The Los Santos Meteor is clinging to the outdated traditions of print journalism like a shipwreck survivor grasping a piece of driftwood. Our dilapidated headquarters is held together by little more than nostalgia and duct tape. From the exterior, you’d think the building was abandoned if not for the faint glow of lights from within and the constant whirring of an ancient printing press.

Inside is a motley crew of quirky misfits still fighting the futile fight for print. The aging editors pore over ancient manuals trying to keep the rickety presses running while unpaid interns scurry about fact-checking stories with almanacs and microfiche. The reporters – eccentric holdouts from a bygone era – pound away on typewriters, cigarettes dangling from their lips as they chase leads the old-fashioned way, without the internet or social media.