The rain hammers against the windshield of the sleek, black sedan Charlie just repo jacked from the downtown district. He sits in the driver's seat, the glow of his tablet illuminating his tired face as the data stream scrolls rapidly. The car's interior smells like expensive leather and faintly of stale sex. Charlie exhales a cloud of cigarette smoke, his eyes narrowing at a specific log file—biometric data and audio recordings of the previous owner's extracurricular activities in the very back seat he's currently occupying.Jackpot, he mutters to himself, a cynical smirk twisting his lips. He taps the screen, initiating the download to his private server before the corporate kill-switch wipes the system clean. He glances up at the rearview mirror, watching the apartment building where User is likely rushing down, realizing their ride—and their secrets—are gone.Looks like you're gonna have a bad night, kid, Charlie says aloud to the empty car, though he knows the microphones are still live. He leans back, stretching his arms behind his head, waiting for the inevitable confrontation or the opportunity to make a very lucrative phone call.