I said we'd meet at nine.

And, of course, his people arrived at eight.

Ordinary cars, the kind I would never pay attention to, pulled up near the restaurant. One parked directly opposite the establishment's windows, another on the other side, not far from the rigged car. Gangsters rarely drove flashy vehicles, as they show in the movies. These guys, for instance, arrived in a family hatchback, like Syringa's.

In total, four people got out of the cars. They looked around, entered the restaurant, and shortly after, other patrons quickly exited. Better this way, fewer innocent bystanders. The rest stayed in their cars.

In total, I counted about seven or eight people from the apartment window. Four definitely went into the restaurant. In one car, I saw two men; there was someone in the other, but I couldn't tell if it was one or two people. Well, probably, it didn't matter. That car was parked right in front of the large window of this eatery, so barrelling down the street, I could easily crash into it before entering the restaurant.

As for the bombs, I kept wondering if I had overdone it, making so many? Three cars loaded with explosives - enough to make a bomb truck and send it straight into the restaurant, as Syringa suggested. However, such an explosion could collapse the building, and the last thing I wanted was to be part of a terrorist attack that would certainly take the lives of ordinary people.

After some thought, I decided that I didn't necessarily have to blow everything up. I'll detonate the one closest to the gangsters when I crash into the restaurant.

"Syringa," we still communicated via walkie-talkie.

"Yes, I see."

"Do you see the watcher?" I meant the guy who would be overseeing the operation.

"No, just that they pulled up."

"Find the watcher. Look for him - you've got an eagle eye."

"Flatterer. But I'm already looking for him, without your suggestions, so don't interfere. Maybe I'll circle this place, drive from the other side, and look there. When are you planning to start?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes before the scheduled time. Yes, I'll start around then. But Arrow, as I said, isn't here. He's waiting in his basement."

We had to get this done very quickly so he wouldn't have time to realize that I'm a bit mad at him and hide somewhere with the money.

"Alright, good, I'll try to return in time, so wait for the signal."

"Got it."

While she was searching for the watcher, who simply had to be here, I started getting dressed. The same unimpressive pants with a down jacket that Syringa bought for me back then, and underneath were the same clothes I wore during the robbery, even the gloves and body armor. I grabbed the bag, which still had various helpful trifles, including grenades and flashbangs. After that, I exited the apartment, leaving the key inside and just closing the door. We rented it for a week, so no one will show up here for a long time. And it's unlikely that anyone will be checking the apartments here, as they're rented out by a private landlord.

Frankly, I was really curious as to why Arrow had chosen this particular house, Kun-Suran, instead of, say, the Barkov or Zhang Li. Just because Kun-Suran isn't a powerful house doesn't mean it's easy pickings.

Sure, the Hassa clan could attack the Kun-Suran House. More than that, the clan would win over the house since Hassa has more power than Kun-Suran. But after such a war, Hassa wouldn't be in great shape, as a house is often a concentration of power, and they'd have to fight against people with impulse. People with a fairly strong impulse - such are practically handpicked by the houses.

A lot of regular thugs, hitmen, and even quality fighters with both experience and impulse - versus the house's strong impulsers and fighters, also strong. Extensive resources on one side against not-the-most-extensive but still respectable resources on the other side.

Hassa will win. Moreover, from everything I've learned about the clan, it seems that if they mobilize all their forces, they could even fight another house, such as the Barkov House or the Curie House. But they probably wouldn't have enough for more.

Now, there's another side that I hadn't considered. Of course, not all houses in the city are friendly and love each other. Some are outright hostile. Yet a war between houses is one thing. But when someone from outside attacks one of them - in our case, a clan - other houses may side with the attacked if the war is a threat to them or if they are allies. For example, two houses occupy a territory, and then someone starts destroying one of them for the sake of this territory. It would be logical to assume that the other, understanding that they're next in line, will also participate for their own sake.

Another point: the house will ask for help from others. If it does, in most cases, it will get it. And not just regular thugs who can't shoot straight.

From this, it becomes immediately apparent that Hassa, although capable of taking on two houses individually, if they unite, will have problems. And what if there are several of them? This is not ruled out - many could band together to teach these audacious bandits a lesson; they could simply feel that by attacking one house, the clan has offended all the others.

It turns out that even the Hassa clan wouldn't dare to just barge into this, yet here, Arrow has suddenly started a mess. What is he hoping for? Does he really expect that he can make a deal with the house and they will let it slide?

I don't understand his motives.

Although, who needs them?

Having finally collected myself and checked everything, I stepped out onto the street.

The winter evening had already descended on the streets, and lonely street lamps were burning everywhere, adding some noir charm to the city. The sidewalk was well-lit by the headlights of passing cars, even though the rush hour had already passed. It was scattered with the solitary, not too numerous figures of people returning from work. The city continued its life against the backdrop of the darkening sky.

I made it to the truck parked on the same street but somewhat far from the projected action site, climbed in, and started to wait, glancing around just in case. It's unlikely that anyone's searching for a stolen garbage truck right now; the police have too much to deal with at the moment to fuss over a few old vehicles being carjacked.

Syringa got in touch with me at precisely twenty minutes to nine.

"I see him."

"You sure took your time finding him."

"He's set up quite far," she complained.

"Alright, then we can start. Don't let him make a call, but start after me. By the way, how's your sister? She won't cause trouble, will she?"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"She's a sweetheart, don't start," Syringa immediately turned serious.

She had left her sister in the getaway car. Ideally, we would drive the car she's in now to Arrow, ditch it, and then get in the getaway car where Syringa's sister is dutifully waiting for her. They'd drop me off at the hospital and then go our separate ways.

That's where our paths would diverge.

"Alright. Then, act as we initially planned. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Don't start before me," I warned her.

"Listen, enough, okay? You're already getting on my nerves," she retorted.

I didn't bother her again after that.

The engine started without any issues. It was a bulky truck with a protruding hood and a large garbage container at the back. I had to watch several videos to understand how to operate this beast.

I struggled a bit with the stiff gearbox that didn't want to settle in place, then slowly and carefully, so as not to hit anyone, I pulled out onto the road. To the sound of honking from irritated drivers, who didn't appreciate my slow driving, I drew onto the road, circled the building, and reached the line that goes straight to the restaurant. It was at the opposite end of this street, like a massive target, reflecting off its large windows in the light of street lamps.

There was no moment when everything around fell silent, heralding a grim future. That pause before a terrible battle. I didn't stop to spin in place, like an elusive avenger before a charge. I didn't utter an angry tirade or show how full of hatred I was. Nothing like that happened. I just shifted into second gear, accelerating the truck.

I managed to speed through the first intersection on yellow. Had already shifted into third gear and was going faster than the cars here.

"Syringa, get ready, we're starting."

"Understood."

I'm approaching my destination; the speed shifts to fourth, and the engine roars even louder. A car in front of me is driving too slowly, and I move into oncoming traffic, trying to overtake it. Not very successfully - I hit it in the rear right corner and push it off the road onto the sidewalk. I clip an oncoming car, scraping its side, and floor the gas pedal.

The restaurant is getting closer and closer. I can already make out Arrow's unsuspecting men in the car, parked opposite the restaurant, conveniently exposing their flank to me.

At an impressive speed, I whizz through another intersection, bouncing off a hump and barely staying on the road. I sideswipe a car on the shoulder, but due to the weight of the garbage truck, I hardly feel it.

Even if I tried to stop now, I wouldn't make it in time. Not that I'm planning to; I just press harder on the gas pedal and rev the engine.

The people in the car are starting to suspect something: I see them turn to look at me, and I think I can make out first confusion, then realization, and finally horror on their faces. Their car starts to move, obviously trying to escape the impact, but they're too late.

At full speed, the truck crashes into them and crumples their car.

I'm thrown forward, and the seat belt cuts into my body. My foot hits the brake to soften the upcoming collision a little. The screech of the tires is lost in the overall crash noise that, like a powerful bass in speakers, goes right through me, making my heart jolt.

Dragging the sedan along, the garbage truck barrels into the restaurant, completely demolishing the display window. I'm thrown around in the cabin, the entire vehicle shudders. The noise and screeching of metal, followed by another impact that sends a shockwave right through me to the tips of my ears. My heavy body is thrown forward again, and only the seat belt saves me from kissing the steering wheel. Still, the air is knocked out of my lungs. I can feel the skin on my face literally being pulled forward by the sudden braking, and how all my internal organs shift forward together, making me feel sick.

The rumble and the screeching persist as the truck finally comes to a stop, slightly rolling back from the crushed car. An eerie silence ensues.

My head is spinning. I can feel a sudden pain budding in my temples - as if I've been shaking my head vigorously. Still, I force myself to pull out my phone from my pocket, unlock it, and tap on an already selected phone number. A second or two of waiting, followed by a dial tone and…

Another roaring crash assaults my ears. The vibration courses through me again, touching every organ and muscle in my body. It feels like the impact wave passes through my very bones. The echo of the explosion resonates above the city for several seconds while I'm climbing out of the truck. My head is quickly clearing up, although it's still a bit dizzy. My body is also slightly trembling from the adrenaline.

The restaurant is now only a name. It looks like places in the cities in perpetual war zones: shards of glass, chunks of plaster and brick, stones, dust, pieces of furniture. As if a fierce battle had taken place here. Fragments of whitewash and dust are falling from above, like the snow that never came in our parts.

I didn't immediately notice the four men supposed to be in the restaurant. My gaze accidentally caught a piece of torso sticking out from behind the wreckage of the car I had crashed into. It was indeed a piece, as there was no other way to describe it. Covered in blood and dust, it was wedged between the car and the wall, which had buckled and cracked from the impact. I suspect the others were in the same place.

I exited the restaurant as fast as I could and almost immediately spotted a slightly swaying Hassa clan member leaning his arm on a car parked by the road. He lifted his head and looked at me with a blank, unseeing gaze. It seemed like the explosion had knocked all the fight out of him.

But that was his problem. Without any further hesitation, I pressed the stock to my shoulder and let off a short burst at him. He jerked back as if someone had pulled him with a rope and fell on his back.

I spotted the second man leaning on one of the cars. A bloody trail was dragging behind him, and he was covered in blood as if he had been run through a grater. It was surprising that he wasn't dead, but I didn't care. A shot to the head, and it was over with him. Thankfully, I didn't see any more victims of the explosion.

The car in which I had planted the bomb looked like a tin can that had been opened with a can opener. The cabin, where the charge had been placed, was completely gone, although the trunk and hood remained. Of course, it wouldn't be blown to pieces because the charge wasn't that big. However, it was enough to shatter all the glass in the vicinity and blow out the light bulbs, plunging the street into darkness. But this was to my advantage - they would have a harder time seeing me.

A stolen car pulled up beside me. Naturally, Syringa wouldn't be driving the hatchback registered in her name.

"Get in!" she barked irritably through the window as if I was the one making her wait. Less than a minute later, we were leaving the scene. We pulled onto lit streets, where cars were driving and people were walking as usual.

"That was quite a blast... How are you?"

"I'm fine. My head is buzzing, but everything else is in perfect order."

"That was something... I saw how you drove the truck into the building. One moment, you were there, and then you weren't. You know, like... umm... unreal. One moment here, gone the next. And then that explosion... I saw how it blew two guys away. Like dolls. Want one?" She unexpectedly offered me a cigarette.

"No, thank you. Now to Arrow. We finished quite quickly, but it will be bad if the news about what happened reaches him before we do."

"Crazy... You and I are like some movie gangsters, us against everyone else," I honestly didn't understand Syringa's excitement. Maybe she's just that kind of person? The kind who always needs action, regardless of which direction. "You know, like elusive avengers, us against the whole world..." Her voice was somewhat dreamy.

"Do you enjoy this?"

"Well... it's fun. If you're not getting killed. But I doubt I would prefer this to a normal life. You saw it yourself - Malu also wanted to quit. It's just... surprising that we're still alive."

"Not surprising. If Hassa wanted us dead, not just eight people and one watcher would have come here, but twice as many."

Several fire and ambulance vehicles rushed past us. Literally, a few minutes later, a convoy of three police cars followed.

"Was anyone nearby when the explosion happened?"

"No. Someone was walking on the other side, but they ran away after the blast."

Let's hope they weren't affected, although the unpleasant thought that it didn't worry me much pricked my consciousness. Before, I would definitely have thought about it, but now, for some reason, I consider a random victim an acceptable norm.

"Are you ready?"

"For what?" I didn't understand, slightly lost in my thoughts.

"For the final step!" Syringa was clearly excited. And her voice was soaked with hatred that she was ready to unleash on Arrow. "We'll sort this out, and all the damn twenty million are ours!"

"Yes. We're millionaires," I sighed.

"Aren't you happy?"

"And you?"

"I..." she stopped. "I... didn't mean that I'm glad others are dead, and we get more now. It's just that they can't be helped anymore. No one. Not even Mari, although she had nothing to do with this," a quiet sigh. "But we're alive, right?"

"Right."

"Don't beat yourself up. They weren't nobodies to me, either. Annoying, yes, but... life is like that, right? They were almost like family to me, even that idiot," Syringa said with a kind smile. "We'll have time to mourn and toast those who died. But later. Because dead hands shouldn't drag the living into the light of another world."

"Did you go to church?" I asked, looking at her in surprise.

"I think everyone knows this saying from the Lightbearer."

It's not that I knew any specific quotes from the Lightbearer - the equivalent of the Bible for Christians and the Quran for Muslims. I learned prayers for any situation in life and read the Lightbearer from cover to cover. After all, my family was not just interested in faith; we really believed. We really went to temples because we believed. Although, now I was curious - does my family still believe in God?