Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

Old Bob, who was in the lead, suddenly narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth as if to shout a warning.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A burst of gunfire, as rapid as popping beans, suddenly erupted, engulfing the five men.

Five mangled corpses lay sprawled on the ground, forming pools of blood on the dirt road.

The suicide squad advanced silently, firing continuously.

"Wait, let's vote..."

Amidst the hail of bullets, Frank knew that all was lost.

He dropped the revolver in his hand and was about to raise his hands to surrender when a bullet pierced his skull and blew off his head.

A mixture of red and white splattered on the wall, and he fell straight backward.

Within two minutes, the remaining members of the hound gang also fell one after another in the pincer attack.

The gunfire ceased, leaving only the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and rust, and the twenty-odd corpses lying on the ground, their eyes wide open in death.

"Why are there so few people?"

From the second floor of the casino, Azrael peered out of a smashed window, frowning as he surveyed the pile of corpses below. He called out, "Where's Leon? What did he do with the rest of them?"

While finishing off the corpse, one of the assassins replied without looking up, "To catch the thief, catch the leader. He led a team straight to raid the Hound Gang leader's hideout."

The other man looked up and said, "Azrael, forget about Leon. We don't have much time. We've made such a commotion. We need to clean up the rest of the Hound's territory quickly, take everything we can, and then get out of there."

Inside the villa.

Kenneth Rollins lit a thick Havana cigar, leaned back on the soft sofa, and seemed rather uneasy.

Tonight's situation has a sinister feel to it. A Teletubbies gang I'd never heard of before suddenly appeared, ruthless and decisive, taking down his core casino right off the bat, even using explosives.

"Is he a dragon from overseas? Or one of those Australian bastards from the Sydney Duck Gang, or those poor Irish brethren in disguise?"

He took a deep drag on his cigar, letting the pungent smoke swirl in his mouth, trying to suppress the growing sense of foreboding. His mind raced, considering all the possibilities.

"Thump!"

Suddenly, the sound of something falling to the ground came from the direction of the garden, jolting Rollins out of his chaotic thoughts.

The two trusted guards standing behind him by the sofa reacted extremely quickly, drawing their revolvers almost the instant the sound was heard.

The burly man on the left, with a crew cut, shouted into the garden, "Barrett, was that the noise you made?"

The garden was quiet and unresponsive, as if no one was inside.

"Boss, something's not right!" The burly man's expression changed drastically, his voice trembling. "Barrett can't possibly not answer!"

Without any hesitation, the two men lifted Rollins up on either side, quickly crouching down with the sofa as cover, their two revolvers pointing warily toward the door.

Another guard with a thick beard said, "Those scum who attacked the casino must have had accomplices. Seeing that most people had gone past, they came to attack you."

"A good strategy. Looks like they're not a bunch of brainless idiots."

Rollins' face darkened: "The first floor is too spacious; the two of you can't hold it. Come with me to the basement. The door there is made of half-inch-thick wrought iron; it's sturdy enough to hold out until Frank and his men finish dealing with the casino and come back."

"A good idea."

A cold, completely unfamiliar voice came from above them without warning.

The three of them trembled violently and looked up in horror.

Four strange men were standing on the second floor, their revolvers pointed steadily downwards.

"But unfortunately, you don't have a chance."

The moment the words left his mouth, a gunshot rang out!

boom!boom!

Two extremely crisp and clean bursts of fire. The crew-cut hulking man and the bearded guard beside Rollins didn't even have time to turn their guns around before a bloody flower bloomed between their eyebrows, and they fell heavily backward.

Almost simultaneously, a loud crash came from the main entrance of the villa. The heavy oak door was kicked open, and the remaining assassins surged in like a tide, instantly taking control of the entire first-floor hall.

Rollins did not hesitate at all.

Just as the gunshot rang out on the second floor and his bodyguard fell to the ground, he drew his revolver from its holster, flicked his wrist, and aimed the muzzle at Leon and the others on the second-floor corridor at abdominal height.

As the leader of the Hound Gang, he never relied on his gang members, but on his own skill as a sharpshooter.

But the next second, he was devastated to find that the other side was faster than him.

The instant he drew his gun, Leon's right hand, hanging at his side, also swept across his waist. Drawing the gun, raising his hand, aiming, firing—the four movements were so fluid they seemed to be one!

"Bang!"

A scorching lead bullet struck Rollins precisely as he raised his revolver. The immense impact caused his hand to crack, and his meticulously maintained Colt revolver flew out of his hand, spinning as it fell to the ground.

"What a fast gun."

Rollins gritted his teeth against the pain. "Where did you come from? Why are you causing trouble for the Hound Gang?"

"This leader of the Hound Gang really has a bad memory. He just sent his men to cause trouble in our territory during the day, and now he's asking us why we're here?"

Leon tilted his head slightly and said sarcastically, "Didn't that idiot who came to the factory gate and started yelling tell you?"

"Su Song..."

Rollins spat out the name through gritted teeth, instantly understanding the whole story: "Listen, sir, there's absolutely no need for us to clash. You're working for that Qingchong for money, and I can give you money too."

"The Hound Gang has been operating at the docks for years; they have plenty of money and connections! We can cooperate; it's more promising than cooperating with that pest control guy!"

Leon smiled slightly: "I prefer to take the money myself rather than have someone else give it to me."

As soon as he finished speaking, two assassins carried in a heavy wooden barrel filled with seawater.

Leon grabbed Rollins by the hair and shoved his head into the cold, salty water without hesitation.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds...

Rollins' body writhed wildly, his hands pounding against Leon's arms, which felt like iron clamps.

Sixty seconds later, Leon finally pulled the nearly suffocating Rollins to the surface.

"Cough! Cough! Cough cough!!" Rollins collapsed to the ground, coughing and vomiting violently, his face covered in snot and tears.

However, before Rollins could catch his breath and beg for mercy, Leon had already taken a heavy woodworking hammer from his companion.

Two assassins stepped forward and roughly pressed Rollins' left hand hard onto the hardwood coffee table next to him.

"Wait, what are you doing?! I'm going to give you the money... Ah!"

Leon seemed not to hear him. He weighed the hammer in his hand and slammed it down on Rollins' left thumb.

One hammer blow, two hammer blows, three hammer blows...

Leon only stopped when the five fingers of that hand, along with the front half of the palm, were smashed into a mess of bloody flesh and bone.

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Half the money is in the basement, and the other half is in a hidden compartment in the study cabinet. Please! Stop!"

Rollins could no longer bear the pain and, wailing, revealed the location of the money.

Two assassins immediately turned around and quickly walked toward the entrance to the study and basement.

But Leon's movements did not stop.

The assassins grabbed Rollins' right hand and slammed it onto the coffee table. The hammer was raised again, its shadow looming over the intact hand.

"No! No! I've already told you everything! I've told you everything! Why are you still smashing it?!" Rollins cried out in despair.

Leon said calmly, "An innocent passerby died in Chinatown earlier today. Just because your men were passing by, they shot him without any reason."

"My boss was very unhappy when he found out, so I was unhappy too."

"I just want to learn from your subordinates and let you experience what it means to be tortured for no reason."

"No, no, don't!!!"

Ten minutes later, Leon left the mangled corpse and washed his blood-stained hands.

"Have you received all the money?"

"We got it: thirty fifty-ounce gold bars, a bunch of jeweled jewelry, and fifty bonds of the Michigan Central Railroad."

Two assassins approached carrying a sturdy canvas bag: "It's probably worth around $100,000."

"Not bad, I didn't expect gangsters to make so much money."

Leon nodded and said, "Same as always. If anyone sees us making a move tonight, we'll immediately withdraw from San Francisco and go to another city or town to become spies."

"Everyone else, follow me around in a circle and then return to Chinatown."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

the next day.

The discovery of bodies on the streets and in houses caused an uproar throughout San Francisco.

The Hounds, a notorious and ruthless gang in San Francisco, was uprooted and completely wiped out overnight!

Their taverns, brothels, and casinos were smashed to pieces, more than forty gang members died in the streets, and even their boss, Kenneth Rollins, known as the Hyena, was tortured to death in his own mansion.

This big news attracted reporters and newspapers all over San Francisco, who flocked to Clark Point, vying for the first scoop and eagerly filling the front pages with all sorts of speculation and exclusive details.

"My God, are gangsters this ruthless when they're fighting for territory now? They don't leave a single survivor?" Some people who saw the news clicked their tongues in astonishment.

A man holding other newspapers leaned over and said, "The newspapers say they even used explosives last night. These gangsters are getting more and more lawless. What are the police doing?"

Rumors spread through the streets and alleys, becoming a topic of conversation among citizens that was both shocking and somewhat morbidly curious.

However, inside a luxurious villa overlooking the bay on Nob Hill in San Francisco, the atmosphere was as heavy as lead.

Several newspapers, still smelling of ink, were slammed onto the gleaming mahogany table.

"Bullshit about gangs fighting for territory! What gang doesn't want to fight for territory, all they care about is killing?"

"This was clearly the work of those bastards from the San Francisco County Democratic Party. They weren't happy about the city-county merger bill passing, so they killed our people as a warning!"

"I think Senator Hawke is right."

Another portly man chimed in, "More than forty people were killed, there was an explosion and a gunfight—such a huge commotion, yet the county police station seemed to have gone completely deaf last night; not a single officer responded!"

"Who would believe it wasn't authorized by the county councilors? I'm determined to question them in the council and get the police chief removed from his post!"

"Alright, there's no point in talking about this now."

The last person rubbed his temples and said, "Now we should think about how to fill this gap."

"Originally, we thought we could use the Hound Gang, a local gang with strong xenophobic tendencies, to create fear and conflict among the lower classes towards those yellow-skinned monkeys and Irishmen."

At the same time, using the pretext of "judicial corruption and police incompetence," they promoted the establishment of a vigilance committee and gained public support.

Once the Sheriff's Committee gains law enforcement power, we can bypass the courts and police system controlled by the Democrats and directly purge dissidents, trying those disobedient officials and businessmen.

He sighed, his eyes turning sinister: "Now look what's happened. The vigilance committee has only just begun, and public opinion hasn't even been fully built up yet, and our best dirty gloves have already been chopped to pieces."

Congressman Hawke lit a cigar and suddenly had an idea: "Mayor, since the gloves are torn, just change them."

How about we try to bribe the Sydney Duck Gang? They all do dirty work anyway; the Hound Gang and the Sydney Duck Gang are pretty much the same.

The man referred to as "Mr. Mayor" is none other than Stephen Pavli Weber, the current mayor of San Francisco.

He shook his head upon hearing this and slowly said, "Mr. Hawke, if the Hound Gang is like a wild dog that needs to be disciplined occasionally, then the Sydney Duck Gang is a pack of hungry wolves that can never be fed."

A dog will be obedient if given a bone now and then, but a wolf is a greedy animal; it will only want to bite off the hand that gives you the bone.

A long silence fell over the living room, with only the smoke from cigars swirling silently. Finally, Hawke broke the silence.

"Then the only option is to send letters to party colleagues throughout California, asking them to send some trustworthy, reliable veterans or private bodyguards to rebuild the gang structure."

"Let's do it that way. I'll put maximum pressure on the county council at the city council and joint meetings to get them to agree to the city police department's investigation at Clark Point."

Weber nodded, a flash of fierceness crossing his eyes. "They killed our men and ruined our crucial plans; we can't get away with this so easily!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Meanwhile, on Jackson Street, at Yuanfang Building.

The head of Xieyi Hall was humming a traditional opera tune on a recliner when he suddenly heard a series of hurried footsteps.

Deng Deng Deng!

He turned his head and saw Sun Tianbao with a horrified expression, holding several newspapers as he climbed up to the third floor.

"Ah Bao, haven't I ever taught you to remain calm in the face of important matters? Why are you always so clumsy?" he said disapprovingly.

"No, boss, look at these news articles!"

Sun Tianbao hurriedly handed over the newspaper, exclaiming in panic, "Those bastards from the Hound Gang have all been wiped out overnight!"

"What?!"

The leader's expression changed, and he stood up to take the English newspapers and began to read them.

"Boss, do you think it could have been done by Su Song's men?"

Sun Tianbao swallowed hard and said, "Yesterday, the Hound Gang went to Su Song's factory to cause trouble, but in the end, those white guys slunk away."

"And then this happened that night..."

Don't scare yourself!

The leader took a deep breath and said, "Who knows how many people the Hound Gang offended at Cape Clark? Maybe some powerful outsider took a dislike to them and killed them all?"

"But what if the dragon head (referring to the dragon's head) fails?" Sun Tianbao was still uneasy.

The leader said in a deep voice, "What if? Even if it was Su Song's men who did it, how would they know we were behind it?"

He paced back and forth to the window, saying, "But what you said makes sense; better safe than sorry."

"When the next 'pig-flower boat' docks, call that brother who went to spread the news last time, and have him board immediately. Let him drift at sea for a year or two before returning."

"yes!"