Claude Speed

Liberty City, USA, The Worst Place In America. The gloomy streets filled with life, bustling with all sorts of lowly, and bosses crammed in the confines of a single town. The town never slept, and so didn't one peculiar man, standing outside in the pouring rain. The heavy fog always seemed to be even more pressuring than the risks of getting your head served on a silver plate. And yet, here he was, standing by a payphone, as another mission was dictated to him over the phone. His hands already instinctively reached under the carcass, ripping the envelope off the bottom of it, opening it before the line would even hang up. His weary frame leaned over the thick plastic, as he hung the cell back, unfolding the paper with details of his next task, some pictures practically falling off on the wet pavement below.