Chapter 1: West District Robbery
West District
“Get down!”
“Lie down!”
Terrified shouts erupted like a tsunami, instantly shattering the peace of the street and echoing through the sky.
Then—
“Ratatatat!!!”
The deadly bursts of an M11 submachine gun roared like a violent metallic storm, mercilessly raining down.
The crowd instantly scattered like headless flies. Cries, curses, and agonized screams intertwined, composing a dreadful symphony of death and fear.
“Damn it!”
Someone cursed in despair.
“Ahhh!”
“It’s the Black T-Shirt Gang again! Damn them!”
“If they don’t get the money, they’ll kill people!”
The wails of the injured rang out continuously, as if echoing from the depths of hell.
“Don’t move!”
“Hand over all your money!”
The robbers roared aggressively, like ferocious wolves, their arrogance announcing to the world that they were the supreme rulers of this crime-ridden district.
A large gang of thugs, so reckless they didn’t even bother covering their faces, wielded M11 submachine guns and unleashed a crazed, indiscriminate shooting spree upon the innocent crowd. Their tattoo-covered faces made them nearly unrecognizable.
Daphne Finney reacted the moment she heard the gunshots. She quickly stepped to the side, knelt by a wall, raised both hands high, then clasped them behind her head and swiftly closed her eyes.
This was already the third robbery in the West District this year.
Daphne had learned survival tactics: if she didn’t see the robbers’ faces and willingly gave up her valuables, she could keep her life.
Listening to the panicked footsteps, the running, the crying, Daphne sighed.
She wasn’t a savior. She could not share her survival knowledge with those experiencing their first robbery.
As these thoughts raced through her mind, a glimpse from the corner of her eye caught sight of a pair of large, glaring yellow boots approaching. Before she could react, the boots stomped down on her head with crushing force, pressing down as if to shatter her skull.
Daphne’s mind went blank with sheer terror. One primal instinct remained—survival! She used every ounce of strength to scream, “I have money! I have money!”
With tightly shut eyes and trembling hands, she flung her brown leather purse toward the masked man as if tossing a life-saving rope.
The man swiftly unzipped the purse, glanced inside, and, upon confirming its contents, the suffocating pressure on Daphne’s head slightly lessened.
Just as she thought she had narrowly escaped death, an older man with white hair was shoved beside her like a discarded rag doll.
Daphne squinted, forcing herself to suppress her fear, and looked over. To her surprise, the older man’s face showed no sign of terror.
The moment he fell, he even tried to get up—a reckless move that was practically asking for death.
Daphne, driven by her natural kindness and empathy, instinctively grabbed the older man’s hand with all her strength, firmly preventing him from standing up. She feared that his foolish act would get him killed on the spot.
Unfortunately, her action caught the robbers’ attention.
A pair of monstrous hands suddenly seized Daphne’s hair, yanking it upward with brutal force. Her head was jerked high, and she clenched her teeth in agony, her eyes welling up with tears. Still, she kept them tightly shut, too afraid to meet the robber’s wolf-like gaze.
Perhaps her extreme fear yet stubborn refusal to cry amused the masked man. He reached out with a gloved hand, pinched her chin, and examined her face, clicking his tongue as if evaluating merchandise.
“Let’s go, Phoenix! Stop dawdling! The cops will be here soon!” a voice yelled from a distance—it seemed to be the gang’s leader.
“Boss! This woman is beautiful! Should we take her with us?!” the man gripping Daphne’s chin greedily stroked her face, his eyes gleaming with sinister desire, like a starving wolf eyeing its prey.
“Fuck you! Is this the time to pick up women? Check if the older man has money! If he does, take it and go! If not, kill him!”
The leader’s furious roar was filled with rage.
“Yes, boss!”
The robbers responded in unison, their voices like the chilling howls of demons.
“Damn it! Dressed so fancy, yet not a single dollar in his pockets?!”
“Shut up! Didn’t you hear the boss? No money, then kill him! Phoenix.”
Daphne heard the crisp, chilling sound of a gun being cocked—the death knell ringing in her ears.
Suddenly, courage surged through her. She instinctively lunged forward and clung to the thug, her body trembling violently as she screamed, “Don’t hurt my grandpa! I—I have a gold necklace!”
“You bitch! Why didn’t you say so earlier?! Do you have a death wish?!” the thug cursed viciously.
“Tsk, tsk, a beauty like you deserves patience. Sweetheart, hand over the necklace, or I’ll have to search you myself,” Phoenix said in a low, sinister voice, licking his lips.
“No, no! Please don’t hurt us! I didn’t even see your face!”
Daphne, desperate, didn’t even bother unclasping the necklace. She frantically yanked it off, shoved it into the man’s hand, and quickly crouched down again, shielding the older man behind her like a human shield.
The older man remained silent, either paralyzed with fear or completely mute.
Though she had only caught a brief glimpse earlier, Daphne’s sharp instincts told her this older man was out of place in the West District.
Most West District residents wore simple, rugged clothing, but this older man was clad in a high-quality alpaca wool coat and a vintage-style medieval hat—attire far too luxurious for this crime-ridden area. He looked like a lost noble from a distant, extravagant world.
Daphne speculated that he was simply unaware of the unspoken rules of the West District.
She wasn’t usually one to meddle in others’ affairs. But in this life-or-death moment, having witnessed everything firsthand, she couldn’t just stand by and watch an innocent life be taken before her eyes.