West of Sin City.
In one particular block, armed thugs brawled in the streets. Every second, someone would scream and collapse, only to be hacked to pieces by the surrounding mob. Others hurled lit bottles of flammable liquid into the crowds, bursting into sprawling patches of fire upon impact. Shouts and roars, the whistling of sharp blades tearing through the air, the clash of metal, and the crackling of roaring flames—the scene was one of extreme, bloody chaos.
Through a window opening on a slightly elevated floor nearby, a masked man with a lithe physique silently observed the riot through binoculars, his eyes indifferent.
More than ten seconds later, he pressed the microphone near his mouth. "A large number of guards have appeared. They've surrounded this block. There are about... three hundred of them."
