Fatty pressed his face against the car window, staring blankly at the police line outside.
He knew it was Old Smith who wanted to see him, but he never dreamed that Old Smith's arrival would come with such a grand entourage.
Old Smith stood outside the isolation net at the crossroads. Behind him were dozens of agile Mecha unique to the Phantom Stream. Surrounded by the Mecha were hundreds of Phantom Stream disciples holding various weapons. Among these disciples were more than twenty giant trucks.
The automatic doors of some truck tailgates were already open.
A few carefree children were running excitedly on the trucks' automatic ramps, while women and old people huddled behind the partitions inside the trucks, with only half their heads exposed, silently watching this side.
Clearly, these were the families of the Phantom Stream members, who had come out in full force.
Fatty scrambled his chubby hands over his head, as if this was the only way to express his current confusion.
