Xylar's grin widened, a terrible joy lighting up his face. "Showtime," he whispered, his voice carrying in the sudden hush that had fallen over the warehouse.
Floodlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the graffiti-covered walls and broken windows. The wail of sirens faded into an eerie silence, broken only by the crunch of boots on gravel and the metallic click of weapons being readied.
Officer Ramirez stepped forward, his voice amplified by a megaphone.
"Enforcers! Come out with your hands up!" echoed through the night, the gang braced themselves for what is to come.
"This is your last warning! Come out with your hands up, or we're coming in!"
For a moment, nothing stirred. Then, with a screech of rusted metal, the warehouse door slowly creaked open.
Xylar emerged, flanked by Thunder and a handful of his most trusted lieutenants. He walked with the casual arrogance of a man who feared nothing, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
