That night, in a private hospital in Jayrodale, Dylan stormed in with over 100 of his men dressed in black. The hospital staff and visitors trembled in fear, wondering who had earned the wrath of South City's most notorious crime lord.

Dylan, usually sporting a buzzcut and friendly demeanor, was oddly absent of smiles. When the doctor emerged from the ward, Dylan extinguished his cigarette and asked, "How's Bobby?"

The doctor's face was grave as he shook his head, replying, "It doesn't look good."

"What does that mean? Explain!"

"H-He's in a vegetative state," the doctor said carefully, casting a wary glance at Dylan.

Surprisingly, Dylan showed neither rage nor murderous intent.

"Mr. Garner, we must get our revenge!"

"Let us tear this punk into pieces for daring to touch one of our own!"

"Just say the word, Mr. Garner; I'll take care of this clueless punk right now!"

Dylan raised his hand. "Keep it down. Don't disturb Bobby's rest."

"But Mr. Garner…"

Dy