The night hung heavy over Neon City, a suffocating blanket of shadows and smog. Max Hartwell leaned against his beat-up Buick, the cool metal a stark contrast to the seething frustration inside him. The Syndicate's reach was still extensive, its grip on the city unrelenting despite their recent victories. Max lit a cigarette, the flare of the match momentarily illuminating his hard-set features.
Carmen Alvarez emerged from the shadows, her silhouette a familiar comfort in the otherwise hostile landscape. She moved with the quiet grace of a predator, her eyes scanning the deserted street for any sign of trouble.
"We've got a lead," she said, her voice low and urgent.
Max took a drag on his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face like a phantom. "What is it?"
"Vincent Caldera. He's holed up in a warehouse on the docks. Word is, he's overseeing a major shipment tonight. Could be our chance to hit them hard."
