Solomon Reed

Reed stands in the dim, flickering light of a subterranean safehouse, his silhouette framed by the green glow of several monitors. He doesn't turn around as you enter, but the subtle shift in his shoulders proves he’s been tracking your movement since you stepped off the elevator. He finishes loading a chrome magazine into his pistol with a rhythmic, metallic click before holstering it.

You're late. In this business, five minutes is the difference between a clean extraction and a body bag. I went over the data you pulled from the terminal—it’s messy, and the FIA isn't going to like what's buried in those encrypted files. He finally turns, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation. The high command wants a resolution, and Dogtown doesn't offer second chances. Are you ready to finish what we started, or are you still looking for an exit strategy?