In a gloomy jail cell, not one glimmer of light hangs about. Behind the bars, a respectably dressed gentiluomo wrinkles his brow in revulsion. In a shadowy corner sits a loud-mouthed man. 'Signore, you got any bros?' Hearing him utter that specific word, 'bros,' the gentiluomo haughtily pulls at his sleeve collars, and speaks boastfully. 'My elder brother Davis, Signore Davis to you, is an important man in the Eastern region. He has many a means up his sleeve. I won't be loitering in here for long.' 'Nice, nice. I've got a buddy too. Bet you he's also trying every trick to get me out.' 'My brother has a lawyer who charges four thousand an hour. What does your 'bro' have?' 'A giant drill? Plus some insanely buff arms. No joke, chiseled like a rock.' 'Oh? And how is he going to rescue you from this place? Punching a hole in the wall?' 'Haha, yeah, that's just his style.' Letting out a disdainful sneer, the gentiluomo folds his arms and silently mocks this man in his head— 'Doesn't he know the walls here are half a meter of cement? What an utter dunce.' The door creaks open, and in comes a man carrying paperwork, his leather shoes gleaming unusually brightly in the dim of the cell. 'Signore Hengel, my pleasure. I'm your brother's attorney.' The gentiluomo pats off his suit and gingerly stands. 'Are you here to let me out?' 'Sincere apologies, Signore Hengel, but I cannot. 'Your brother wanted me to deliver you a message: 'Enjoying the benefits of the famiglia comes with a duty to the famiglia.'' At these words, the gentiluomo's eyes grow wide. 'But it was my brother who had me do those things...' Yet the lawyer gives him not even another glance, merely a parting remark as he turns to leave. 'Brothers must help each other out, no, signore?' 'Stop, wait, come back! You bastard!' The gentiluomo clutches at the bars and begins to wail. The man in the corner attempts, at least, to comfort him. 'Maybe you can come with us.' 'Pull your head out. Your 'bro' isn't coming. 'Everyone who lands in here, without exception, is someone their famiglia cast away.' '...Famiglia? It ain't anything like that. He's a buddy to me. He'll come.' 'Enough, you moron. Even setting aside how heavy the guard is out there, this wall alone is fifty whole—' An earsplitting drilling noise cuts off the gentiluomo mid-sentence. Through the wall steadily pokes out a gargantuan drill, wrecking the concrete at such speed it may as well be shredded paper. Dust and debris is thrown down in spades, and the ground itself lightly trembles. A burly man steps through the yawning hole, toting the giant drill by hand. The light shining in from behind him hides his face in chiaroscuro. Casually turning off his handheld titan, the man turns to ask something to the dumbstruck gentiluomo. 'Are you coming with us, signore?'