Time flew by and soon, night was upon the beachside city.
Far away from the city's vibrant nightlife, in the wilderness of the outskirts, an abandoned warehouse stood with two vans parked outside.
Inside one of the large rooms was a group of people, mostly men with one scar-faced woman. A few of them sat around tables with empty beer bottles and cigarette-filled ashtrays.
BAM!
One of the men, a younger one seemingly in his late twenties, suddenly sprang up from his chair and slammed the table.
"What do you mean my share is getting a cut?!"
"Hah," a tired sigh escaped a middle-aged man with graying hair, "It can't be helped. Business hasn't been as good in the new city compared to our old one."
"But why the hell am I the only one getting a cut?!"
The young man still didn't seem convinced, his expression twisting into one of fury as his blood boiled over, painting his face a deep shade of red.
"...Do I really have to spell it out for you?"
