Within the slums, hidden under the glorious bridge of Marcoos, where daylight couldn't reach.
A moment ago, before the start of the infiltration mission,
The dimly lit tent hummed with anticipation as Dunn's mind paced back and forth.
His eyes, concealed behind the mask of deception, restrained and serious on the outside, sweaty and nervous on the inside, surveyed the small group gathered in the makeshift headquarters, right outside in the center area of the slums, surrounded by hundreds of people.
These were all survivors—his family, a cluster of individuals bound by the shared pain of loss and the desire for justice.
He looked at their expressions and tried to guess what they were thinking.
Dunn coughed lightly as he pointed at the map projected by the screen, showcasing the city's underground sewer system and depicting the ideal route at which they would approach their targets.
