District Managers 1

"…what appears to be a coordinated explosion has left a residential apartment in South Bales in flames late last night."

The television flickered in a dimly lit room. The voice of a news anchor filled the space, calm but laced with urgency. Sirens wailed through the speakers as firefighters struggled to contain the blaze.

Smoke and flames danced across the screen footage of an apartment building engulfed in fire. A high-rise dilapidated building, its windows shattered, blackened walls glowing orange from the inferno inside.

The footage cut to a closer angle, someone's shaky phone camera recording.

Firefighters shouted commands, dragging hoses through puddles and ash.

A stretcher rolled out from the wreckage, a black tarp covering a body.

Another man limped in cuffs, blood trailing behind him.

"In what was first thought to be a gas line malfunction or a possible lab fire, authorities are now investigating the possibility of gang-related violence," the anchor continued. "Sources from within the department say illegal drug activity was confirmed inside the building."

The image switched to a field reporter standing in front of the charred ruin, wind tugging at her coat and mic.

"The building behind me is stabilized now," she said. "But what firefighters discovered inside has raised serious questions. Preliminary evidence points to the site being used as a large-scale drug processing den. No official gang affiliations have been confirmed, but this part of South Bales is known territory of the Mad Hounds Gang."

The screen shifted again, showing responders in hazmat suits dragging crates, charred safes, and black bags into vans. The damage was extensive, walls cracked, steel beams warped from the heat.

Scorched signs of rushed escape painted the scene of broken glass, blood, scorched weaponry, and a hastily discarded Mad Hounds insignia burned into a piece of clothing.

The news anchor returned, now seated at a sleek desk. "Witnesses reported hearing shouting and what sounded like gunfire shortly before the explosion. One civilian described seeing masked individuals entering the building moments before it went up in flames."

A blurry phone interview played next. The voice was filtered and pixelated, but the words came out fast and anxious.

"I swear I saw them! People dressed in black full equipped suits. With, rocket launchers! And machine guns or something. Not normal at all, you gotta believe me. They weren't cops. They weren't just gang guys either."

The man leans close to the camera, his face was almost kissing the screen. He continued his statement with an ominous and somewhat crazy tone.

"They were good, this is an organized attack I tell you! Like... like they knew exactly what they were doing here. This is just the start! This is the START!"

Click.

The video was cut off and it came back in the studio, the anchor paused, his brows were knitted like he cannot believe what he just witnessed, then nodded solemnly.

"Ehem. People, if these claims are accurate, this may be a sign of rising tensions between underground factions, or worse, an organized cleansing operation. This incident marks the third violent event in the South Bales sector within the last thirty days. Officials are urging residents to avoid non-essential travel in the area until further notice."

The screen faded slightly, and the voices became muffled as if someone had stepped away from the television.

....

The TV clicked off.

Silence followed as tense and suffocating air filled in the room. The light above the table flickered once, like it knew something bad was about to start.

The room stank of sweat, smoke, and stress. Concrete walls, metal chairs, and a long, stained table where seven people sat, all of them pissed off in different ways.

These people were the so-called 'District Managers' of the Mad Hounds, each one running a piece of the gang's empire. And right now, every single one of them had blood on their balance sheet.

"South's fried," someone muttered, tossing a scorched tablet onto the table. "Whole goddamn building lit up like a bonfire. Lab, product, crew. Gone in a heartbeat."

"We know! We watched it as you did! Stop tellin' it over and over!" the bald guy growled. "Who knows more to this? Speak up!"

"This was definitely not an ordinary hit," the woman in the hoodie said, arms crossed tight. "They came in fast and clean. Like they knew everything."

"Cops?" someone asked.

"Bullshit," she snapped. "We have been paying our dues to them, and they know if they hit us, we'll just make their little building a beehive."

"Hahaha! Did you see that crazy fucker on tv!?" a man suddenly interjected, laughter can be heard coming from the far side of the table.

"Shut the fuck up! You crazy fool!" the woman in the hoodie interjected immediately. "We've just taken a hit and you're still high on your shit!"

"Hey… not my district, not my problem." The man shrugged and spat out calmly, he was the only man that looked relaxed in the room.

Silence lingered only for a couple of seconds.

"They hit our shit like it was personal," someone else spat, a man with glasses. Not paying attention on what just happened, he continued. "Can we just forget about everything and think it through. Did somebody gave us up?"

"Did SOMEBODY gave us up?" the man with a large scar across his cheeks turned to the man in the glasses and asked back his question with a slight mocking tone.

"Yeah? It's a good question, no?"

Hearing him affirm his own question, made the man with a large scar ball his fists. The anger that he was holding back in the entire meeting was about to burst out.

"Of course somebody gave us up! Can you think before you ask stupid questions!" he finally couldn't hold on any longer as he grunted in anger.

"And forget? Forget what!?" He slammed his fist in the table and stood up, continuing his outburst. "Forget about the bodies, forget about the lab guys who were trained and nurtured for years! Forget about the products we lost."