The sudden, violent escalation of the conflict didn't just silence the immediate area; it seemed to ripple outward, freezing the very air of the night market. One moment, Chad Lewis was the undisputed king of this grimy alleyway, backed by his band of low-tier enforcers. The next, the shadows at the edges of the neon light seemed to detach themselves from the brick walls.
With a rhythmic, synchronized heavy thud of tactical boots, dozens of figures emerged from the crowd. They didn't move like civilians or even like common street thugs. They moved with the terrifying, practiced efficiency of a military unit. Men and women in charcoal-gray tactical gear, their faces obscured by high-tech ballistic masks, formed a perfect perimeter around the BBQ Stall. Every one of them radiated a steady,
