Inside the base's main office, a bald man covered in tattoos sat on a long couch with a telephone resting on the center table. He held the receiver to his ear, his expression growing uglier by the second.
"Hah."
He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and rubbed a hand over his tattooed scalp.
"So, five of our distribution centers were attacked?"
A shallow laugh escaped him as he set the receiver down.
When he looked up, the other man who managed the base with him was already watching him.
"Did you hear that?" he said, sounding almost amused. "The boss isn't in a good mood. Five—five distribution centers burned to the ground. And all he told us was to stay alert."
The man sitting across from him smirked as he casually puffed on his cigar.
"What the hell is wrong with those idiots?" he laughed. "A bunch of incompetent motherfuckers getting themselves killed."
