For all the chaos gripping Santos City, Chanel Hills remained untouched.
The upscale gated community sat in quiet contrast to the distant plumes of smoke rising over the skyline. Behind high walls and private security, it was as if the outside world didn't exist.
Still, protocol demanded caution.
Five guards were stationed at the gate—two outside, two within and one in the booth. The pair outside stood beneath dim overhead lights, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. They weren't particularly worried.
They never were.
One of them, Leroy, took a slow drag from his cigarette, watching the faint orange glow brighten before exhaling toward the sky. He let the smoke curl up into the cold air before shaking his head.
"Man, I always hate these emergency deployments." He took another puff, grumbling, "Could've been home, feet up, cold beer in hand. But no—now I gotta freeze my ass off out here."
