Samir was startled: "You’re watching me?"

"Protecting our partners." Scorpion’s tone was flat. "Tomorrow night, the harbor area, the Albanian’s batch of ’Turkish goods’ (referring to heroin) will arrive. We’ll take care of it. Consider it a gift for those who don’t cooperate, and also a demonstration of our ability. You just need to watch, then tell your friends: cooperate, or disappear."

The phone call ended. Samir’s palms were sweaty on the steering wheel. He knew what "take care of it" meant. The Africans were about to fire the first shot in Marseille, and they chose a group not lacking in power and notorious for their ferocity, the Albanians. This would undoubtedly trigger a full-scale war.

What should he do? Report to Costa? Warn the Albanians? Or pretend he didn’t know?

After much hesitation, he said to the driver: "To Mr. Costa’s place." He decided to follow the stronger side, which seemed more likely to win. As for how much blood would be shed in Marseille, he couldn’t worry about that anymore.

October 16, 1997, night, Marseille harbor area.

At Pier 9 controlled by the Albanian gang, tonight a batch of important goods was being unloaded from a Turkish freighter. The pier was heavily guarded, with dozens of Albanian gunmen patrolling in the shadows, and their leader in the pier office checking the goods transaction.

At one in the morning, the transaction was completed, and the goods were loaded onto two trucks, ready to leave.

Then, a sudden change!

"Whiz—Bang!"

A rocket shot from the roof of an abandoned warehouse across the pier, accurately hitting the cabin of the lead truck!

With a loud explosion, the truck turned into a ball of fire, debris scattered everywhere!

Immediately, dense gunfire erupted from multiple directions! Not handguns or submachine guns, but assault rifles and light machine guns firing in bursts! Bullets swept toward the Albanians on the pier like a storm!

The Albanian gunmen were caught off guard, several were quickly taken down. The rest hastily looked for cover to return fire, but the opposing firepower was too fierce, and the shooting was extremely precise, coordinated seamlessly, clearly by professional soldiers!

The battle was a one-sided massacre. Within five minutes, the armed Albanian personnel on the pier were either dead or injured. The leader in the office tried to escape from the back door, but as soon as he rushed out, he was hit in the head by a sniper bullet from the darkness, falling to the ground dead.

The two trucks were ignited, the drugs inside vanished in the flames. The attackers appeared like ghosts and retreated swiftly like ghosts, leaving only bodies everywhere, burning vehicles, and the pungent smell of gunpowder.

When the police and ambulances arrived belatedly, the scene was only overwhelmingly tragic. Preliminary investigations showed that the attackers used military-grade weapons, exhibited high tactical proficiency, and left practically no valuable clues at the scene.

The news spread like wildfire through Marseille and the entire underground of France. Everyone understood: a group unrestricted by traditional rules, equipped with advanced gear, and brutally aggressive had brazenly started a war. Their objective was clear—using absolute violence to clear the field, establish authority, and create a new order.

Upon receiving the news, Costa immediately contacted Scorpion, his tone complex: "Clean job... but too loud. Albanians won’t let this go easily; their families are united and deeply connected with Eastern Europe."

Scorpion’s response was simple: "Let them come. We’re waiting. Mr. Costa, it’s time to show your position. Are you with us to clean up Marseille, or are you waiting to be cleaned up together?"

Costa hung up the phone, knowing there was no turning back. He must fully align with the Africans, leveraging their force, to become the ultimate winner in the coming bloody storm in Marseille. He quickly gathered his men, started mobilizing, and prepared to counter the retaliation from the Albanians and other potentially disturbed gangs.

Marseille, this jewel of the Mediterranean, beneath its calm surface, the fuse of a drug war had been ignited. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

The flame that ignited it came from the distant African continent, carrying the wounds and hatred left by the colonial era, and the distorted greed and violence of the globalization era.

Europe’s defense line, the first breach, was being bloodily torn open in the streets of Marseille.