Masks and Half-Truths
Following leads through the dark
Personal Entry (03/03/2026)
(Not for publication.)
Nana returned to duty today.
She looks… lighter.
Yesterday nearly swallowed her whole, Marcus, Orly, the ocean, the weight of it all. But today she stood straighter. Her voice steadier. The storm hasn’t disappeared, but it seems quieter inside her.
After the morning meeting, she approached me.
“Partner up today?”
I didn’t even try to hide my enthusiasm.
Nana is one of the few officers here who works the way I understand work. Quiet. Methodical. Competent. She doesn’t chase noise; she chases results.
She explained the plan.
Undercover.
We would spend the day building rapport with the people who actually live around the crime scenes instead of simply reacting to radio calls. Listening. Observing. Letting information come to us naturally.
But first, we would change.
Dress differently. Move differently.
And since both of us speak Mandarin, we decided to build a backstory around that. Something that would let us move through certain conversations more naturally.
Just like that, Nana and I set off on our own little adventure.
We decided to meet up with her informants first. Her first one, Jimmy in jail. Second one, a user on birdy, wasn’t responding. But finally her third informant, agrees to meet us. Our meeting was by the coast, far from the city’s noise.
The wind was stronger there. The waves louder.
And waiting for us was a familiar figure.
Mr. M.
Same posture. Same quiet seriousness. The kind of man who never wastes movement or words.
I stayed silent while Nana spoke with him.
They exchanged information the way professionals do, carefully, without showing their full hand.
He didn’t have much to offer.
But then again, neither did we.
After he left, I transferred a small financial compensation to him.
A courtesy.
As I watched his silhouette disappear along the shoreline, I couldn’t help but think about how strange this city is.
It feels like a lifetime ago when we all first arrived in Los Santos.
Bright-eyed.
Untouched by everything this place would eventually demand from us.
Now here we are again, walking parallel paths in a city that changes people slowly.
That thought gave me an idea.
I turned to Nana.
“Would you mind if I call one of my informants too?”
She nodded.
So I called Ryan.
The trio reunited again.
Ryan, as usual, was eager to talk.
Almost too eager.
He gave us information. Several leads. Enough to be useful.
But not everything.
Ryan has never been the type to show his full hand.
Some of what he told us felt incomplete. Half-truths layered with just enough detail to sound convincing.
Maybe he’s holding information for leverage.
Maybe he genuinely doesn’t know the full picture.
Or maybe something else is preventing him from saying more.
But Ryan is still Ryan.
And despite everything, I trust him.
After we confirmed the details we had, Nana contacted Chase and passed along one of the stronger leads. He was asked to bring someone and investigate further.
Work like this feels… right.
Quiet progress.
Small pieces of a larger puzzle.
Later, Nana and I sat for a moment.
No sirens. No radios. Just the sound of the ocean nearby.
I asked her something I’ve been wondering about.
“How did grief consume you like that?”
It wasn’t judgment.
It was curiosity.
Because Nana is strong.
Controlled.
And yet one person’s death nearly broke her.
How does that happen?
She answered slowly.
She tried to explain what it feels like to love someone enough that losing them feels like losing part of yourself.
How grief isn’t just sadness.
It’s absence.
It’s silence where something once lived.
It’s the mind reaching for someone who is no longer there.
I listened carefully.
The way I listen to a witness describing something unfamiliar.
I think I understand the logic.
But the feeling?
I’m still not sure I do.
Maybe one day I will.
Or maybe some people are simply built differently.
For now, I continue observing.
And learning what it means for others to just… feel.
After speaking with Nana for a while, we moved forward to check on the leads we had gathered.
But before that, Nana checked the time.
She had made a promise.
She told Orly she would see her off at the airport.
So we changed course and drove there instead.
Orly and I used to work together at the cat café. Even after everything that has happened , Marcus, the sea, the chaos surrounding her, that connection is still there.
When we saw her, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest.
Regret.
I told her the truth.
That I should have done more back then. That I had seen things happening around the café — criminal activity, people moving in shadows — and I chose to turn a blind eye.
I told her maybe if I hadn’t ignored it, maybe things would have unfolded differently.
She looked at me like I was saying something ridiculous.
She said it wasn’t my fault.
Apparently, I was the only one blaming myself.
Captain Adler arrived not long after.
Then Chase.
We stood there together, an odd group bound together by circumstance, and watched Orly board her flight.
It wasn’t dramatic.
No long speeches.
Just quiet goodbyes and the sound of airplanes cutting through the sky.
Then Nana and I returned to our work.
We started following the leads.
And then another one surfaced.
A party.
On an island.
No clear details.
No confirmed attendees.
Just whispers.
We looked at each other.
We had no idea what was happening there, who would be there, or what kind of situation we might be walking into.
But before committing to the island, we decided to do a quick sweep of the southern part of Los Santos, the area Ryan had pointed out earlier as a possible black market location.
And there, we ran into Mr. M again.
It turns out he had received the same lead.
So the three of us decided to approach the island together.
Undercover.
Nana’s Liu Qi.
Mine’s Qing Ren.
Mr. M introduced himself as Ming.
Just enough distance from our real identities to keep things safe.
Nana and I also changed into our undercover outfits.
Matching tiger masks.
Mine white.
Hers orange.
Subtle enough to blend into a strange gathering, but distinctive enough to keep track of each other.
We rented a boat and made our way toward the island.
Before we fully disappeared into the operation, Chief Serpico, Captain Adler, and Detective Cortado stopped by briefly.
Just to check in.
No, it was not because I drowned…. I swear.
Once we arrived, we began mingling with the guests.
The atmosphere was strange. Loud music, unfamiliar faces, people pretending to relax while clearly watching each other.
I started throwing ridiculous conversational curveballs at Nana.
Completely unnecessary stories.
Suspiciously dramatic claims.
At one point I even implied we were involved in things that would definitely raise eyebrows.
And Nana caught every single one of them.
Gracefully. Without hesitation.
She adapted to every twist in the conversation like it was rehearsed.
I realized we had done something similar earlier that morning when I had convinced Mildred to call Chief Serpico and ask him out on a date — an idea that should have collapsed instantly.
Yet Nana played along with that too.
Effortlessly.
Maybe…
We actually work really well together after all.
After everything on the island, Nana and I returned to the city.
We reported our findings to Chief Serpico and the rest of the department. Every detail we had gathered, the leads, the people we saw, the whispers we heard.
Then the day kept moving.
Los Santos never lets a moment settle.
Not long after, I received a message.
From someone named Seible John Jacobs.
EMS.
He said he had a story for me.
The kind of story meant for someone who exposes truths.
So we arranged to meet at a park.
But before that could happen, the city went dark.
A blackout.
The lights disappeared across Los Santos almost all at once. Buildings dimmed, streets fell quiet in a way that felt unnatural.
Something big was happening.
I kept Mr. M updated as things unfolded.
He believes a major heist is coming.
I checked the area around the city briefly with Chase, just to make sure nothing immediate was unfolding nearby. After confirming things were stable enough, we split up.
I went to the park to meet Seible.
He was already there when I arrived.
Nervous. Restless.
The kind of tension that lives in someone who has spent too long carrying something heavy.
He told me his story.
Before Los Santos, before EMS… he was a contracted killer.
Not rumors.
Not exaggeration.
Real blood.
Real deaths.
He said he came to me because I was someone who exposes truths. Someone who puts criminals behind bars.
Someone who might be able to judge him.
Or maybe punish him.
But I am not an executor.
I told him that.
I am not the person who decides redemption.
I am not the person who erases guilt.
All I could offer him was honesty.
Even if he confesses.
Even if he is convicted.
Even if he spends the rest of his life paying for what he did.
The guilt will not disappear.
It never does.
It will follow him.
It will sit beside him in quiet moments.
It will return in dreams.
It will live inside him long after any sentence ends.
He asked me how I could be so certain.
I didn’t give him the full answer.
But the truth is…
I know because I feel something like it every day.
I carry my own quiet ledger of things I ignored.
Things I allowed to happen because it was easier not to see them.
Marcus.
The café.
The crimes I watched unfold and chose not to interfere with.
I don’t deserve redemption either.
So I am not here chasing it.
I am here doing what I can.
Trying to make this city a little better than the version I first walked into.
For the people I have slowly learned to care about.
For the truths I refused to look away from.
And maybe…
For the version of myself I still haven’t quite forgiven…
