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On a street not far from the square, Mosquito, who was selling fireworks out of a truck, was caught red-handed by a pair of patrolling players wearing armbands of the Festival Management Committee.
Pedestrians crowded around, curious to see what was happening.
“Fuck! What’s wrong with selling a few fireworks? Why can they sell and I can’t?!” Mosquito protested loudly as the two players held him by the arms.
The enforcers gave him no sympathy, snapping back without hesitation.
“You’ve got some nerve!”
“You call those fireworks?!”
Irene, rummaging through his stall, picked up a rocket shell as thick as his calf and whistled through. “Hailstorm 1.0 rockets… Hasn’t this been retired for a long time? Its performance was pretty shit back in the days, right?”
It was the famous New Alliance-style Katyusha rocket launcher.
He remembered using it back during the Bonechewer...
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