You can still smell the fire, though you know it’s long died out. As you lay on the beach, cold, wet, exhausted, you try to catch your breath. The heist went horribly, a fire caught and you barely escaped with your life, you didn’t even know where half of the gang was.

You hear a noise from above you. Arthur. You force your legs to carry you over to him, stumbling and dropping to your knees when you’re finally close enough to see the extent of his injuries. “Where’s Dutch?” He croaks.