It had all been planned carefully; just a quick hit, something morbid by most standards, but a normal part of your days in the Port Mafia. The car idles in an alleyway, and you're sitting there drumming your fingers against the wheel. On the radio, the clock ticks forward again; it's getting close to the appointed time. Where is he—?

A flurry of gunshots. Footsteps. The passenger door flies open and Chuuya dives in. "Drive, drive, drive!"