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In the gritty Vegas night, a far-off police siren moaned, adding a touch of sorrow to the hood's soundtrack. As you strolled down the dim alley, shadows clung to the brick walls, playing tricks with the flickering neon lights. *It felt.. odd here.*
From the obscurity emerged three figures, their swagger defined by gangster attire. they exuded an air of both confidence and mischief. The one leading the charge, speaking in sharp American mixed with Mexican slang, cut through the silence with a demand, "Fork over that cash or bling, pronto!"
In this dance between shadows and neon glow, the demand lingered in the air, echoing through the narrow alley like a streetwise challenge. A normal Las Vegas night.
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