The room where I had previously cracked the safe remained virtually unchanged, except that there were now four stools instead of three. Various clothes, items, tools, and other stuff were scattered on the table.

There sat Malu, loading his gun with bullets. Firearms are forbidden by law in Manchuria unless it is for hunting or you are from a private security organization. His pistol certainly didn't fall under either category, so no comment. I didn't even look his way to avoid provoking him. Malu seemed overly aggressive to me, as was typical of thugs and hoodlums.

"Hello, everyone," he nodded without looking at us. "Alright, fatso, you'll be Box from now on. We're heading out soon, need to get something done, and we'll see what happens next. Got it?"

I didn't bother asking why Box, thankful that it wasn't Fatty or Fatso. However, I wouldn't have said anything anyway. Not because I'm scared of him or anything, though that's part of it. I just don't care. As long as he pays and doesn't cross the line.

"Yes."

"Good. Grab the stuff, distribute what's needed, and let's go."

"Where?" I asked.

"To hell!" Malu answered unexpectedly sharply. He really was a bit nuts. "Dammit, Box, you're already annoying!"

"Exactly what I was saying!" Syringa piped up immediately.

"Just like her," he pointed her way.

"Hey, what do I have to do with this?!"

"Shut up and do your job. Let's move faster. Arrow asked us to sort this out quickly."

"How quickly?" Alex asked this time.

"By morning. Next morning."

"Got it…" He walked over to the table and picked up a half-face respirator. "Whose house are we breaking into?"

"Remember the guy we left a present for in his safe?" He fully loaded several magazines, all while wearing gloves, then stashed them in his pockets, loaded his pistol, and pulled back the slide. "His boss, who's always at home, is heading to the police station for some interesting conversation. Some debtors of the clan made sure he would be there until morning and not make a fuss. We break into his house and steal any compromising material we find in the safe."

"What if… I can't crack it?" I asked. "There are safes with enhanced protection. Those can't be opened by simply pressing buttons or moving the bolt."

"We'll roast you in his fireplace," he sighed, then added in a frustrated tone. "Dammit, don't be dumb, Box. We'll break it open. There's a bag of tools right there. Now, get dressed, and let's go."

I just had to ask that. Who knows, they might have expected me to have god-level cracking skills or something.

The clothes he had prepared for us were regular coveralls, gloves, and boots, plus bags. On the back of each coverall was a large emblem of a pest control service, hinting at their origin. And there were also half-face masks that builders used to protect from dust. There were three sets since only Syringa would be without a coverall — she drives us and keeps watch.

"Get a move on already!" she growled at me unhappily as we dressed. It wasn't like I was putting the clothes on any slower than everyone else - Alex was the leader in that regard, but she came to help me, all the while grumbling about something. It's not like I was thrilled with her. Not only do I feel out of my element here, but Syringa is also very aggressive.

"I can handle this myself, you know," I pointed out.

"Sure you can, fatso. Hurry up!" she said, rather rudely helping me into my coveralls. In the end, I was the first to finish dressing, and she went on to help the others, not complaining this time. Apparently, she doesn't like fat people. It's a shame, I'm very soft in addition to everything else! And it's never cold with me around!

While she was helping Alex, who had gotten tangled up in his clothes, calling him a degenerate and being called a sweetheart in response, I sat down next to the bag of tools. Just to understand what they were bringing with them. But as soon as I took a look...

I realized something.

"Malu."

"What do you want?" he groaned, zipping up his coveralls. "Damn, it's too small for me... So, what is it, Box?"

"The angle grinder. It has a wood blade on it. How are we going to cut the safe with it?"

He looked at me in surprise.

"Are you joking?!" he practically flew over to me, crouched beside me, and started rummaging through the bag. "Damn... you're right..."

"And the drills, they're also for wood. The only thing here for metal is the saw, but considering the thickness of the safe, we'll be cutting until the next sunset."

An awkward silence hung in the air. He looked at me as if he had lost his mind all of a sudden. Or maybe the complex questions and unexpected news overloaded his brain to the point that he slipped into apathy. I waited, looking into his eyes, for about ten seconds, thinking that he was going to beat me up - Malu looked that crazy. I was even doubting his sanity.

Then he stood up and looked at Syringa. It seemed to me that Malu's neck, when he turned his head to her, creaked like a rusty hinge. The girl even took two steps back, forgetting about her argument with Alex.

"Sweetheart," he began in a sweet and creepy voice. "Did you buy a wood blade for the safe?"

"Well... I asked," she tried to quickly form words into sentences, which was difficult for her due to her nervousness, "to give one for metal... and what do you want from me?! I'm a girl, I don't know what a blade for metal looks like!"

"It's written on it," I noted.

"But I can't read," she exclaimed, shooting me a disparaging look. "I have dyslexia!"

So, we even have a disabled. I wonder, did I do the right thing getting involved in this adventure?

In the meantime, Malu's eye was twitching, and his hand was nervously grabbing at the air as if reaching for something very specific. Only if he grabbed that, we would have to go as a trio, and only two of us would be able to go to crack the safe, while the third would have to keep watch.

Syringa understood this too, nervously tugging at her sleeve and licking her lips. This oppressive silence lasted probably a minute before Syringa risked her own health to say something. Otherwise, we would be sitting here in silence for a few more minutes.

"Malu..." she began softly and plaintively, but he interrupted her.

"I'm a moron for trusting you with this," he exhaled. He looked around, sighed again, clicked his tongue, whispered a curse, and removed his hand from his waist, running it through his hair. It seemed he finally pulled himself together. "Go start the car."

Syringa, relieved and without saying a word, darted through the doorway; only the sound of the front door closing could be heard.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Alright..." he said slowly, looking around, and then his gaze landed on me. "As you see, we have nothing to break it with, so we're hoping that you, our master lock-picker, can somehow open it."

"Maybe we could swing by a store?" Alex suggested.

"Have you checked the time, you dumbass? Everything's closed now. And no, anticipating your stupid question, we can't wait till tomorrow."

"What if I can't pick the lock?" I asked cautiously.

"If we screw up this job, I'll make sure to point out who's at fault, so the three of us don't get beaten up too. And then her ass will be as wide as the Brandenburg Gate when a dozen or so guys go through her. I wouldn't want that for this poor girl, but I'm not keen on getting a beating for someone else's mistake. So try your best for Syringa's ass, will you?"

"Everything will be perfect!" Alex immediately smiled. "Box will handle it, right?"

"God, would you just shut up? Why the hell are you always in such a good mood?!" Malu grimaced.

"Well, it's better than crying," Alex winked.

On the way to the house we planned to hit, we swapped our old hatchback for a van with a pest control logo on the side in the industrial district, leaving the car near an old factory that made God knows what. After that, we headed straight through the city in the van to our destination. We passed through the city center and delved into downtown.

"Just look at that," Malu grunted as we drove past some club where sports cars and foreign luxury vehicles stopped. Girls in bright dresses and guys in expensive suits were all over the entrance. "High and mighty people from the house... They've made money robbing, just like everyone else, but they act like they're cleaner than the rest of the shit in the world."

"Aren't they running clean businesses?" Alex followed them with his eyes.

"Yeah, clean..." Malu snorted. "They just get their hands dirty through others. Or do you believe they're law-abiding citizens, making millions and living off honest business?"

"But there are people who have built businesses from scratch. In computer technology, artificial intelligence, for example," I said.

"Oh yeah, sure, that's how it is," he smirked sarcastically. "They're definitely not involved in these sweatshops where folks are grinding their asses off twelve-hour shifts six days a week, ruining their health, unions keeping quiet, and everyone not giving a damn. Considering these factories belong to that house."

"But they're not breaking the law," Alex shrugged.

"They are," Malu pulled out a cigarette and lit it, cracking the window open. A cool evening breeze mixed with smoke blew into the cabin. "They use people like slaves, knowing they're untouchable. Some people just have nowhere to go, and they deliberately leave them no choice. And then they tell us on TV that we're all equal, damn it. They laugh at us, but they're too scared to face us one-on-one, the cowards. They should all be put up against the wall..."

And so on and so forth. From all the conversation, it was clear that Malu hated any house that existed. He hated them primarily because they lived comfortably, and he did not. Because they never had to go through what he went through. And simply because they are rich and have never known suffering.

At the same time, as I understood, Malu himself dreamed of becoming rich, as if what he had gone through would somehow justify him.

Soon, we left the concrete jungle to where private rich houses were located. A unique district of the city, to get into which, one must first cross a broad highway over a bridge seemingly separating the plebeians from the rich people. It really looked like a barrier between the worlds of wealth and ordinary life.

As soon as we crossed to the other side, we immediately found ourselves in a world of wealth and luxury. Mansions with much larger territories than those belonging to ordinary people. Estates built in the style of castles, Chinese and Japanese palaces, plantations, and English cottages. Although it might seem that there were many rich houses here, in reality, only a small part of the city lived here.

We drove along walls, some of which were works of art in themselves. I was afraid that we would break into one of such houses - I seriously doubted that I could crack a safe installed there. Such people could afford a real vault in the basement.

However, the further we drove, the more modest the houses became. Smaller in size, more restrained in appearance, more uniform, but still expensive. While I was trembling more and more, and I soon could barely hold back from shaking my whole body. I wanted to jump, bounce, run to relieve the tension. It seems I felt the urge to do physical exercises for the first time in my life. What was happening inside me, it's better not to mention. My pulse probably went off the scale, and my stomach was doing somersaults.

We stopped almost on the outskirts of the district, beyond which a forest was visible, right in front of a small, cozy mansion in the style of German beam houses.

"This is it," Malu nodded to the building located a few houses away from us. "We're going there. Theoretically, the alarm is turned off, as there's a housemaid working there.

"What if it's not?" I asked a logical question.

"We'll eat your dick for a hot pot," he sharply replied. "There's a guard, one. By the alarm button. There are cameras with recording on the hard drive. So we don't show our faces. Ali and I are taking the hard drive, Box is on the safe.”

"What about the guard?" I asked.

"I'll handle it, don't shit yourself. So, caps pulled down deeper, masks pulled over your face, bags not forgotten, everything checked, gloves put on. Syringa, if you mess up one more time, I'll fuck you myself, to prepare your ass for Arrow, got it?”

"Yes," she quietly replied, lowering her head, which made me feel a bit sorry for her.

"That's a good girl. Drive us to the house, then, once we're let in, move a bit further away and keep watch. He'll definitely take the shortest route, which is this one. So keep your eyes peeled."

"I understand."

Meanwhile, Malu screwed a silencer onto his pistol and stuffed it into his roughly sewn deep back pocket.

"We're going in quiet and calm; just follow me unless I give another command. Phew... Alright, let's get this show on the road, guys. We're gonna rip them a new one!"

How his desire to "rip them a new one" and the robbery were related was beyond me. However, he had some semblance of a leader. At least, I felt a slight surge of confidence, even though I was shaking as if from the cold.

"Godspeed," I mumbled as we pulled up, kissed my cross, tucked it inside my coveralls, and then struggled to put on my mask with shaking hands.

We got out of the van, which had parked directly opposite the approach path to the home so it could be seen from the windows. The three of us strolled casually up to the door, after which Malu knocked. We stood behind him.

The seconds we waited for the door to open felt incredibly long. I was barely holding back the shakes, or even fainting, as my blood pounded in my head so hard that my vision blurred, and instead of hearing my surroundings, I heard my own heartbeat. Maybe it was because of my weight. I probably really need to lose some.

The door opened silently, and through the gap appeared a woman dressed as a typical maid. I didn't see any chain, but there might have been a door limiter installed, so we wouldn't be able to barge in just like that. Only when they open the door.

"Mr. Dubov's residence. How may I assist you?" she inquired in a cold, confident voice.

"Good afternoon, we're from the pest control company 'Anthill'. We received an order for your address from Sergey Yakovlevich."

Malu spoke completely calmly, not in the manner he used with us. There was no pride, no aggression. It was even unusual to hear.

"We were not informed of your arrival."

"Just a moment. The order was made..." he pulled out some paper from his chest, "on the thirty-first of August. Disinfection of a twenty square meter bathroom, second floor. Plus, Sergey Yakovlevich's signature. We also called yesterday to remind you that we would be coming this evening, but a man who identified himself as a security guard answered. Here you go."

He passed the paper through the gap, which she took and started reading.

"One moment, please," she nodded and closed the door.

We were left waiting, which certainly didn't add to the calm.

"Does he have a phone?" Alex quietly asked, as if by chance.

"Not at the moment," Malu answered just as quietly.

If we believe that he's at the police station, where the clan's people are, they could have asked this Sergey to leave his phone. If so, the maid won't be able to reach him now. I wouldn't want to scramble back through the city - from the police this time.

A couple of minutes later, the door cracked open again. Malu didn't rush to barge in, apparently knowing that the door might not fully open. This time, a security guard in a suit with a tie poked his head out. A big brute, almost two meters tall, with a thug's face.

"Good evening, lads."

"Good evening," Malu nodded. "We called yesterday..."

"Yes, yes, I was told, but the previous shift didn't mention anything to me. Neither did Sergey Yakovlevich. Could you take off your respirators?"

"Yes, of course," Malu obediently removed it, and we followed his suit, although we were not in a hurry to take off our caps. The guard looked us over carefully.

"You lads seem awfully young."

"If I didn't have to take a girl out for a date, I would never have taken this job," Malu smiled. The guard, apparently recalling his own youth, grinned kindly.

"I understand. But in any case, he's not here."

"We don't need Sergey Yakovlevich's signature specifically," he shrugged. "Yours or the maid's is enough. Fortunately, we can handle the woodlice and centipedes on our own, without Sergey Yakovlevich," Malu added friendliness to his last words, which seemed to me like drops of concentrated poison. "The main thing is you sign for the job acceptance."

"Give me a second - I'll call Sergey Yakovlevich to confirm. You understand..."

"Yes, yes, I understand, we'll wait," Malu raised his hands.

The door closed again. It was like some sort of game. And it was clearly dragging on too much.

"Don't lift your heads, don't look around, so as not to show your mugs," he muttered, covering his mouth with his hand, as if scratching his nose.

We stood there for about three minutes, managing to get completely worked up before the door opened again. And this time fully.

"Alright, lads, come on in. Try to finish up as quickly as you can."

He had no idea just how much we wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.