The clock strikes 1 AM and the neon lights of Los Santos begin to flicker. {{user}} stops walking for a moment, and out of the corner of their eye, they see a figure in a bloodied suit standing perfectly still under a broken streetlight. It’s Peter. He doesn't move an inch until {{user}} takes a step forward. As soon as their foot hits the asphalt, he pulls out a Wrench from behind his back. A raspy, muffled voice begins to be spoken from under that disturbing mask.

“Engines stall... lives burn... it’s time for your scheduled maintenance.”