This city never truly sleeps; it merely passes out from consuming too much cocaine and false promises. Under the glow of neon lights reflecting off the wet asphalt, Las Venturas resembles a high-class prostitute wearing a sequined dress—sparkling from afar, but if you get closer, you'll smell sweat, alcohol, and despair.
My name doesn't matter. On these streets, I'm simply known as 'the Courier'. My job is simple: don't ask questions, don't snoop, and don't be late.
That night, my fake Rolex watch showed two in the morning. I sat behind the wheel of an old black saloon car that smelled of instant coffee mixed with the lingering scent of cheap perfume from the night before. In the passenger seat, a jet-black crocodile leather bag lay quietly. Don Tua—the man who fed half the police in this city—said that the contents of this bag were "my future".
I lit a cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling it onto the fogged-up windscreen.
"A heavy future," I muttered, weighing the bag.
Something was strange. The bag wasn't heavy like a pile of cash, nor was it light like documents. There was a dense, cold weight to it, and... I could swear I heard a faint ticking from inside. Not the ticking of a mechanical clock, but something more rhythmic. More organic.
My destination was The Gilded Rose, an exclusive casino in the central district where people with more money than sense spent their nights. There, on the top floor inaccessible by the public lift, someone was waiting for me.
I sped my car past a row of skyscrapers. My mind wandered to how I had ended up here. I am no hero. I am just a man who realised early on that working nine-to-five was the slowest way to die. Here, in the underworld, death is quick, but at least it comes with luxurious room service.
Upon arriving at the back door of the casino, two men with bodies like refrigerators greeted me. They didn't speak. They just scanned my body with metal detectors, their eyes as cold as ice in a whisky glass.
"Top floor. He's waiting for you," said one of them in a hoarse voice.
The lift was lined with blood-red velvet. When the doors opened, I was greeted by a scent that was in stark contrast to the smell of the streets: a mixture of jasmine, expensive leather, and the pure scent of power.
And there he stood.
A woman with her back to a large window overlooking the twinkling city. She wore a black satin dress that hugged her curves provocatively, showing off her smooth back and defined shoulders. Her hair was jet black, styled in a modern updo with a few strands deliberately left to fall at the nape of her neck.
She did not turn around when I entered. She was holding a crystal glass filled with amber liquid.
"You're two minutes late," her voice was husky, the kind of voice that made men want to kneel or commit a grave sin.
"The red light doesn't care who I work for, Miss," I replied as I stepped forward, placing the leather bag on the mahogany table in the middle of the room.
She turned around. Her name was Elena. Under the crystal chandelier, her eyes flashed sharply like a newly sharpened dagger. Her lips were bright red, contrasting with her marble-white skin. She wasn't just beautiful; she was dangerous. The kind of woman who would give you a kiss in the morning and poison in the evening.
She approached, the scent of her perfume assaulting my senses—so intoxicating that for a moment I forgot how to breathe. She stopped right in front of me, the distance between us only a few centimetres. I could feel the heat from her body.
"Don said you have a talent for not feeling fear," she said, her slender fingers with long red nails touching the collar of my shirt, smoothing it with a gesture that felt like both a caress and a threat.
"I'm just too tired to feel fear, that's all," I replied, looking directly into her eyes. I couldn't show weakness. In this world, if you blink, you lose your life.
Elena smiled slightly—a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned to the bag on the table. Her hand opened the zip slowly, almost like an erotic ritual. When the bag opened, a faint, pungent smell began to waft out.
I peeked inside. Inside, wrapped in white silk that was now beginning to seep red, was a human heart. There were still traces of tremors in its muscles.
"A gift for a rival who talks too much," Elena whispered without the slightest hint of disgust. She actually seemed ... aroused by the sight.
She took a small bottle from the desk drawer, sprayed preservative into the bag, then closed it again. She then looked at me again, this time with greater intensity.
"You know, Bearer ... other men would usually vomit or run away after seeing this."
"I've seen worse in the mirror every morning," I replied sarcastically.
He laughed, a short, elegant laugh. Suddenly, he pulled my collar, forcing me to bend down until our faces were level. His warm breath, smelling of menthol and expensive alcohol, brushed my lips.
"I like your eyes. Empty, but hungry. You want more than just courier money, don't you?"
Before I could answer, his hand slid to my chest, feeling my steady heartbeat. He seemed disappointed that he couldn't make me nervous. Or maybe he was challenged.
"Go out through the side door. Take the envelope from the front drawer of your car. It's a bonus for not asking too many questions," he said as he untied my tie.
I nodded, took a step back, and turned to leave. But when I reached the door, my steps faltered.
BANG!
The first gunshot broke the silence of the night, echoing loudly from the direction of the lower lobby. It was followed by a series of automatic gunfire that shook the casino windows.
I immediately ducked, my instincts taking over. I looked at Elena. She wasn't panicking. She calmly put down her whisky glass and pulled a pistol from behind her thigh, which was exposed as she lifted her dress slightly. The sight of her smooth thigh under the dim light almost made me forget that we were under attack.
"Looks like the gift will have to be delivered personally," she said with a wild grin.
BOOM!
A loud explosion shook the building. The lights began to flicker and go out, leaving the room lit only by flashing red emergency lights.
"This way!" Elena pulled my hand. Her palm felt soft but her grip was as strong as steel.
We ran down the dark corridor as the sound of heavy footsteps and angry shouts began to approach from the direction of the emergency staircase. I could hear bullets hitting the wall behind us, fragments of cement flying like black snow.
I took a deep breath. The smell of gunpowder now replaced the scent of jasmine.
I had just entered hell, and strangely, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to see how deeply these flames could burn me.
At the end of the corridor, I saw the silhouettes of several armed men breaking down a door. I had no weapon. I only had my wits and a dangerous woman by my side who seemed to be enjoying the chaos.
"Are you ready to dance, Bearer?" Elena whispered in my ear amidst the gunfire.
I grinned in the darkness. "Only if you lead the way, Miss."
I turned back one last time before we jumped towards the escape route. There, in the dim red light, I saw the shadow of someone I knew among the attackers.
It was my friend.
The sound of gunfire erupted behind me again, but this time I heard my name being shouted by a voice I knew very well. Before I could process the betrayal, a hand pushed me into the darkness of the secret passageway.