The icons weren't for missions. They were real-time GPS coordinates of his own neighborhood.
A text box popped up on the screen. It wasn't Michael, Franklin, or Trevor speaking. It was a message in plain text: “Why play a criminal in a game when the real city is waiting? Go to the corner of ‘Vitosha.’ The blue car is unlocked. The bag is under the seat. Don't be late for the heist.”
In a cramped apartment in Sofia, Alex stared at the screen. He knew the risks. His PC was a Frankenstein’s monster of used parts, and he didn’t have the levs to buy a legitimate copy. He clicked "Download."
The link was glowing in a shady corner of a forum: