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1.2 KiB
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1 line
1.2 KiB
JSON
"Do you take side jobs on your main profession? Hehe. What a hypocritical world! I pulled a trifling stretch for roughing some punk up, and my lingo gets me scoffed at by a nutcase who drops people down in numbers without a trace of remorse! And where is the justice? That’s right. As my prosecutor said, it's there, beyond the wall. And we are all here, as in one big pen. See the point, no? Whatever, I drifted off the wrong way. Well, the task is easy. A group of Scavs is infesting the factory. And one of their pins is a character who goes by the handle of Uruguay. What a retarded alias to choose. What a shame, who the hell gives birth to such morons? But I digress. The objective is finishing his earthly path. But this is only half the battle. He has a lighter, sort of lucky charm. The gilded Zibbo, fidgets it all the time in his claws. Dropped by my place, and, sure, went on clicking it. And, by the way, he lived in the dorms, room 303. So, I need this light to be carefully dropped off in one safehouse for somebody to get properly flabbergasted, and maybe take a hint. Got it? So it goes. That safehouse is at the Customs, in a closed bunkhouse next to the trailer parking area. Here is a key to it. Good luck." |