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 seemed 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 frame, gently applying pressure. The wooden frame 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 argument erupted from the dining room on the first floor. He stopped immediately to determine if he had been discovered.
"You old bastard, stop nagging in front of me! Money, give me money, all I need now is money!"
A voice boomed through the night like thunder, reeking of alcohol and thinly veiled irritability. It was Toto's father shouting.
"You idiot, go sleep in the basement 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 argument 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 someone poked their head out, grumbling discontentedly, "There they go again, I've had enough!"
But soon, the windows were slammed shut again.
Toto knew the neighbors were accustomed to such scenes. They had complained countless times, 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 come 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, fermenting 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 home. 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 moment.
But Toto didn't care. His goal was the "Scorpion" bar a kilometer away.
The "Scorpion" bar had fallen silent again after multiple "visits" from gang members, Raul, and the police.
The yellow police tape marking the crime 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 meters away, resting the bike against a roadside tree. From his backpack, he took out an emergency 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 seemed to hide lurking demons, ready to pounce at any moment.
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 times to ensure no one noticed him before carefully stepping inside.
The light from the emergency 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 time to be afraid; it was his moment 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 some unknown danger.