Russell stared at the safe before him, then at the door, his expression complicated for just a moment. I could have easily taken advantage of his confusion, unlocked the door, taken the item, and escaped. But… never mind that. Since I'm already here…
It's everyone's responsibility to fight crime! Sure, I broke into someone's house and stole their belongings, but I'm a good person!
After careful thought, Russell finally let go of the roulette and gently pushed open the door, listening intently to the sounds outside. No one seemed to be around. He exited the warehouse, picked up the unconscious Mr. Henderson from the ground, and carried him back inside. Immediately afterward, Russell grabbed the only weapons he had—a revolver and a police baton—and crept toward the direction where the gunshots had come from. As he got closer, the gunfire grew sharper, and he saw the bodies of several security guards lying on the ground. He frowned at the sight.
My colleagues don't seem to be very friendly.
The gunshots had come from Area A, but how did those men get inside?
Russell's mind raced. First, he ruled out the possibility that they had been hiding here from the start—they must have broken in. But that didn't seem practical either. That left only one possibility… a safe route.
Russell recalled the map of the underground vault in his mind. The emergency exit was located in Area A. That was the escape route he had planned in advance… even though he was the first to arrive. Damn it—a spy among us!
There's a villain in the crowd!
Picking up his speed, Russell rushed toward Area A, his revolver already off safety, ready to fire at any moment. The closer he got, the more clearly the mingled gunshots, shouts, and screams could be heard. The air was filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and a faint smell of blood.
The situation was far worse than he could've imagined. He'd been working in this field for a year, but this was the first time he'd encountered something like this.
So this is what they call the preliminary rounds, eh?
Right now, the corridor of Area A-3 had become a warzone. Three uniformed security guards hid behind the walls and an iron gate, firing furiously down the hall. Opposite them, five masked bandits had managed to obtain submachine guns and were suppressing the guards with overwhelming firepower.
"Damn, these guys are seriously packing!" one guard cursed, retreating behind the concrete wall.
"Where's everyone else? Where are Henderson and Frederick?"
"They're probably dead by now! Damn it, where did these guys even come from?"
"Sh*t!"
Russell frowned, silently observing the chaos unfolding beside him. These bandits were well-equipped, acted in an organized fashion with clear objectives, and were obviously prepared. They had taken advantage of a window in the security system maintenance on a Saturday night.
The corridor formed a T-shape, with guards and bandits exchanging fire from opposite sides and Russell right in the center. Thinking quickly, Russell advanced slowly along the right wall to expand his field of view. He soon spotted Richard, cowering behind the frontline, curled up in a relatively safe spot. Beside him lay a fellow guard, bleeding heavily from a stomach wound.
"Richard! Take Tom and get out of here, now!" the guard in front shouted. "Get to the emergency exit and call for help!"
Richard didn't respond. Under Russell's gaze, he merely lowered his head, staring at the dying man next to him, whose face was pale from loss of blood, as if checking for his own injuries.
Yet a sense of unease suddenly welled up in Russell's heart. He sensed ill intent—not directed at him, but still present.
Just as Tom tried to warn the frontline guards to be careful of their rear, Russell saw Richard bend down and pick up Tom's pistol. Then, he calmly leveled the black barrel at the head of the guard in front.
Bang!
The gunshot echoed. The still-fighting guard collapsed to the ground bathed in a spray of blood. Tom stared in utter disbelief, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words emerged—only pain twisted his face.
After shooting his teammate, the gun slowly dropped to aim at Tom. All he could do was watch helplessly. Another shot rang out, ending Tom's suffering.
Not even pausing for a second, Richard looked up, surveying his surroundings, and locked eyes with Russell. Russell's pupils shrank, hand instinctively reaching for his gun, but a system notification rang in his ear—
[Richard has developed murder intent towards you for witnessing his crime. Malice Level +50.]
Russell instantly abandoned his plan and dove to the side.
"Bang!"
The bullet grazed Russell and struck the wall. Richard cast one last glance at the retreating Russell and then winked at an accomplice. Moments later, the relentless rain of bullets abruptly ceased.
"Come out, Frederick," Richard called. His voice, brimming with the confidence of a cat toying with a mouse, echoed across the empty underground corridor.
"You can't get out; the only exit is sealed off. Given our former partnership, if you join us now, I might forgive you. Didn't you say it yourself? You don't want to work in this forsaken place any longer. Here's your chance."
Still pressed against the wall, Russell made no sound, didn't react at all. He was just analyzing the numbers on the field. He'd passed at least five or six bodies on the way here—not counting the hidden ones.
If Richard smuggled people in through the escape route, all of that area's guards must've already been neutralized.
Worst-case scenario: I'll be the only one left alive here. Against six opponents—am I at an advantage? There's no need to respond.
Richard's voice rang out again. "We have time. We can search every room, one by one. But, Frederick, I have to warn you: my brothers aren't sharpshooters. If by chance you get riddled with bullets, don't blame me."
A blatant threat.
Russell scoffed. He weighed the revolver in his hand—only six bullets left. In total, including what he was carrying, there were only twelve rounds. The other side had at least two submachine guns. This was not a fight that could be won head-on.
Luckily, I'm not one for baking bread.
Russell took a deep breath and opened the system shop.
[Smoke Grenade ×5 Purchased]
[Malice Points: 1050 remaining]
"Frederick, you have dozens of them, right?" Richard sounded frustrated.
"Ten."
"Nine." Russell pulled a smoke grenade from his pocket and tested its weight in his hand.
"Eight."
Calculating the lead time perfectly, he hurled the smoke grenade powerfully toward the middle of the corridor.
"Seven."
Puff!
Instantly, thick black smoke filled the hallway, and Russell's figure vanished in the haze.
"Let's see what you really think about my teleporting!"
"Cough, cough! Dammit, it's a smoke grenade!"
"He's there! Fire!"
A barrage of bullets erupted from the smoke, raining down in the center of the corridor. But right as the smoke grenade was thrown, Russell was no longer there.
With the mist array's effect, Russell suddenly materialized on the right side of the corridor, just ten meters from the nearest thug with a submachine gun. The thugs were caught completely off guard by his sudden appearance.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three shots from the revolver, each precisely hitting an arm or leg. Screams echoed with system notifications, and malice points flooded to Russell's account.
He emptied the cylinder and, wasting no time, tossed another smoke grenade at his own feet. Black smoke once again filled the hall, and the phantom thief vanished from sight.
Richard, standing at the far end behind the haze, couldn't see a thing. But just as the smoke began to dissipate and before he could act, he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind.
He instinctively turned his head, only to be greeted by the cold, black barrel of a shotgun pressed to his temple. Russell stood right behind him, weapon steady, face expressionless.
"Frederick…!"
Richard's pupils shrank. But he quickly understood what had happened.
There's no way Frederick—the tubercular guy—could do something like this!
"No, no—you're not Frederick. You're Moriarty!"
"Correct, but unfortunately there's no prize for the right answer."
Without hesitation, Russell pulled the trigger.
Richard instinctively closed his eyes, but the gunshot he was expecting never came.
[Skill: Combat C, Boosted to Level C+, Malice -300]
[Malice Balance: 950]
Just as he opened his eyes in confusion, he heard a whooshing sound—the shotgun barrel struck his head.
Bang!
Gunfights are just another kind of battle!
….