Vague Streets

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ORIGIN: Mumbai, India 
ARRIVAL: Los Santos International, 1996 
STATUS: Active Operative, Underground Logistics

Quote"This city... it doesn't care where you came from. It only asks one thing:
Can you disappear fast enough?"

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⫸ The Fall Into the Underground

Raj arrived in San Andreas with a tourist visa, a stitched-up jacket hiding $400, and his mother's dreams. 
For two years, he lived like a ghost — cleaning motels, sweeping groceries, begging for hours under the table. 
He smiled at everyone. They smiled back — then locked their doors behind him.

Until one night, he saw what power looked like:
A man walked into a Vinewood poker room with a duffel of cash and walked out with silence. 
No one stopped him. No one dared.

Raj understood then — politeness doesn't pay rent. Fear does.

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⫸ 1999 — First Trigger Pull

He got in easy: counting crates for local smugglers, clearing surveillance for drop points, whispering Hindi to the right ears. 
But every climb needs a price. 

One job. One debt collector shorted the Exchange. 
Raj didn't flinch. He just pulled the trigger. 
No witnesses. No regrets.

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⫸ 2004 — Rise of the Quiet Fox

Today, he's known in San Fierro's back alleys and LS's dark warehouses as "Mr. Kundra." 
Smart. Cold. Unshakable. He doesn't shout. He doesn't threaten. 
He delivers. Guns. Ammo. Peace — or war, for the right price.

He's not a gangster. 
He's a system.

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LOCATION: Ocean Flats, San Fierro 
TARGET: Singh's General – known for late cash deposits 
METHOD: Silent Entry, No Fire, 2-Minute Window 
TIME: 03:17 AM – Overcast, Power Grid Weak

Quote"This wasn't about the money. It was about making someone feel like they were being watched... even when they weren't."

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The air was damp. Fog from the sea rolled down into the alley behind Singh's. The cameras were already disabled — not by brute force, but a corrupt technician Raj had bought off two nights earlier.

He didn't wear a mask. Didn't need to. Raj wasn't the kind to shout or break glass.

He slipped in through the back door, lock popped clean with a screwdriver and two seconds of practiced wristwork. The store smelled like incense and spoiled lentils. On the wall, a picture of Guru Nanak stared at him.

He didn't blink.

The safe was small. Under the counter. Code: 5-2-9. Easy. He'd watched Singh enter it three days ago while buying a pack of matches.

Raj knelt. Click. Open. 
Stacks of cash — bills from vending runs and under-the-table lotto sales. He only took what fit in his jacket. 

Silent exit. No mess. No threat. Just absence.

Two minutes. Maybe less.

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