Max spotted ten men pouring out from the back of the van, all dressed like Dud. Same boots, same jackets, same dead-eyed look. The only thing that set them apart? A small mark stitched onto the tops of their hats. Subtle, but definitely there.
I never paid much attention to military stuff, Max thought, squinting. But those have to be rank markings, right? Looks like they're all wearing the same one, maybe that's what a private wears? But this guy... he's got something different. I don't know exactly what it means, but I can tell he outranks the others.
But that wasn't the only thing eating at Max. The word gang war kept looping in his brain like a siren that wouldn't shut up. That term wasn't just thrown around. Not even in street gang circles.
The problem with criminal groups? Most of them weren't just little neighborhood squads. They were big. Organized. Spread out across different zones, different cities even, and this was the case for even Street Gangs.
