. "Get out! Now!" you yell, both of you scrambling out of the car.

As you and Lance dive out of the car, you spot a small utility van parked nearby. "Over here!" you shout, dragging Lance towards it. "We need to switch vehicles and lose them for good."

Lance nods, understanding your plan. "Quick thinking, Tommy."

You pry open the door of the van, and both of you jump inside. You hotwire the ignition, the engine roaring to life. "Let's get out of here," you say, slamming the gas pedal.

The van speeds off, leaving the patrol car behind as a decoy. You take a series of winding back roads, constantly checking the display in your contact lenses to monitor the police presence. The display shows your current position and a diminishing number of red blips representing the police cars in pursuit.

"Did we lose them?" Lance asks, glancing nervously out the window.

"Not yet," you reply, taking a sharp turn onto a narrow alleyway. The van's tires screech, but you maintain control. "Hold on, this is going to be tight."

You navigate through a labyrinth of alleys and side streets, each turn carefully planned to throw off any potential pursuers. The display shows the police blips gradually disappearing as you gain distance.

"Looks like we're in the clear," Lance says, a hint of relief in his voice.

"Not until we're sure," you mutter, taking one last turn and pulling into an underground parking garage. You park the van in a secluded spot, turning off the engine. "We'll wait here for a bit."

The dimly lit garage is eerily quiet, the sound of your heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence. You and Lance sit in the van, tension hanging in the air.

"Man, that was close," Lance finally says, rubbing his temples. "I thought we were done for."

"We've been through worse," you reply, trying to sound confident. "Let's give it a few more minutes, then we'll head back."

As you wait, you go over the events in your mind. The contact lenses indicate your health has dropped from the chaos, but you're still standing. After a few tense minutes, you check the display again and see that the police presence has all but vanished.

"Okay, I think we're good," you say, starting the van once more. "Let's head back to the mansion, but take it slow and easy."

Lance nods. "Yeah, let's not draw any more attention. Also, get rid of these uniforms, they are stink"

You drive out of the parking garage, blending in with the regular traffic. The journey back to the Vercetti Estate is uneventful, the tension gradually easing. When you finally pull up to the mansion, you let out a long breath.

"Home sweet home," Lance says, stepping out of the van. "I could use a drink after that."

"You and me both," you reply, patting him on the shoulder. "But first, we need to debrief and figure out our next move."

Inside the mansion, you head straight for the bar, pouring a couple of stiff drinks. Lance takes his with a grateful nod, and the two of you sit down to catch your breath.

"Alright, we've got to be more careful from now on," you say, taking a sip. "The heat is on, and we can't afford any more close calls like that."

"Agreed," Lance replies. "But hey, at least we pulled it off. That café won't be causing us any more problems."

You nod, a grim smile on your face. "Yeah, but now we've got to deal with the fallout. The FBI's not going to let this slide."

Lance raises his glass. "Here's to making it through another day."

You clink glasses with Lance, the harsh burn of the alcohol providing a temporary relief from the day's chaos. Knowing that the battle is far from over, you take a moment to savor the hard-earned respite.

"To making it through another day," you murmur, more to yourself than to Lance.

He nods, raising his glass again before downing its contents. You follow suit, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

After a while, you retire to your room. As you collapse onto the bed, your mind begins to churn. You think back to the final confrontation with Diaz. You hoped that would be the last of your troubles, the end of the bloodshed. But trouble has a way of finding you, no matter how hard you try to escape it. That's life in Vice City—a relentless cycle of violence and betrayal.

Your thoughts drift to the empty safe from NOC's final warning file. What was supposed to be in there? The curiosity gnaws at you. You sit up, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. Opening a table drawer, you retrieve the small piece of black cloth. You hold it between your fingers, feeling its texture. It's unmistakably from a bulletproof vest.

You roll the cloth between your fingers, lost in thought. "Is this related to those black-clad men from NOC's apartment?" you wonder aloud. The memory of them comes back, the way they moved with military precision, the sense of dread that hung in the air.

You remember that they reported back to their boss, saying they hadn't found anything. But if they were there before you, did they miss something? Or was the safe emptied before they arrived? The questions circle in your mind, each one leading to another dead end.

"What were you hiding, NOC?" you mutter, staring at the cloth as if it could provide answers. The small, seemingly insignificant piece feels like a key to a puzzle you can't quite solve.

You stand up, pacing the room. The walls feel like they're closing in, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on you. This isn't just about power and control anymore. It's about finding out what's really going on, understanding the bigger picture.

"Did NOC know they were coming?" you muse, trying to piece together the fragmented clues. "And if so, why leave this behind? Was it a message, or just something overlooked in the chaos?"

Your gaze wanders to the mirror, catching the faint reflection of your eyes. The lenses you're wearing feel alien, a constant reminder of the technology embedded in your life now. They're so modern, so futuristic. You wonder why you were given them. Why did you get them? The night after the party is a blur—someone must have slipped them to you without your knowing.

You remember the haze of that night, the alcohol dulling your senses, the laughter of the hookers who had been with you, the dim lights of the Ocean View Hotel. Everything melds together in a foggy recollection. Who could have approached you then, amidst the chaos and celebration?

"Again, i asked this before. What am I, some kind of game character?" you mutter, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips. The HUD, the constant stream of information—it's like living in a simulation. The irony isn't lost on you.

You pace the room, the questions gnawing at you. Why these lenses? What's their purpose? Are they a gift, or a curse? And who the hell gave them to you?

Frustration bubbles up, but you know dwelling on it won't change anything tonight. You need rest, even if sleep feels impossible. You lie back down, the weight of the day's events pressing down on you.

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the relentless stream of thoughts. The room feels colder, the darkness more oppressive. You struggle to find a comfortable position, the images of the day flashing behind your closed eyelids.

With a sigh, you turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up. The city's distant sounds filter in through the window, a constant reminder of the chaos waiting for you outside.

Sleep finally starts to creep in, the questions slowly fading into the background. Tomorrow, you'll continue searching for answers. But for now, you let the exhaustion take over, dragging you into a restless slumber.