I delivered my ultimatum with a calm that belied the storm brewing within. "I'll give you one chance to surrender." I stated. The group of men before me exchanged nervous glances, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in their eyes. They knew the gravity of the situation, the precariousness of their position. This was their moment to make a choice, and they dared not squander it. A burly figure, clad in business attire, stepped forward to speak for the group, his voice tinged with resignation. "We'll surrender," he declared, a note of defeat lacing his words. With a nod of approval, I lowered my hand, a sense of relief washing over me. "Perfect, I won't have to kill you," I replied calmly, my words carrying the weight of finality.

Turning my attention to each of them in turn, I sought the information I needed to ensure the safety of others. "Are there any more of you up ahead?" I inquired, my tone firm and commanding. The burly man nodded, a grim acknowledgment of the truth. "Yes. There are more groups of us down the highway." he admitted, his voice heavy with resignation. "Thank you for the information." I replied, my expression betraying nothing as I vanished from their sight in the blink of an eye. In the next instant, a series of sharp snaps filled the air, the sound of ligaments breaking with a precision born of practice and determination. Each arm and leg was rendered useless, leaving the men writhing in agony on the ground. For their crimes, they would be confined to wheelchairs. The moans and groans of the incapacitated men echoed, and I remained steadfast, my empathy only being tingled. Around a dozen or so of them lay scattered on the ground. But with each group we encountered, we drew closer to our goal.

The one who had spoken on behalf of the group, his voice tinged with frustration and anger, directed his ire towards me. "We told you what you wanted, man. Argh, why'd you..." he began, his words trailing off as I approached him, my footsteps steady amidst the scattered limbs of his comrades. With a calm demeanor, I addressed him directly, my voice firm yet devoid of malice. "You weren't going to get off scot-free. Nobody has, so don't think of it as a personal thing." I explained, my words a solemn reminder of the consequences of their actions. Meanwhile, the police, who had held them at gunpoint, swiftly moved to take control of the situation. With practiced efficiency, they hustled the Alliance members into the back of their waiting cars, ensuring that they would face justice for their crimes. I watched the scene unfold before me, and my gaze shifted to the horizon, where the promise of impending confrontation beckoned. "I'll meet you soon, Thana." I whispered to the wind.

"But, sir! The Crusader has ruined our operations in the south. For the few representatives who still remain, you call every single one here? Leaving our operations defenseless?", my lackey informed me. How disturbing. "What a load of bollocks." I muttered under my breath, my annoyance reaching its limit. I glanced at my watch, noting the time. It was almost time—time for the meeting to arrive. With a firm grip, I tightened my fist. "That's not it at all." I replied sharply, my voice cutting through the air like a whip. "The Crusader is not in the East anymore. Nor will he return. He knows where our leader is." My lackey's expression shifted, a look of shock crossing his features as if my revelation had caught him off guard. It was clear that he lacked the intelligence to grasp the gravity of the situation, his understanding limited by his own narrow perspective.

But I had no time for ignorance or incompetence. Oren's imminent arrival meant that every detail had to be accounted for, every contingency planned for. Thana's growing concern only added to the urgency of the situation. "Our operations in the south were important," I continued. "And now, with losses in the west as well, we can ill afford to be complacent. Every move we make from here on out must be calculated, strategic." I pushed open the door to the penthouse, "You know who I am. Let's get this started." I announced. Before I could even settle into my surroundings, Assassination's cutting remark pierced the air like a blade, a thinly veiled insult aimed squarely at me. "Look at his demeanor. Can he be any more pompous? Just because he's the leader's favorite." he sneered.

I was tempted to lash out in response to his provocation. But I held myself in check, knowing that such displays of emotion would only undermine my authority in the eyes of the others gathered here. With a steely glare, I chose to let his comment slide, my silence a silent rebuke in itself. The room fell into a tense silence, the other assembled members of the alliance regarded me with respect and apprehension. They knew of my power, of the influence I wielded as the leader's favored Head, and they dared not challenge me openly. Taking my seat at the head of the table, I assumed a relaxed posture, projecting an air of calm confidence that belied the storm brewing beneath the surface. My lackey leaned in, a hint of uncertainty in his expression as he sought my approval. "Is it okay for me to be here?" he asked. I met his gaze with a reassuring nod, acknowledging him. "I vouched for you. You can stay," I replied

The leader's door creaked open, every eye turning towards the figure who stepped through. The boot that emerged first was a polished brown, gleaming in the light of the penthouse as if it had been meticulously cleaned and cared for. It belonged to a man of striking presence, his lean and defined leg suggesting a level of physical fitness honed to perfection. He commanded attention, "We're solving this problem now." he declared, as he made his way fully into the room. Clad in a black shirt and fitted with a cape that billowed behind him, this was the leader. A belt connected his brown pants to his shirt, completing the ensemble with a touch of understated elegance.

But it was his face that truly captivated those present—a visage that could only be described as beautiful, with chiseled features that seemed almost too perfect to be real. But there was an unmistakable masculinity to his appearance, a strength and intensity that belied his strikingly handsome countenance. Our leader crossed his arms, each member of the alliance hanging on his every word. With a commanding presence, he addressed us, "A month and a half ago, some of our southern representatives were tasked with taking on Oren Hashigana, known as the Crusader of the East to our lower ranking members." he began. "Four high level representatives fought him and lost." If he was indeed coming to Las Vegas with the intent to kill our leader, the stakes had never been higher. "He is coming to Las Vegas, and he wants to kill me. Are we going to allow that?" our leader demanded, his gaze sweeping across the room expectantly.

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In unison, the response echoed through the room, a resounding chorus of defiance. "No!" we exclaimed, our voices determined. A smile tugged at the corners of our leader's lips, a satisfaction evident in his expression. "Good." he remarked, his tone firm and resolute. "We will kill Oren here, and when we do, we will continue on as normal." His instructions were clear and concise, each word imbued with a sense of urgency that left no room for hesitation. "I want everyone to monitor each road entering this city in groups of four, and inform through radio communication when you fight him, so the rest can come to you." he commanded. A woman emerged from another door, bearing a tray laden with radios. As the woman presented the radios with a solemn gravity, our leader's words underscored their importance. "These are the radios you will use. They are resistant to even high-level jams. Do not forget to use these," he reiterated, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The weight of our leader's command was quickly overshadowed by the lingering question that hung in the air like a dark cloud. "How did it even get this bad?" someone to my left dared to ask, their voice frustrated. The room fell into a heavy silence, every gaze turning to our leader as we awaited his response. For a moment, it seemed as though the air itself had grown blurry. Instead of offering a straightforward answer, our leader's reaction was unexpected. With a steely resolve, he turned to face the questioner, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between them with deliberate purpose.

"Are you saying I caused this?" he asked, his tone challenging as he turned his attention to the individual who had dared to question the chain of events that had led us to this point. The response came swiftly, accompanied by frantic gestures. "No, no sir! I'm just saying, how could we have failed you this badly?" the individual protested, their words tumbling out in a rush as they sought to deflect blame from themselves. Our leader was easily appeased. With a decisive wave of his hand, he dismissed the notion, his expression stern as he acknowledged the gravity of the situation. "You're right. You have failed me." he declared, his voice carrying a weight of disappointment.

The spotlight then shifted to Assassination, whose failure to communicate had not gone unnoticed. With a steely gaze, our leader addressed him directly, a sense of reproach evident in his tone. "One of the Heads, Assassination, forgot to tell me what dear Division was doing." he remarked. Assassination, for his part, seemed to shrink under the weight of our leader's gaze, a sense of guilt and regret evident in his posture. "Why did you do that?" our leader pressed, his tone insistent as he sought an explanation. Pulling his hood over his head in a gesture of contrition, Assassination offered his justification. "I thought Division could handle it. I will make it up to you by killing Oren," he pledged, his words a solemn vow of redemption. To our surprise, our leader's response was unexpectedly forgiving. With a smile that seemed to lift the weight of the room, he declared, "Good, good! I forgive you then." A lower level representative dissented, daring to question his decision. "Just like that?"

The sudden and brutal display of force from Assassination sent shockwaves through the room. He disappeared and reappeared before the lower level representative, the air grew heavy with tension, every eye fixed on the unfolding scene with a mixture of horror and apprehension. With a single flex of his pointer finger, Assassination delivered a swift and decisive blow, piercing the representative's heart with deadly accuracy. Blood spurted from the wound, staining some the room with a crimson spray. The second strike was even more unsettling. As Assassination swiped his hand, cutting the representative diagonally, there was no blood, no sign of the gruesome wound that should have accompanied such a grievous injury. Turning his attention to our leader, Assassination bowed deeply, a gesture deference. "I apologize on his behalf, sir."

As the meeting drew to a close, the atmosphere in the room gradually shifted from tension to a sense of tentative resolution. Questions about Oren's backstory were asked, each inquiry probing deeper into the motivations of his crusade. His tragic past seemed incongruous with his choice to oppose us. The discussions waned and people began to depart, our leader's gesture caught my attention, his silent request for me to remain behind speaking volumes. With a nod to my lackey, I signaled for him to leave, and he exited the room along with the rest of the attendees, leaving me alone with our leader. Turning his gaze towards the window, our leader spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of contemplation. "War.. what do you make of Oren?" he inquired, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon as if searching for answers in the shifting shadows beyond.

My response was swift and unflinching, born of years of experience and observation. "Oren? He's an idiot." I replied bluntly, my assessment colored by years of fighting people like this. "An idiot with a God Complex." Surprisingly, our leader's laughter rang out in the room, a sound that seemed to echo off the walls with infectious mirth. His laughter subsided, he offered his perspective, his tone serious and contemplative. "It might not just be a complex. What if he does have God on his side?" The notion seemed preposterous to me, a belief in divine intervention that I had long since dismissed as fantasy. "God doesn't exist, sir." I asserted, my voice steady. But instead of taking offense, our leader's laughter erupted anew, filling the room with its infectious energy. "Go to Railroad Pass. Oren will be there. It must be only you." he instructed. I made to leave, my mind already racing with plans and strategies for the task ahead. "Yes, Thana."