"Bang, bang, bang..." Along with the sound of gunfire, the fierce thug's head was penetrated by bullets, splattering brain matter and blood across the wall.
The man with weakened kidneys watched this scene, tightened his grip on the gun in his hand, and the scent of blood sobered him significantly.
"Ruthless!"
This word permeated his life, ruthless toward money, ruthless toward enemies, ruthless toward himself. Thus, when he had money, he indulged in wild pleasures, draining his body until, destitute, he used his drained body to shed blood with a knife, in exchange for more money. It was a tragically vicious cycle, but this is how he continued to live, as he was unsure if he would be alive the next day.
Was he afraid of dying? He himself didn't know—he didn't wish to die, but if death was inevitable, he was certainly not the type to submit in weakness.
Three men, and in an instant, two were dead. He knew that today he would also die.
