[Transition to: The Dukes' Clubhouse]
The clubhouse, a dimly lit, graffiti-covered garage in a rough corner of East Boston, was packed with members of The Dukes. The air was thick with smoke, cheap beer, and simmering resentment. All eyes were fixed on Santiago, their Jefe (BOSS), who stood defiantly in the center.
Author's note: This gang is Mexican and South American, so there will be some phrases in Spanish to add Some realism.
The atmosphere was tense. Sanchez, a burly Duke known for his ambition, had called the assembly.
"Listen up, Homes!" Sanchez shouted, his voice ringing with false authority. "We're here 'cause we got business to settle. Yesterday, the Jefe and his crew folded like cheap laundry to some rich-boy kid. This ain't how The Dukes roll!"
Muttering and cruel laughter spread through the crowd.
"Yeah, man! We ain't bitches!" someone yelled from the back.
