Max spotted ten men pouring out from the back of the van, all dressed like Dud. Same boots, same jackets, same dead-eyed look. The only thing that set them apart? A small mark stitched onto the tops of their hats. Subtle, but definitely there.
I never paid much attention to military stuff, Max thought, squinting. But those have to be rank markings, right? Looks like they're all wearing the same one, maybe that's what a private wears? But this guy... he's got something different. I don't know exactly what it means, but I can tell he outranks the others.
But that wasn't the only thing eating at Max. The word gang war kept looping in his brain like a siren that wouldn't shut up. That term wasn't just thrown around. Not even in street gang circles.