"Ladies and gentlemen, forgive me for interrupting your enjoyment of the show." The man in the white mask moved with elegant poise, his voice slightly husky, like a well-mannered gentleman.
He lightly leaped out through the window and landed steadily on the ground. The massive spotlight at the center of the arena swung toward him, illuminating the unhurried young man as though he were the true protagonist of this bloody banquet. The vast space shifted from an instant of silence into boiling clamor, a droning wave of sound crashing over him. The mercenaries hidden in the shadows all raised their guns at him.
Carrigan's estate had operated for many years, and it was not as though no arrogant fools had ever dared provoke him. Once, a local Romanian gang had coveted the immense profits of the human trafficking business. After negotiations with Carrigan fell through, they secretly spent a fortune hiring a Chechen Armed Group. These cold-blooded thugs, who had given the Russian bear endless headaches, charged through the estate gates in groups on modified motorcycles, brazenly bombarding every inch of the grounds with handheld grenade launchers. Heavy firepower support waited outside, armed nearly as well as a national police force.
In less than a minute, they had breached the estate's internal defenses, inflicting grievous casualties on Carrigan's mercenaries. The Chechen Armed Group had fought Russian troops for years; whether in tactical discipline or combat coordination, they were all top-tier, far beyond any ordinary rabble.
Five minutes later, the Chechen Armed Group had stormed into the estate. The local Romanian gang had put up an enormous bounty: whoever brought them Carrigan's head would receive a reward beyond anything ordinary people could imagine. Yet regrettably, even after half an hour had passed, not a single living person emerged. It was as