I was ready for the final page of our showdown and, as a result, my criminal life. Thus, I was prepared to demolish any obstacle between me and it. Even if we were to encounter a cop now, I'm eighty percent sure that if things can't be settled peacefully, I'll pull the trigger.

But nothing of the sort happened. It seemed that luck favored both us and those who could have crossed our path. Besides, being in an old family hatchback driven by a girl helped us escape unnecessary attention to our humble selves.

It was somewhat surprising and unusual to drive through the city, knowing that it all would soon end.

No, not even that.

It was strikingly unusual to drive through the night city, observing its peaceful life. My recent days might have seemed like scenes from an action movie to outsiders, and for me, they were like a living nightmare. Everyone was doing something. Everything was restless, spinning, exploding, and happening. Killings, shootings, chases. Fast-fast-fast-fast, just like everything spinning in a washing machine.

But now, on the eve of the end, peering out of the car window, I saw a different, serene life of the city preparing for sleep. It was oblivious and indifferent to everything that had happened, was happening, and would happen. It lived its usual rhythmic life. The streets, especially in the residential areas, radiated a certain tranquility, unlike the center of Khanksk. The number of cars had halved, each going about its business peacefully. Pedestrians were hurrying home. Courtyards were calm and orderly.

People around us seemed unaware of another, wilder and more vibrant life. For them, like for me before, it was limited to news on TV, work, friends, and the internet. They knew nothing about werewolves and trolls – for them, these were just fairy tales and myths; they were unaware of drug dens and weapon stashes – these were just gossip and theories. For them, all news was just an unusual story happening somewhere else, not near their mundane lives.

They never peeked beyond their small world, surrounded by a monotonous everyday life. They didn't realize that just around the corner, their world turned into who knows what.

Very soon, I, too, would become part of this dull, uniform, and unremarkable world. To tell the truth, I didn't regret it at all and was actually looking forward to this moment.

We were cruising through the tranquil neighborhoods until Syringa called out to me.

"We're almost there, fatso. Ready to turn him into a patty?"

"I'm itching to," I responded impassively.

"You could at least show some joy about the imminent end," she grumbled.

"I'll rejoice... When it all ends. Though I'm not sure it will ever end for me."

"What do you mean?"

I paused for a moment.

"Haven't you ever thought that it will always haunt you? What we've done? What happened? The death of our friends? That it will leave its mark on your soul?"

"Like on clothing, it will fade over time. Trust me, later you'll remember this as a distant story that seems unreal even in your memory, doubting whether it even happened at all."

These were unusually profound words from Syringa. Since when did she take a liking to philosophy? Maybe she's not as dumb as she seems? In certain life aspects?

"Anyway, we're almost there," I sat up straighter in the back seat.

Familiar apartment buildings were already passing by, the same I'd seen many times when I came here before. Arrow's bar wasn't in sight yet, but we'd be there soon. All that was left was to assign the roles in the plan. Or rather, reiterate our duties. Everything had already been thought out in the apartment, so all we had to do now was to repeat it and get it over with once and for all.

I didn't doubt our success anymore. I never considered myself self-confident, but I felt that victory would be ours.

"Syringa, you're taking on the main distribution board. Break it and..."

"Where is it?" She interrupted me.

"In the basement. Find it and let me know when you're ready. Once you are done there, come to Arrow's bar. When you are about to enter, immediately let me know, so we don't accidentally shoot each other. If anything, you'll provide cover with fire. After that, you'll bring the car around, we'll grab the money and head for the getaway car... if your sister hasn't broken it."

"Enough already, shut up! She's a nice and very obedient child!" Syringa snapped. "Do your job and don't meddle, genius!"

"Don't overreact," I responded neutrally. "Love is love, but try to stay calm."

"You..."

"We've arrived; stop right here," I interrupted her stream of angry consciousness. "There's his bar."

Syringa huffed as if she were carrying heavy bags, but still turned the car around and stopped near the sidewalk. Across a small lawn overgrown with bushes where people walk their dogs, the sign for Arrow's bar was visible. Only now, it wasn't lit up invitingly, suggesting to come in and have a drink. Apparently, Arrow decided to close his establishment to visitors for the duration of our dispute. I hoped at least the door was open; I didn't feel like breaking it down.

Cars were passing by us, but there weren't too many. And there were very few pedestrians. And the fewer people, the more time before the police arrive. Unfortunately, there was no silencer on the automatic, so the noise would be considerable, but we had to hope for the patience of the local residents and the luck that had been with us so far.

"Understand your task?" I asked, just in case, looking at the bar.

"Yes, I understand, I understand. I'm not stupid!"

"I know. Just repeating."

I looked around and, waiting until there were hardly any cars or people near us, got out onto the street. Hugging the automatic tighter so it wouldn't stick out and attract attention, I walked quickly towards the building, occasionally looking back - like a thief hiding a stolen item under his jacket.

Syringa emerged a bit later, following my lead and not displaying her weapon openly. When I approached the building and stopped about fifty meters from Arrow's establishment, she had already circled it and disappeared around the corner.

For a few moments, I was enveloped by the calm, quiet ambiance of the sleeping neighborhood. No shouting, no noise, only the occasional roar of passing cars and the sound of a television from a window above me. Somewhere in the distance, police or ambulance sirens could be heard. Peace and quiet, as my mother used to say.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"Box, I... I'm in position?" Syringa's voice came through my earpiece.

"Are you asking me?"

"No, I mean, I'm in position. There's this big panel and... what should I do?"

"Break it."

"How?"

A considerable annoyance sprouted in my chest for this clueless girl. I wanted to snap, "With your hands!" But, realizing that it would only lead to bickering and arguing discouraged me from even starting.

"Look for something like a crowbar or a brick. Anything you can break everything there with."

"A crowbar or a brick... right, a crowbar or a brick..."

"Better a brick, or you'll get electrocuted." The thought of Syringa poking high-voltage wires with a crowbar sent chills down my spine. "Or a sledgehammer. Or something insulated."

"What's that?"

"Find a brick," I sighed.

"Alright, I'll look for one..."

I had to stand there for another ten minutes before Syringa responded again.

"Well... I'm ready... I think..."

"Did you find something to smash the panel with?"

"Yes. I'll break it now and then come to you."

"Just let me know when you're coming in, okay?" I reminded her again.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I'll let you know. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No."

Yes.

"Good, otherwise I would have chewed your face off. Now get ready... Here I go!"

I quickly headed towards the bar, pulling out my automatic, a flashbang grenade, and a flashlight set to fast blinking mode. I would be able to see everything perfectly in its flashes, but it would be unpleasant for the people who would be opposite me.

When I reached the door, the lights in the house had already gone out. The building instantly looked dead. It's just amazing how much light transforms these uniform boxes and how they change without it. I didn't even try to mentally prepare or calm myself - after everything that had happened, I didn't have any cold feet. Just fear, adrenaline rush, excitement, but considering my recent days, this had become the norm that I got used to.

I cracked the door open, tossed the flashbang grenade inside, and closed the door again.

A loud bang, audible even through the closed doors, announced my visit.

Not waiting a second longer, I enter the bar. The stock into my shoulder, right hand on the grip, left holding the barrel and the flashlight, which blinks rapidly. My finger is already touching the trigger and trembling slightly from tension.

The first thing I hear:

"Damn it! My eyes!"

"I've gone deaf! What scum did this, filthy fuck!"

In the light of very frequent flashes, they're as if on the palm of my hand in front of me. I immediately leave the doorframe, illuminating them with the flashlight, although they can't see anything after the flashbang anyway.

I shoot at one standing right in front of me, practically point-blank in the head, which bursts like an egg. The three remaining, apparently beginning to understand what's happening, fire their pistols... God knows where. The bullets knock brick crumbs far off to my right. I don't give them a chance to come to their senses. A burst into one, and he falls backward onto the table, overturning it. A longer burst into the second one, who tries to jump aside, and he is thrown against the wall.

The third hides behind the bar and fires blindly, albeit more accurately than his comrades, apparently by sound. I have to duck to avoid getting hit by a stray bullet. But he doesn't live long either - I simply shoot through the wooden stand with a short burst. The armor-piercing bullets penetrate it without any problem and reach the enemy.

Switching the flashlight back to normal mode, I slowly swept it around the room, where four corpses lay now. That's all, there was no one else, no one had hidden or lain in wait. I looked behind the bar and saw nothing there either, except for the body that had collapsed in a pool of its own blood. I swept the flashlight over the door behind the bar, where there was a staircase leading down. Beyond it was a descent into a corridor from where I could get to Arrow. Now, only a few meters separated us, and possibly some of his men who were still here.

But I don't think there were really many left. I had killed nine people near the restaurant and definitely wounded one more. Apparently, two had died in the grenade explosion, which I left as a gift in our apartment for the meeting, if Arrow is to be believed, and I wounded several more. That makes about fifteen in total. Not too bad of a team for a soldier who simply oversees the local business racket.

"Box, it's me, I'm at the entrance. Going in."

"Yes, I'm in the hall; it's clear here," I replied.

A few seconds later, the doors cracked open, and a flashlight beam swept across the room.

"Only four?" Syringa asked, peeking inside.

"And another nine in the restaurant. Thirteen in total. Plus, I wounded one near my house and apparently killed two in our work apartment. Quite a few, right?"

"Insane... It's like we've started a war."

I agree; it's hard to believe that so many people have already died.

"And we'll end it very soon."

I walked over to the door leading downstairs, pulling out another flashbang on the way.

"You're first; I'll follow."

"Why am I the first?!" Syringa protested.

"Because I said so," I stated firmly, making her give in. "You'll duck half down and immediately press against the wall, so you won't get hit by my bullet if anything happens."

"Yeah, you're a hard one to miss," she grumbled unhappily, and she was right. I was indeed larger than her and far less agile.

"Do it," I nodded, and when the door in front of me was opened, I tossed in a flashbang.

We closed it, waited for the explosion, and Syringa slipped in like a blurred shadow. After a few seconds, I heard through my walkie-talkie:

"Clear."

I dove through the door the same way and almost rolled down the stairs, accidentally tripping. This "almost," by the way, didn't save me from sprawling on the floor at the bottom of the staircase, clanging my gun against the concrete. Syringa looked at me, slightly surprised and sternly.

"Fatso, are you cracked?"

"Tripped," I mumbled. "Let's check the side doors first."

Said and done. There were only five doors leading to the rooms.

And Syringa and I, not slacking, checked each one. The last thing we wanted was for one of our mutual acquaintance's underlings to jump out and shoot us in the back while we were taking him. Besides, I was sure that Arrow himself wouldn't peek out of his office because such people wouldn't go on an unexpected attack. The first and foremost reaction to such a turn of events is to burrow deeper into your refuge, hold your defense, and not show your face. When there's a chance to wait it out behind a steel door, going for a much larger risk and attacking seems the worst decision... in the minds of many. Although such a decision could increase the chances of survival. At least, they could hope so.

Keeping the police in mind, we quickly searched one room after another. Behind one of the doors, there was a toilet. Another led to a small lounge, where, apparently, the gang members hung out. Two more doors were to small storerooms, where they kept various things, from alcohol to mundane clothes from the market and some mops.

And the last, naturally, led to Arrow's office.

Not surprisingly, it was locked. But that was solvable; it just needed a little creativity. And lock-picking skills.

I'd been in his office a few times. As far as I remember, the door had neither bolts nor other reinforcements that could complicate our life - it was barely a regular steel plate with a lock, and not a very good one at that. After everything I'd picked, this one would take a few minutes, if not just one.

"Wait, I'll be back soon."

Not wasting any time, I quickly returned to their lounge area and soon found suitable paper clips.

"Aim at the door. Right here," I whispered, pointing to a spot near the lock. "As soon as I say shoot, no questions asked, unload half the magazine into it."

"Why?"

"Just do it," I said and started fiddling with the lock. In theory, the door was relatively thin, and an armor-piercing bullet should be able to break through it.

It was a piece of cake. Right up until the moment when I felt resistance, and the next instant, the lock picks didn't bounce back as if someone on the other side was locking the door again.

"Shoot."

Without any hesitation, Syringa let off a long burst, deafening one of my ears. Bullets cheerfully clicked against metal, adding a rather specific and ringing sound to the roar. And it seemed to me that I heard someone's scream of pain through this cannonade of sounds. I really hope that's the case. And even though I was set back a bit in my progress towards the goal, it wasn't a problem for me.

Anyway, a minute later, the click of the lock invited me inside this room. As soon as I heard it, I instantly jumped to the side, raising my gun. But nobody jumped out, and nobody tried to counterattack.

Well then...

I nodded to Syringa, then pulled out a flashbang. As soon as she opened the door, jumping aside, I immediately tossed the grenade inside. A second or two and a flash of light gleamed from the inside - as if this door led to heaven. The bang hit my ears like a signal for the assault, and Syringa was the first to dive into the doorway. She was also the first to get hit.

The moment Syringa fluttered into the room, gunfire struck us. I don't know what happened to Syringa, but judging by the burst duration, it didn't kill her. Whereas I, not mincing matters, tossed in another - my last - flashbang. After waiting for the bang, which even made my head spin, I stormed into the room. A burst from somewhere on the right, a response from the opposite side, flashes of gunfire revealing the shooter, then my volley from the hip in a fan right in that direction. Then another burst from the right hitting the same place, and that's it.

Our fight was over. This nightmare was coming to a logical end.