Midnight, twelve o'clock. White Beach Town was swallowed by the heavy darkness, as if an invisible hand was tightly gripping the entire town.
Lonely streetlights seed like a few cracks in the darkness, their weak glow barely outlining the dilapidated streets.
It had been exactly twenty-four hours since the shootout at the "Scorpion" bar last night. The road was silent, only occasionally pierced by the distant sound of sirens.
Toto stood by his bedroom window, his fingers on the window fra, gently applying pressure. The wooden fra creaked, as if reminding him not to startle anyone.
He held his breath, stuck his head out, and cautiously observed the situation outside. The street was empty, with only a few stray cats lingering near the trash cans.
After confirming there were no abnormalities, Toto took a deep breath, clumsily climbed out of the window, and onto the pre-set ladder.
Weighing over 150 kilograms, every step Toto took made the wooden structure of the roof creak under the strain, and the ladder wobbled slightly under his weight.
He tried to step lightly, gripping the rungs of the ladder with fingers as cautious as if he were walking on thin ice.
Just as he was about to reach the ground, a fierce argunt erupted from the dining room on the first floor. He stopped imdiately to determine if he had been discovered.
"You old bastard, stop nagging in front of ! Money, give money, all I need now is money!"
A voice bood through the night like thunder, reeking of alcohol and thinly veiled irritability. It was Toto's father shouting.
"You idiot, go sleep in the basent or I'll blow your head off!" Grandma's voice countered, sharp and cold.
Toto knew that his grandmother was holding a loaded shotgun. The pockmarked bullet holes on the kitchen wall were proof that she would indeed fire.
Their argunt escalated, with venomous curses and foul slang shooting from their mouths like bullets, every word dripping with hatred and malice.
The neighbors' windows lit up, and soone poked their head out, grumbling discontentedly, "There they go again, I've had enough!"
But soon, the windows were slamd shut again.
Toto knew the neighbors were accustod to such scenes. They had complained countless tis, but to no avail.
In this place called Mud Street, true poverty resided in White Beach Town, filled with thieves, vagrants, welfare bums, and junkies.
The police couldn't be bothered to co here, at most showing up post-incident to gather the bodies.
Finally reaching the ground, Toto quickly stowed the ladder and slipped into the shadows, looking around cautiously.
The street was pervaded with the stench of rot, a nauseating sour odor from the uncollected, fernting garbage.
A few rats scurried in the darkness, their eyes glinting a ghostly green under the moonlight.
A bony stray cat stealthily approached and suddenly pounced. The caught rat squeaked in distress.
Toto pulled an old bicycle from beside the garage, its rusted wheels glinting dully in the moonlight.
He held the handlebars, carefully pushing the bicycle away until he could no longer hear the distant arguing from his ho. Then, he mounted the bike and pedaled hard.
This bike had been his toy years ago, abandoned in the garage corner, long unused.
Now that his weight had tripled, riding the bike was like a circus bear, causing it to creak as if it might fall apart at any mont.
But Toto didn't care. His goal was the "Scorpion" bar a kiloter away.
The "Scorpion" bar had fallen silent again after multiple "visits" from gang mbers, Raul, and the police.
The yellow police tape marking the cri scene had been torn to shreds, fluttering like rags in the wind, mocking the impotence of the law.
The sealing strips at the entrance were even more laughable, torn to pieces and scattered on the ground.
Both the front and back doors of the bar were wide open, like a gaping mouth waiting to devour anyone daring to enter.
Toto stopped tens of ters away, resting the bike against a roadside tree. From his backpack, he took out an ergency light and switched it on, a beam of strong light piercing the darkness.
He approached the bar with extraordinary caution, stopping every few steps to survey his surroundings.
The roadside cars, rooftop buildings, and shattered windows seed to hide lurking demons, ready to pounce at any mont.
The nearer he got to the bar, the faster his heart beat, almost pounding out of his chest. He knew he had to be careful, or doom was imminent.
He circled the bar a few tis to ensure no one noticed him before carefully stepping inside.
The light from the ergency lamp illumined the bar, which was in complete disarray.
Broken glass bottles reflected a dazzling light, and the tilted tables and chairs lay scattered as if trampled by a giant beast, blocking the view.
Darkness shifted with the moving light as if countless eyes watched him, evoking a chilling sense of entering an infernal abyss.
Toto's breath quickened as he struggled to stay calm, but images from last night—gunshots, screams, blood—kept flashing in his mind.
He shook his head to dispel these images. He knew now was not the ti to be afraid; it was his mont to strike it rich, to succeed.
He gingerly stepped over the debris on the floor, moving deeper into the bar. Every step felt like walking on the edge of a knife, afraid of triggering so unknown danger.
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