The street was thrumming with tension. The concrete buildings were teaming with members of the Tyler Reynolds gang. Dust flitted over the street as somewhere around a hundred men and women stood watching. A lone man walks out into the street. Sweat brimming on his brow. His hat tipped downward, covering his face. His worn duster tells the tale of countless battles, his stride warns of a calm collected man, prepared to deliver death at a moment’s notice. The crowd is silent, eager. He stops in the middle of the street and turns to see his adversary. From the service elevator, a rough man strides forth. His hair long and tangled, his beard unkempt, the smell of whiskey hot on his breath. He appears almost savage in the dim light of the understreets, like a dog gone mad. He stops in the center of the street, but a few paces from his challenger. The pair meet eyes, and so begins the duel. A few words are spoken, but they aren’t heard by the audience. Suddenly the mad dog raises his arms, encouraging the viewers. The rise of sound in the concrete Colosseum rises to a roar. It is all the challenger can do to keep his nerve. His hand shakes, and his palms feel sweaty. He and his opponent acknowledge each other with but a gaze. They turn, walk twelve paces and face each other. Neither draws his weapon, those each carries a hand by his piece. The challenger can feel the tension rise up the back of his neck. This is the moment of truth. It’s either kill or be killed. The mad dog keeps his gaze locked with his challenger. His fingers twitching, ready to go for the kill. The challenger maintains the eye contact until it seems unbearable. Suddenly both become aware that the other is about to draw. Their hands flash for their six-guns, as steel scrapes against leather and the barrels clear the holster it becomes suddenly clear: Mad dog will get the first shot. A lifetime of pain and suffering flashes before the challenger’s eyes in a split second. As the mad dog rears his piece at his challenger’s head, his right foot slips off the side of the raised patch of asphalt He looses his concentration. In that very moment the challenger takes aim and pulls the trigger. A deathly silence follows. The mad dog has been put down.