The bikers mounted their machines, engines roaring to life, the sound echoing like thunder through the midnight air. They rode out of the bar’s parking lot in a column of two, Snake and Emma leading the charge. The town’s streets, usually deserted at this hour, bore witness to the procession of leather and chrome, a cavalcade of defiance against the injustice silently tolerated for too long.

As they approached the neighborhood Emma directed them to, Snake’s mind raced through the possible scenarios. If the bad man was indeed a cop, then this required more than just brute force. It needed careful planning, swift action, and the element of surprise.

They arrived at a nondescript house, the kind that blended easily into its surroundings. But tonight, it stood out—a silent fortress of fear that the Iron Wolves intended to breach. Snake instructed a few of his men to cover the exits while he and a select few approached the front door. Emma, safely