**City District · Police Station**
*BANG! BANG!*
Two shotgun blasts shattered the glass of the police station.
Everyone instinctively covered their ears, and a few women let out startled screams. The next moment, a man in black burst in, gun raised.
"Surprise! Good morning, officers! Today is 'Rob the Police Station Day'!"
The man laughed maniacally, holding a gun in each hand, and without further ado began spraying bullets across the row of workstations.
People screamed and scattered. Two or three quicker-thinking officers reached for their sidearms to return fire, but the man in black shot them in the chest first—they collapsed into pools of blood a second later.
The gunman walked further into the station. He was lean and tall, holding a gun in each hand, veins bulging on the fingers curled around the triggers. He wore an eyepatch over his right eye; beneath the black circular patch, a large, horrifying burn scar was faintly visible. He grinned, gums showing, a laugh that sounded like the shriek of a demon from the depths of hell, radiating the madness in his very blood.
*BANG! BANG!------*
Several officers rushed over upon hearing the commotion, trying to subdue him, but he gunned them down in a few shots.
His movements were practiced and precise; every shot found its mark.
Behind him, several more criminals dressed in black flooded into the station, firing wildly into the office area, killing many civilians who were there on business as well as police officers.
Stepping over the still-warm bodies on the floor, rifle raised, the man with the eyepatch scanned the faces of the dead, watching the blood bubble up from their wounds. His gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, but he didn't find his target.
*Not here?*
Whistling, he kicked open an interrogation room door. The officer inside had just risen to ask who was there, but was shot dead instantly.
He swept his gaze around the interrogation room briefly, seeing only a man with a scarred face handcuffed to the interrogation chair.
"..." His target wasn't there. The man with the eyepatch turned and left.
The scarred man watched the eyepatch man's retreating back with a dark expression, listening to the whistling fade with the footsteps. He then silently shifted his gaze to the officer lying dead in a pool of blood a few steps away. He raised his hand, his long fingers gently tracing the scar that nearly split his face in two. For some reason, the scar throbbed with a dull ache.
"I absolutely *love* Robbery Day! Hahahaha!"
The eyepatch man laughed heartily, shooting the lock off the door of the office at the end of the hall. He kicked the door open to reveal a neat, tidy office. Directly across from the door sat a square desk, stacked high with orderly folders. Beside the stacks stood the office owner's nameplate:
— *Detective Osborne Wilson.*
"Wow, good morning to you, *esteemed*..." He glanced at the nameplate, affecting an exaggeratedly polite tone, "...Detective Osborne Wilson. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Wh-Who are you?!" The portly detective scrambled to crouch down behind his desk, peeking over the top with terror in his eyes.
"Me? Ha, I don't know who I am either, but my codename is **Cyclops**. Dear Detective, I'm looking for someone."
Cyclops sauntered casually over to the desk, used the barrel of his gun to push aside a stack of folders, and perched his rear on the edge of the desk. He picked up the detective's half-finished cup of coffee with a delicate, prissy gesture and downed it in one gulp.
"Nice coffee. Though I prefer black, no sugar. Wilson, a man of your... *stature* should really watch his sugar intake."
"Security! Where is security?!" The detective yelled towards the door.
"Don't bother. They're dead... About a minute ago? Maybe a minute and a half? Who knows." Cyclops replied nonchalantly. He tossed the coffee cup aside; it shattered against the floor with a crisp sound. "Right now, it's a state of Criminal Impunity. Oh, dear Lord above, I absolutely *adore* **The Three Laws of Acheron**."
"Wh-Who are you looking for?" The detective stammered, trembling before the madman.
Cyclops smirked faintly. He turned slightly, looking down at the detective still cowering behind the desk, and revealed his target's name.
At the same time, other criminals in the station were being freed, plunging the entire precinct into chaos.
*BANG! BANG!------*
Gunshots rang out everywhere. Screams mixed with cheers filled the air. Criminals began assaulting officers with ashtrays and batons. They broke free of their handcuffs, stood on desks cheering, or viciously decapitated officers, kicking the heads around like soccer balls.
"I-I told you everything I know. P-Please, don't kill me---"
The detective's pleas came from the office, but the next gunshot drowned him out. Then, only a heavy *THUD*—the sound of a body hitting the floor. Silence followed.
"Hmph. Interesting."
The eyepatch man, codenamed **Cyclops**, left the detective's office, shotgun resting on his shoulder, a smile on his lips. His dark cloak was splattered with the detective's blood, but he paid it no mind.
He strolled into the hallway just as a human-head "ball" rolled to his feet. The surrounding criminals whooped, egging him on to kick it. Cyclops bent down and picked up the head—it belonged to a blonde woman, eyes wide, tongue lolling out, her beautiful golden hair stained crimson.
"Such a beautiful lady," he remarked, clicking his tongue in feigned admiration, then scoffed. "Pity. She's no match for my Elena."
He tossed the head away with a flick of his wrist.
The criminals caught it and continued their gruesome game.
Whistling, Cyclops rounded the corner by the station restrooms and came face-to-face with a little girl sitting alone in the white corridor.
"Well, well, look what we have here." He smiled slightly, resting the shotgun against his shoulder. "A helpless, stranded little girl."
"Cyclops." The little girl glanced at him, her dark crimson eyes tinged with hostility. "That black sedan outside... is it yours?"
"No, no, technically, it belongs to my subordinate."
"Subordinate? The game just started, and you've already found subordinates?" The girl looked up slightly at the tall, gaunt man standing before her, her voice utterly devoid of fear.
"Sweetheart, you must understand, in this game, when it comes to something as thrilling as crime, the call to action is *very* compelling." He narrowed his one remaining eye, looking down at her, his voice dropping to a low rasp. "This round is the **Upper Rank Hunt**. It's a new game, a chance for the Upper Rank to reshuffle. No one's passing up this opportunity. You three... are as good as dead."
Hearing this, the little girl smiled coldly.
"Cyclops, I have something to tell you."
"What's that?"
"You... are going to die at my hands again today."
As soon as she spoke, footsteps sounded behind Cyclops. He spun around warily, but the newcomer was faster, slamming a fist into his face. One of Cyclops's teeth flew out instantly. He stumbled a few steps, trying to regain his footing, but the next moment a heavy kick landed on his abdomen. Gasping from the sharp pain, Cyclops snarled, unwilling to back down. He gritted his teeth and reversed his grip, swinging the shotgun stock towards the man's chest, creating a sliver of distance between them.
*Click-clack.* He swiftly readied the weapon, the black muzzle of the shotgun aimed squarely at the other man's head. The attacker halted his assault, frozen by the gun aimed at him.
The two men stood locked in a standoff.
"Tsk, tsk. Looks like our little sweetheart has a loyal guardian?" Cyclops spat out a mouthful of blood. He raised an eyebrow at Arthur, whose face was wrapped in bandages. "Or should I say... a *Mummy* man? Interesting. Let me blow your head off and unwrap those bandages to see what you really look like."
Arthur smiled faintly, looking at Cyclops with a hint of mockery. "You can't kill me."
"Oh? Is that so? Let's test that theory." As soon as the words left his mouth, Cyclops pulled the trigger.
But the expected blast that should have splattered Arthur's brains everywhere didn't come.
*Empty?!*
Cyclops pulled the trigger several more times, confirming the magazine was dry.
"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath.
"The gun you're using is an M1216 combat shotgun. It uses a detachable rotary cylinder magazine. Inside the cylinder are four independent tubular magazines, each holding 4 rounds, for a total capacity of 16 rounds." Arthur paused briefly. "I counted. By the time you walked in here, you had fired exactly sixteen shots."
Before Cyclops could react, Arthur drove his right elbow up into Cyclops's jaw. A sickening *crack* of a dislocating mandible followed. Cyclops staggered back a step in pain, and Arthur planted a kick square in his chest, sending him flying.
Cyclops tumbled backwards, crashing into a nearby supply closet.
"Let's go."
Arthur scooped the little girl up from the chair and fled out the back door of the police station.
They navigated the winding alley behind the station and emerged onto the main street in front. Several criminals were chasing a civilian, running right past them.
Arthur quickly set the girl down and fumbled in his pocket for a car key. He had no idea which one was his police cruiser, so he systematically tried the key on every police car door one by one...
"...Hey, Arthur."
"Alright, I know you're going to mock me for not even knowing which car is mine. If that's the case, you're right. I've forgotten yet another thing about myself." Arthur didn't look up, busy testing the key on door after door. "Happy *freaking* Monday."
"...Arthur, did you know? Cyclops is a maniac with explosives. A real bomber."
Arthur looked back, puzzled. "So?"
The little girl observed his clueless expression, not rushing to explain. A small smile merely played at the corner of her lips.
*One minute later—*
---
"Damn it! They got away!"
Cyclops stormed out of the alley, furious. He held his gun in his right hand, using his left to roughly snap his dislocated jaw back into place. His piercing gaze swept over the chaotic street scene—criminals from the station were eagerly pouring out, guns in hand. The street was already in turmoil: robberies, murders, shootings, carjackings. Lawlessness reigned; the entire city had plunged into riot in an instant.
*Where did they go?*
Cyclops tossed the empty shotgun aside and pulled a small device, a detonator, from his pocket.
He stepped back into the mouth of the alley and gently pressed the palm-sized button.
*KABOOOOM------*
Five or six police cars parked along the curb exploded simultaneously. Their sturdy frames were blown to bits by the explosives. People screamed and fled in all directions. A few bystanders too close to the blast were ripped apart, their limbs scattered. Thick black smoke billowed into the sky. The shockwave from the blast shattered the storefront windows along the street and blew out the windows of an ambulance parked nearby.
Sitting in the driver's seat of that ambulance, Arthur gripped the steering wheel, instinctively shielding his head. Even at a distance, the ambulance rocked violently from the blast wave. Arthur's forehead slammed hard against the steering wheel.
*EEEEEEEE------*
A loud ringing filled his ears. Arthur was momentarily plunged into temporary explosive deafness. But there was no time to hesitate. The next moment, he slammed his foot on the accelerator. The ambulance plowed through the wreckage of the police cars ahead and sped away.
"They're in the ambulance..." Cyclops glared venomously at the fleeing vehicle, then turned to a subordinate nearby. "Bring the car around! Get after that ambulance!"
"Yes, sir!"
Moments later, a black sedan screeched to a halt beside Cyclops. He climbed in, and they tore off in the direction the ambulance had gone.
Just as the black sedan pulled away from the police station, another police cruiser raced past it, heading in the opposite direction. It drifted to a sharp, screeching halt right in front of the devastated station. The driver's side window rolled down, revealing a girl with short silver hair, her face a mask of shock.
"Wh-What... happened here?!" Lorraine gasped, staring at the nightmarish scene of the ruined street. A few steps away, a group of armed criminals were chasing a police officer, laughing wildly as one of them shot the officer point-blank in the head.
She'd received a frantic call from the Detective half an hour ago and rushed over from home. On the way, all she heard was the piercing wail of sirens. Just as she turned the corner onto this street, a deafening explosion rocked the area, followed by the sight of utter devastation—criminals rampaging in broad daylight, wantonly destroying property, bodies and body parts strewn everywhere. The city looked like a vision of hell on earth.
Just as Lorraine unbuckled her seatbelt, preparing to get out, a man roughly yanked open the passenger door and slid into the seat beside her without a word.
"Wh-Who are you?!" Lorraine stared, startled, at the stranger.
He glanced at her; his dark, brooding gaze was chilling enough, but even more striking was the long, jagged scar that cut across his face. He raised his right hand. In it, he held a pistol. The muzzle was aimed directly at Lorraine.
"Drive."