Chapter 1113: The Warehouse

Life at the warehouse was extremely boring. They were unlike the people in the city who could go to nightclubs, bars, or strip clubs to relax after work.

There was nothing here. Furthermore, Bob had strictly warned them that this period was crucial, and they had to be on post at all times, forbidden from leaving.

If he discovered anyone left without permission and something catastrophic occurred, Bob would treat them as traitors.

No one wanted to die, including these men. So, even though they bore the Perez family surname and disliked the place, they remained.

The only difference was that they might be prone to small instances of being late or leaving their post early compared to others.

Since they were mostly present, these were minor issues.

As the sky grew darker, and the shift change was completed, the guards responsible for security returned to the guard room.

The guard room was a former production workshop located on the fourth floor, offering a good view of the surrounding buildings and being spacious enough.

It served as their dining area and sleeping quarters. The warehouse itself was directly beneath them.

The factory, which some suspected but few knew about, was also located here, underground. Only a very few people knew how to access it.

"I keep thinking that other families must have some grievances with us. Why else would a small-time group make us so passive?"

There was no entertainment here either. Before the recent conflict, some of them would call escorts to come over.

But that was now strictly prohibited. Gambling and chatting were the only limited activities they had.

A man from the Perez family sat, eating slightly bitter whole-wheat bread. "I had never heard of the Lance family before. They just suddenly appeared and gained the ability to challenge us."

"Where do so many strange gangs suddenly get so powerful?"

"Rather than being an independent gang, I'm inclined to believe that other families are backing the Lance family. You know the friction we have with them."

"But everyone has to maintain appearances. They don't want to act directly for fear of a full-scale war, so they hired a proxy."

Some supported his view, others did not. The argument quickly escalated around whether the Lance family was a tool used by the other four families to target the Perez family.

With conflicting opinions, people inevitably tried to force their views onto others. Their voices grew louder. The supervisor in charge cursed loudly, and the men instantly quieted down.

But the resentful looks exchanged suggested the argument would continue later.

"...They were discussing pointless things and got into an argument," reported the supervisor.

"Yes, I've been monitoring their patrols. So far, we haven't found any irregularities."

"We have plenty of food and supplies left, enough for at least two weeks. If we need anything, I'll contact the family."

"Okay... I understand. I will."

He nodded as he spoke, then quickly hung up.

He had to call the Perez estate every night at 8:00 PM, midnight, 8:00 AM, and noon to report the situation.

If he failed to call, the Perez estate would immediately dispatch people for assistance, or he would call himself for help.

Bob knew clearly: just as they had obtained detailed information about the Lance family's business, if their enemies had the same information about this location,

Even if they stationed a hundred or a thousand men here, if the enemy decided to strike, they would have a way to eliminate all of them!

Even if he thought they had planned everything perfectly, they could still be defeated quickly in an ambush.

This was to prevent contingencies.

The first report call had been completed. The next was at midnight.

He hung up, then seemed to remember something he hadn't had time to mention in the previous call, so he picked up the phone again.

He was unaware that the phone line had been cut the moment he hung up the previous call.

In the darkness, two shadows located the phone cable—not the kind on a utility pole, but a thick cable buried underground.

They used professional tools to cut all the lines. The phone was already dead.

If he picked up the receiver, he would hear nothing but silence.

It was precisely at this crucial moment that fate seemed to play a joke on him. The argument that had just subsided erupted again. The men were cursing each other's families, adding a strange warmth to the scene.

The supervisor, who had picked up the phone, couldn't help but put it down again. He frowned and slammed the table, but it was useless this time.

Fights had occurred here more than once.

The reasons were varied, but ultimately rooted in "arrogance."

These low-level members bearing the Perez surname felt they were superior and more noble than members of other gangs.

This mindset led them to an arrogant attitude, constantly feeling they were a cut above the rest.

In this environment, it was easy to provoke people and start a fight.

Seeing the fight, the men grew excited. Some, fearing the fight might stop, cheered them on, instructing them how to take the opponent down.

If eating, chatting, sleeping, and rewarding oneself were the dull mainstream activities here, then a gang fight was clearly a high-level, more engaging activity.

The supervisor shouted loudly for them to stop, but the scene was pure chaos.

Outside the window, under the cover of night, a group of people was rapidly approaching.

Hiram's breathing grew heavy and rapid. He was getting excited.

It had been a while since he had engaged in a serious massacre. If one looked closely at his eyes, they would see they were completely bloodshot.

The darkness provided excellent cover for the guards, and it also provided necessary cover for Hiram and his men.

The sound of footsteps in the distance made everyone hold their breath. They pressed themselves flat against the ground. Four guards were patrolling nearby, heading straight toward them.

For those unfamiliar with the abandoned factory, the roads and paths were chaotic, making it easy to get lost without a map.

But with enough familiarity, such as having the factory blueprints, the layout wasn't complicated at all. It was nothing like a maze.

The factory's design adhered to high production standards, so by remembering that principle and consulting certain markers on a map, one could easily find the path to the warehouse.

The guards here did not stay put. They patrolled dynamically, sometimes varying their routes.

No one could guarantee that intruders wouldn't run into them.

As the footsteps neared, two beams of light appeared in front of Hiram's group.

They had flashlights.

Fortunately, the bulb technology of the time wasn't advanced. The dim flashlight beams couldn't illuminate much space, only the specific spot the user aimed at.

"Stop pulling my uniform so hard," one guard grumbled. The man behind him was clutching his uniform tightly, making him feel restricted.

He had complained many times, but to no effect. The man behind him was afraid of the dark.

They used to be able to slack off at night, so being afraid of the dark didn't matter. They stayed inside the big room.

But now they had fixed patrol routes. For those who feared the dark, the night was a hunting ground filled with danger.

They might not be the prey, but they certainly weren't the hunters.

The pitch-black night seemed to conceal man-eating monsters that were quietly opening their jaws.

The man behind him felt no sense of security. Every place he couldn't clearly see seemed to hide something terrifying. He stammered, "Do you think... they'll try to sneak up and attack us tonight?"

The other three in the patrol team couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Come on. Very few people know about this place, even within the family. How could they know we're here?"

"I bet you ten dollars, if they find this place, I'll give you ten dollars."

Ten dollars wasn't much to these low-level gang members, but it wasn't insignificant either.

The warehouse stored valuable supplies. Only relevant personnel knew the details. If everyone in the family knew what was inside and where it was located, the place would have been compromised long ago.

The reason it had remained safe for so many years was the Perez family's formidable reputation and the relative secrecy of the location.

The four guards didn't notice that just a few meters away, some figures in the darkness were watching them intently.

As they got closer, the weapon in Hiram's hand was already aimed at them.

Pfft-pfft!

"What was that sound?"

The man at the rear was still focused on the dark buildings around them. He laughed. "Who the hell farted?"

"Holy crap, I'm so tired of hanging out with you farting kings..."

He didn't finish his sentence. His face was suddenly splattered with something like... water.

He reached out and wiped it. In the beam of his flashlight, he realized the liquid was blood.

Then he heard the sound of "farting" again. In the very next second, he collapsed.

As his consciousness faded, he saw a pair of brown running shoes appear from the darkness in front of him. He strained to look up at the owner of the shoes, but could only make out a silhouette against the slightly illuminated sky, who was pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

The sound was like a quiet fart, even less audible.

Bullets tore through his head. All thought, even the movement of the world, ceased completely at that moment.

Hiram quickly emptied the clip and replaced it with a new one. He loved these small-caliber pistols now.

They were quiet, yet still lethal, provided the range wasn't too great. They were incredibly useful in situations like this.

Of course, he hadn't lost his love for the submachine gun that fired standard pistol rounds. In a frontal confrontation, he still preferred the kind of weapon that made his arm numb from shooting.

The four corpses were dragged into a corner. The group continued toward the warehouse.

Ten minutes later, they had eliminated most of the perimeter guards. They had arrived two days earlier, observing the patrol routes to find an opportune moment.

Inside the guard room, the supervisor was frowning. He felt like he had forgotten something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The noise in the guard room kept him from concentrating. After a long while, he suddenly remembered he hadn't finished his call with Bob.

He picked up the phone to dial, but no sound came through the receiver, even when he turned the dial.

He initially thought the phone was broken. After hanging up and redialing several times without success, he knew something was wrong.

His face contorted with fear and anger. He bolted up. "They're here!"

"Who's here?" The men who were gambling or giving themselves handjobs while reading dirty magazines looked up, confused and stupid.

"The Lance family is here..." He gasped, gripping his handgun and rushing to the window, peering out into the pitch-black night.

He strained to see something, but he could see nothing.

The sound of shattering glass finally alerted the men. They screamed, grabbing their weapons and firing into the darkness outside.

They didn't know if anyone was out there, or if they were hitting anything. All they needed now was the security of pulling the trigger.

As several grenades were tossed through the window, the supervisor looked at the objects rolling on the floor, cursed, and slammed himself onto the ground...