>>5746922A grey shroud fills the sky as a light rain falls on the city. It's refreshing, barely requires a jacket. But it makes people think of what ominous clouds might loom just beyond the horizon. This is hurricane season, and a storm could be approaching at any time.
On the radio is the local evening news. Sandra Lopez is the regular newscaster, a warm voice that reads any story in a perfectly steady cadence, no matter how fucked up. She talks about what's going on in the city: Ricky Valdez's cancelled concerts, Mayor Harland's re-election campaign, and the dead-end police investigation into all those explosions and gunshots at South Harbor a few weeks ago.
The main room of the safehouse in Freedom Square is dimly lit by the flickering television, and by a large window that offers a view of the neon lights of the city streets. The rain drums quietly on the window, obscuring and refracting the lights. Several members of the gang are lounging around in here. Some are listening to the radio, either because they're trying to stay on top of current events, or they just like Sandra's voice. Others are watching the television, currently playing the new episode of Hundred Fist Puncher. There's a slothful energy in the air, a waiting tension. Everyone's conserving fuel in preparation for the big blast.
Down the hall and behind an ajar office door, the top enforcers of the gang are gathered around a wooden table cluttered with maps, blueprints, drink cans, and weapons. Claire, her small size a drastic contrast to the men, is re-organizing the maps, searching for something she might have missed before.
Mei Lin is also there in the office, seated on the edge of a desk. She has blood on her suit. Seems like she's been busy. The enforcers size her up with watchful eyes. They don't much know this woman, but Claire seems to trust her, and she did haul a wounded Angela out of the drink.
Anyway, they have bigger concerns.
