The only witnesses to our post-mortem discussion, besides us, were two cats sitting on trash bins, looking at us with alarmed expressions.

"I just wanted to support you..." Syringa started crying - out of fear or hurt, it wasn't clear. "He tried to screw us over! Malu, I just..."

"You dumb bitch!" he almost roared, cutting her off and making her flinch. "Why the fuck are you sticking your nose where you aren't asked to?! Did I ask for this?! Guys, did I ask?!" he turned to us.

"No," I shook my head.

"No, Malu," Alex shook his head. He hadn't intervened yet, which meant one thing - this was a lesson being taught.

"I fucking didn't ask! Or do you think the three of us have memory problems?! Answer me!"

"N-no..." she mumbled very quietly, still sitting on the ground.

"So what the fuck are you doing?! Do you understand that I'm the one responsible for your mistakes?! Me! Not you, not anyone else, but ME! You spoke up, and now I have to deal with the fallout because you're on my team! Have you lost your mind?! What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I just..."

"Exactly, you 'just'! He'd fuck you up, just like that, you dumb bitch! He'd fucking kill you for words like that! Now I have to swallow my pride, apologize, give up everything just to save your ass! You just had to run your damn mouth, didn't you? I could've maybe negotiated a bit with him, but instead, I nearly fucking groveled just to keep them off you! Do you, cunt, realize what you've done?! Next time, they'll just fucking gun us down right there, all because of you!"

"I'm sorry..." Syringa started crying.

"I try to talk some fucking sense into you every time, but you're just impenetrable! Just a fool! And then I have to cover for you! Or have you decided to say goodbye to your sister?! Or do you want all your secrets to be revealed?! He's only keeping quiet because we agreed on it! I got involved because of you, fool!"

"I'm sorry... sorry, I just wanted to support you..."

"Fuck..." he exhaled quietly, turning his back to her. He walked around like that for a minute before continuing. "If you don't think of yourself, think of your sister. Who's going to feed her, idiot? And us, we could get killed because of you. Because of your mouth."

"I... I'm a fool... I'm so sorry that I... just wanted to support you... please forgive me..." she smeared snot all over her face.

"What a fool..." he exhaled, then turned to Alex. "Go bring his guns and drugs to him, and let's end this. We can't get shit out of him now. Not after that. How about you, Box? Are you still holding up?"

"So far, yes," I should have mentioned that the longer we drag this out, the more likely I am to die from infection, but I chose to keep quiet. Now was a very bad time for saying that, as we had just narrowly avoided being shot in that room.

"Great, we'll stop by the doc's next," Malu approached Syringa and extended his hand, then abruptly pulled her to her feet. "Think about what you say, foolish girl. One day, you might talk your way into trouble."

"I'm sorry..."

"Wipe your tears and get behind the wheel. Or Box is going to kick the bucket."

For the rest of the trip, Syringa was remarkably quiet and submissive. However, I wondered how long she would hold up like this. I didn't believe that people like Syringa changed at the snap of a finger.

In the end, as it turned out, we made off with one hundred and twenty-one thousand dollars. Was that a lot? Was it really worth killing so many people and collapsing a building? Unfortunately, I knew the answer. I knew it before I went on the job, during the planning stage. And I confirmed it when I took the money.

Yes. It was worth it.

We got enough money. There was plenty in the stash, presumably meant for the bandits to buy goods and bribe. Or they were just overconfident idiots. Or maybe it was the safest place for the money.

In any case, when we split it, everyone got twenty-nine thousand sixty bucks, except for Malu. He took thirty-two, as he used his own money to cover the prop stacks and buy all this styrofoam and boxes.

Why did everyone get the same amount, even though some people did more and some did less? His approach was simple. We're a team. Today, someone does one thing, and tomorrow another. And deciding who did more or less is a thankless task. There's no scale to judge why you get exactly this much. And uneven shares lead to fights, shouting, and so on. That's why everyone got the same, knowing that tomorrow someone else might be taking bullets while others just stand guard.

I didn't complain about anything. It was the first time I held such money in my hands, and I couldn't believe there was really so much. Two full stacks and another one without change. Just wow... I held them in my hands, not believing that I really had such a sum. It wasn't enough for the surgery - unfortunately, I needed much more, but I could afford the most expensive meds that would suppress the impulse attacks. Assuming there will be another job like this later.

I was thinking about this the whole time, except for the moment when they brought me to the doc.

A typical, respectable man in his early seventies who helped me with my wounds. He lived in his own house: not a wealthy neighborhood, but not our single-story boxes either; a classic American house, I would say, with a backyard. And in his basement, he had an operating room, where they brought me.

He didn't ask about anything, just tending to my wounds as if they were the only thing that existed for him. He treated, injected, and washed them out with something. He pulled a bullet out of my shoulder, then poked around in there with his forceps, checking for dirt or clothing remnants, after which he injected it, disinfected, and bandaged it.

The same applied to my stomach, although it worried me more than my shoulder.

"You're lucky, young man," he reassured me. "The bullet passed through your fat layers. Your organs are intact, everything's clean."

"Why does it hurt so much?" I muttered as he cleaned my wound.

"The bullet grazed your muscles a bit. Bullets also have a kinetic impact, which can cause considerable damage. Naturally, it's going to hurt. A little more to the right, and it would've nicked your abdominal wall. Behind it is your intestine, you understand the implications... That would've been extremely difficult to treat under normal circumstances. I would say you're far less lucky with your shoulder than with your belly."

"So, everything's fine?"

"Yes. In your case, it is. I'll write you a prescription for the antibiotics, ointments, and pills you need to buy. Plus, change your bandages twice a day with sterile ones and treat everything with an antiseptic to avoid infection and suppuration."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"What about stitching the wound?"

"With gunshot wounds, we don't stitch. At least not in the first days. But your wounds are pretty clean," he stepped away from me, taking off his gloves. "They'll probably heal on their own. I can't say how well everything will be, but so far, it looks okay."

At least I'm not going to die, which is good.

While the doc was extracting the bullet from me, cleaning the wounds, and treating everything, the TV in the corner of the operating room was showing some primped-up girls - all like fashion models, beautiful, bright, and, as strange as it may sound, juicy. You look at them and realize that you'll never have a chance with someone like that.

But another thought struck me - while they're enjoying life, swimming in pools, going to parties, and having fun, we're robbing and killing. Literally, the same planet, the same timeframe, it could even be happening simultaneously, but the situations seemed like they were from different worlds. The TV showed something starkly different from the reality around me.

It was hard to believe that such contrasting things could exist in life. In my head, it felt like two different worlds - theirs and ours. Theirs is bright, clean, full of money and happiness. Ours is dirty, vile, and full of hatred. We live on the same earth, yet on different planes. And the more I stared at the TV, the more it felt like they truly lived in a different world.

I won't lie - I wished I could live in a world like that, too.

Back home, with an unperturbed face, as if nothing had happened, I found out what we had managed to pull off in that building.

All the city news and even the national news on TV were talking about it. All the city radio stations tirelessly discussed what had happened. And everyone was guessing whether it was a terrorist attack, a gang feud, or simply a gas cylinder explosion.

According to the news, a total of thirteen people had died. Ten men and three women. From what I gathered, one man and three women were in the apartments above when everything collapsed. From this, I deduced that the other nine were the gangsters who died in the shootout with us.

Later, the same news reported that only two of those nine had died before the collapse from gunshot wounds, and another seven perished in the explosion, which made a shootout between two warring gangs the main theory.

I learned even more when my father arrived. He was always a calm man of few words. However, now he was visibly very tired.

"Chaos at work," he explained as we sat down for dinner. "After that explosion... everyone was up in arms and now they're scouring the city for those responsible. Everything's locked down, everyone's being frisked, checkpoints everywhere. Standing in bulletproof vests with an automatic rifle all day, stopping everyone in sight. At least it's not hot outside - that's something to be thankful for."

"What exactly happened?" I asked casually. "The news said it was a terrorist attack."

"Not a terrorist attack - the TV just wants to make noise and scare everyone. There was a shootout. There were explosives; apparently, a bullet hit them. There are a few more wounded after the explosion, but they're not saying much other than they were just passing by."

"I heard the explosion," Natali boasted. "I was at work and heard the rumble, but it was far away; we thought maybe someone was setting off fireworks."

"I heard it too," nodded Mom. "But... for such a thing to occur in our city... Just think about it..."

"Like some ghetto in South America," I agreed, digging into my dinner. "Anything else interesting being said?"

"They say a truck drove away before the explosion. And then they found a similar one, but burned, on the city's outskirts," answered my father. "We're expecting them to announce that on the news. They'll blare it out to everyone just to raise their ratings, impeding our work."

"And there were no traces, really? There must be DNA: hair, blood..." I suggested indifferently.

"Yeah, that's just in the movies where they find everything right away," he sighed. "If only in real life things were found as quickly... that would be just wonderful."

So, it's clean so far. Good, I didn't really want my own father to catch me at something like this. Not that I doubted the cleanliness of our work, I just wanted to get all the information from the eyes, so to say, of our competitors - the police, who will naturally be on our trail. But as it turned out, we didn't need to worry for now.

Throughout the dinner, I tried not to look at Natali, who was literally shooting glances at me. Her serious expression clearly spoke of her suspicions. Does she really think I would get involved in something like this? So, that's how bad her opinion of me is.

It's a pity she's completely right, although she could trust me more.

Of course, Natali didn't say anything at the table and didn't even hint at it. She just let me know that she was suspecting something. How she could connect me and that blown-up building is a mystery. One could say I was too distant from such matters. At least, in her understanding, it should have been like that. But after dinner, I was already anticipating a heart-to-heart talk.

The same applied to Nataliel. She also did not hesitate to give me a very stern look, promising nothing good. However, like Natali, she said nothing either.

Should it be surprising that they both knew? If one knows, both do.

However, what upset me was that my activities were gradually affecting my family. Specifically my sisters, who were aware of the situation. Not entirely, but it was more than enough for them. I was not blind, and I saw this, saw their silent disapproval and concern for me. I wanted them to know as little as possible, but both Natali and Nataliel somehow sensed something.

Therefore, as I anticipated, they came to me. Late at night, when everyone was going to bed. We were going to bed, to be precise, while Mom had a night shift. Dad had returned to the station because, as they put it, they were working full tilt today.

So it was just the three of us home.

"If you want to tell me something, just say it. Your determined attitude makes me feel like I'm the prey," I said as the door behind me opened.

"We just want to talk to you, Nurdauleth," Nataliel said. By my full name? This conversation certainly won't be simple, then.

"Alright, I don't mind," I turned to them.

Both of them at once. They decided, apparently, to take me by storm. Good for them, nothing to say... As the saying goes, there's strength in numbers, and I'm big, one of them wouldn't be able to handle me. I even had an idea of what they might start prying out of me, so I was prepared to defend myself. What interested me more was that one of Nataliel's hands was behind her back, as if she was hiding something from me. I wondered what exactly.

"You don't want to tell us anything, do you?" Natali asked.

"About my fascinating and enjoyable life in class? No, I'm afraid I might bore you with my stories."

"Is that so? Well, maybe you can tell us something interesting about your extracurricular activities?"

"Nothing interesting there either," I shrugged.

"And today's incident - was it your doing?" Natali cut to the chase. "I don't want to scold or judge you, and I'm not even going to. Just tell me the truth."

Not even going to? That sounds like a favor.

"Such a thing? What are you talking about? Of course not," I shook my head and spread my hands wide. "Do I look like a terrorist or a murderer?"

"You look like my foolish little brother who thinks he's the smartest," Natali parried. "Can you swear that you're not involved?"

"Of course, I swear."

As they say, it's a lie in the name of salvation. I didn't want to involve my family in these matters. The less they know, the better. Moreover, it would be great if they weren't aware of anything at all. First and foremost, because I wanted to protect them from everything I was getting myself into. But I had to bring money into the family somehow. I can't just walk up and say that I found these few thousand on the street, right?

But it seems they weren't convinced. Because Nataliel gave me a crooked smile, looking at me with a reproachful gaze as if to say, "You're lying."

"Then what is this?"

And here, I was practically punched in the stomach. I kept wondering what she was hiding behind her back.

Nataliel extended her hand, holding a pistol. The very same "Glock 17" I had taken from that gun stash. But what the hell was it doing in their hands and not in my room?!

"It's a dummy," I lied without blinking an eye.

"A dummy?" She made a surprised face, examining it.

"Correct. Not mine, though. A toy."

"Is that so... Just a toy, you say?" She twirled it in her hands, her tone implying that I hadn't managed to convince her.

"Yes," I nodded reservedly.

"And the bullets inside are fake, too..." She continued examining it while Natali silently watched this circus show, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

Bullets? Wait... did... did I load it? I showed it to Malu, that's for sure. He told me to keep it, in case I needed it, but... loaded? What if it was loaded when I took it? I mean... I definitely didn't check. If there are bullets inside... Or is she lying? Is she or not? And yet...

"Listen, it's just a dummy, and it's not even mine. I just wanted to give it as a gift to a friend. So, could you give it back to me?" I extended my hand. Suddenly, my palm became covered with sweat, as well as my forehead.

"Why? It's just a dummy," she looked at me. "It's just a toy. I've always been careful with things. I want to check out such a... detailed dummy."

"Well, go ahead... just don't break it," looking at my sister with a gun, I felt a chill inside me.

"Don't worry. Although... if it's a dummy, I can do this, right?" She gave an unnaturally cold smile and pressed the barrel against her own temple.