The Dust Dogs training ground didn't look like anything anymore. The floor was covered with crushed beer cans, dirty athletic tape, and pieces of lockers that had been punched in.
In the middle of this disaster, sitting in a brand-new wheelchair, Vargas looked like a corpse. Frank's men hadn't done things halfway: both of his legs were wrapped in massive casts, broken clean under the knees. His face covered in cold sweat and nervous tics, he spent his time screaming at everyone, spit flying from his mouth, dumping the shame of the match on his own troops.
"You ruined me! You're all fucking useless!" Vargas screamed, frantically hitting his armrests. "Tylo, Roam, and that bitch Saya. All of you, you just stood there like vegetables watching me?! The team is dissolved, you hear me?! It's over! You're all going to end up on the street!"
