At noon, in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town.
Guards stood watch around the entire factory, their eyes trained on every corner, observing the slightest movements.
Jeremy sat on a chair with a serious expression, while a dozen individuals sat at a distance, their faces displaying a mix of indifference, laziness, or chatter. Each exuded an air of peculiarity.
“Mr. Mark, what kind of Warlord are you talking about? We’re renowned assassins, veterans of countless missions. Don’t let some low-ranking soldier come in and command us. If that’s the case, we’d rather handle the mission ourselves.” one assassin, fidgeting constantly like a hyperactive child, spoke up.
“Karsten, you’d better remember your place. Don’t forget who provides you with your livelihood.” one of Jeremy’s body
