The rain hit the city like bullets—sharp, cold, relentless.

High above the neon-lit streets, the Black Vultures gathered on the rooftop of a half-abandoned hotel in the industrial district. The wind howled between the rusted water tanks and broken windows, but none of them flinched. They were used to worse.

Damien "Grim" Voss stood near the edge, cigarette burning low between his gloved fingers, eyes locked on the warehouse across the street—their next target. Beneath them, a rival gang was holding a secret arms auction. Illegal weapons. Government-grade. Worth millions.

"Fifteen minutes," Grim said, voice quiet, cold. "We go in silent. No survivors. We take the case, leave the rest to rot."

Axel “Knives” Moreau cracked his knuckles, grinning like a predator about to feast. "Silent? No promises, boss."

Cassian “Smoke” Reyes chuckled as he double-checked the charges strapped to his vest. "I'll keep it mostly quiet. ‘Boom-free’—ish."

In the corner, Nico "Ghost" Tanaka adjusted the scope on his silencer-equipped pistol. “You all talk too much,” he muttered, scanning the building through his lens. “Two guards on the rooftop. Cameras on the east. I’ll handle that.”

Grim glanced toward the door leading down to the fire escape. “We move on my mark. Nico, you're first in. Axel, clear the ground floor. Cassian—”

“I know, I know. No blowing up the whole building.” Smoke smirked.

A beat of silence.

Then Grim dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot.

“Move.”