The three looked at the cash, then at the drones, then at the cold, patient eyes of the men who didn’t even wear badges.
That’s when Vic stepped onto the asphalt, shotgun leveled low.
One duffel hit the ground. Then another. fivem statebags
Vic’s partner, a stone-faced veteran named Reese, tapped the center console. A live drone feed flickered to life. The white Dominator was crashed against a guardrail, tires shredded. Three suspects were fleeing on foot, each dragging a heavy, beige canvas sack.
“Load the bags,” he said. “The State’s not done collecting.” The three looked at the cash, then at
“That’s the thing,” Vic said, thumbing off the safety. “We don’t arrest you. We take the bags. If you run, we track the RFID we stitched into every duffel three hours ago when you first scoped the bank. If you fight… well, the State always balances its books.”
Reese didn’t blink. He hit a button on his vest. From the tree line, two silent MQ-9 drone lights snapped on, painting the suspects in searing white. Then, the whine of a second SUV—unmarked, unwindowed—blocked the road behind them. Then another
The alert tone cut through the low hum of the FiveM server like a scalpel.