Mike had no intention of keeping watch. He had other business to attend to.
He was heading to his place of residence. It was in downtown Vegas, an old storage shed he had fitted out to fulfil his needs.
Not much, but it's home.
Mike trudged along the sidewalk and made his way towards his industrial estate front garden. He could smell smoke quite strongly, which in itself was not unusual; there was a tyre factory next door.
Then he saw. Everything was gone. The entire place was burned to the ground, his shed, the cranes, the run-down old warehouses; the entire estate had been razed. Mike just stood there, his mouth agape.
Surely not. Who the hell would…
As if to answer his mental question, a volley of shots rang out, peppering the ground at his feet. Mike inwardly groaned; this was getting tiresome.
Keeping low, he sprinted to the charred remains of his shed.
There. The box.
He flung himself down behind a piece of charred wood, next to a blackened but otherwise untouched combination safe box.
I knew this would come in handy one day.
Quickly entering the combination, he reached inside and let out a satisfied grunt as his hand clasped the barrel of a semi-automatic Glock 17 handgun. He had found this weapon on a job three weeks ago and had pocketed it, for insurance.
He reached inside the box again and pulled out three magazines, each filled with Winchester Hollow-Point 9mm ammunition. He snapped one of these into the weapon, placing the rest in his jacket pocket.
Excellent. Bring it on.
The last thing left in the box was a pair of M18 Wire-Pull Smoke Canisters. Clipping one to his belt, he pulled the pin from the other. Immediately smoke began to issue from the grenade.
Red. I like red.
Mike lobbed it into the space between him and the entrance and straight away the gunfire opened up again.
3… 2… 1… GO!
He sprinted through the all-enveloping cloud of smoke, firing three shots into the air to make his assailants keep their heads down.
He reached the entrance without incident and threw himself down behind a bush. The smoke began to clear, but Mike didn't stay to watch. He needed to get moving.
Having holstered his Glock in the inside pocket of his jacket, he strode down the back streets, on his way back to the casino.
There's nothing left for me here now. Better get back to the others.
As he did so, he saw a convoy of jeeps drive past. They were exactly the same as the ones that chased them on the motorway the day before and those Sara had destroyed after escaping from that restaurant. And they were heading straight for the casino.
How many of those things have they got?!
Breaking into a run, he headed for where he left Jack, Sara and Seth.
And I was supposed to be keeping watch. Urgh.
The jeeps were obviously faster than Mike, but he had one important advantage over them. He could go cross-country.