As a multi-ton dump truck roared down the streets of New York at over 60 kilometers per hour, Bullseye, a man in his thirties, was sitting in the van that was about to be crushed.
His terrified eyes saw himself being flattened like paper.
This wasn't just a collision; it was a total flattening.
The van Bullseye was sitting in deformed under the dump truck, and the falling cargo turned him into a two-dimensional figure.
The severity of the consequences was due to one other factor—the dump truckbelonged to Union Construction Company, and for them, time was money.
Kingpin didn't pay them well; the slower they drove, the less they earned, and if they were late, they'd be penalized. They didn't dare run without overloading, or they'd lose fuel money.
Leo, through traffic light control, had isolated this dump truck from the cars ahead, making it the lead vehicle in the traffic flow and giving it green lights at the previous five intersections.
By the time it reached this intersection, it was significantly speeding, with no chance of stopping.
The driver's seat of the van narrowly escaped being flattened into two-dimensional space, leaving a small section that was separated, still connected to the chassis and some other structures.
Of course, this small section was already twisted and deformed.
As Leo approached the vehicle, he heard the faint voice of the van driver echoing in the quiet air.
"Save me... please save me..."
But it was clear he couldn't be saved. Leo saw at a glance that the driver's lower body was fused with the car, a bloody mess.
Leo shook his head, "This is what you deserve, but you really are unlucky. This half hour will definitely be the longest half hour of your life."
"Save... me..." The driver clearly heard nothing, or if he did, he couldn't process it.
He just saw someone in front of him—anyone, really—someone to save him.
"Save me... I... heard the boss has more plans..."
The driver instinctively babbled on, causing Leo to furrow his brow—
Kingpin wasn't just targeting him? But the surveillance didn't trigger any alerts—there shouldn't have been any strangers.
"What do you mean? The surveillance showed no anomalies."
Matt lay in the seat, gritting his teeth as he pulled out the last steel toothpick embedded in him.
Fortunately, Bullseye's attacks had mainly caused surface wounds.
Matt suddenly spoke up, "I remember your surveillance is based on facial recognition and registered owners, right? Mr. Ricaldo has a son."
Leo's expression changed—
The surveillance logs indeed showed that Eric Ricaldo had entered the building!
The kid had walked into the apartment ten minutes ago without a care! "Damn it, I need to—"
Leo didn't even finish his sentence before his body suddenly stiffened, collapsing to the side like a statue!
"Leo?"
His consciousness hadn't faded yet, and the pain didn't knock him out immediately. He heard Matt calling his name, but he couldn't respond!
A flash of the apartment's layout crossed Leo's mind, and in a moment of clarity, he located an electrical circuit—
Located beneath the heating system, there might be an appliance there—if it short-circuits, it could ignite an explosion! He had to stop whatever was happening! Using the last of his strength, Leo told Matt, "Mr. Ricaldo—get home—hurry home—"
In his final moments, Leo sent a message to the residents' association—
Hoping someone would stand up.
Eric Ricaldo.
Returning home once again, he felt that the apartment was different somehow.
This was where he grew up, but he didn't like it.
Immigrants, dirty, smelly, and poor, shuffling to and from work like zombies, but smiling like fools when they got home.
Immigrants lived without passion, without brains—that was his belief.
Now, someone important had given him an opportunity—a quiet way to "persuade" his father.
Of course, the key was the land.
No matter how enticing the offer from the important figure, it couldn't mask the turmoil in his heart. Sweat beaded on his forehead—both excited and scared.
Even though he hadn't been home in a long time, he was afraid someone might recognize him, so he entered through a hole on the side of the building.
That hole had been there since he was a kid. Ricaldo had patched it with some metal sheets and covered it with a pile of old bricks.
As a child, Eric often snuck out through that hole. The haphazardly strung wires that used to be there were gone, surprising and inexplicably annoying him.
But he couldn't miss where his home was—he wondered if the old man had changed the locks.
Nervously, he inserted the key into the lock.
Click.
The door opened.
The room was quiet—maybe the old man wasn't home?
Eric glanced around the familiar setting, which hadn't changed much in terms of furniture arrangement.
It was a bit messy—but honestly, after being in a gang for so long, he suddenly didn't think it was that bad.
He walked slowly to the wall by the dining room—this was where the three of them used to sit down and eat together.
Until... Eric's eyes moved to the wall where a revolver was hanging—Ricaldo had once used it to kill someone.
It was also the reason he went to prison, and it was during that time that Eric joined the gang.
Click—footsteps from behind suddenly left Eric at a loss—that was his father!
Ricaldo looked shocked, "You little brat, get out!"
The shock lasted only a moment before it turned to anger.
That one "get out" sent Eric into a rage as well. "Old man, if I don't come back, are you planning to hand over my house to someone else?!"
"Your house?" Ricaldo's eyes seemed to spit fire, "I'm not dead yet!"
"You're about to be!" Eric mustered his courage, "What kind of nonsense did that brain-dead kid feed you? All you need to do is hand over the land to Union Construction Company, and you can get some money, find a new place! Going against them is suicide!"
"You—you..." Ricaldo was furious, looking around for something long to grab, but finding nothing, he just unbuckled his brass-tipped belt.
Eric panicked too.
In his mind, he had imagined a mysterious and badass entrance, like a professional hitman—enter, speak, negotiate, calmly threaten.
But why did this feel like he was back in his childhood? Right—he was a professional hitman now! A flash of the plan came to Eric's mind, and he turned towards the gun—he needed to grab the only gun in the house, then...
Click.
The sound of the gun being cocked wasn't loud, but it stopped Ricaldo in his tracks instantly. The anger on his face disappeared, replaced by an eerie silence.
"You're pointing a gun at me?"
"I—I'm here, I'm here to help you! Do you understand?" Eric felt both panicked and calm at the same time.
But he hadn't realized these two feelings were completely contradictory—calmness was the state he hoped to achieve, but his mind was in chaos.
On one hand, he had to follow the gang's orders, but on the other, why did he feel like he should be reasoning with this old man?
"Immigrants are trash! Expecting them to help you is like expecting sewer rats to help you! Sell the house! That way..."
"So you can please your new daddy—your new master?" Ricaldo's anger was cold, "Is this what I taught you? Is this what your mother taught you? To be someone else's dog, pointing a gun at your family?"
"Shut up!" Eric almost screamed, "You dare talk about my mother! If you hadn't stubbornly opposed the gang, she wouldn't have died! She wouldn't have died!
You can use a gun, you're a tough guy, but why didn't you protect her with the gun that was behind me! You're just a coward that knows how to use a gun!"
Ricaldo paused, sitting down in the chair.
After a moment of silence, he looked coldly at his son—a gaze filled with indifference and disappointment.
This deeply hurted Eric—even though his fevered mind told him he wasn't wrong.
"Yes, I failed to protect your mother. If you've got the guts, then shoot me, but I will never give you this house.
You're right, I'll give it to that kid, but I'll never give it to you."
Eric froze, then a sinister look crossed his face, "So the boss was right, you want to give my house to someone else, you want to give my house to someone else!
Do you know how much it's worth? You want to give it to an outsider! But it doesn't matter, I'll kill you now, they'll help me pull some strings, and the house will still be mine..."
"Then do it! What are you waiting for?"
"I will, I will—"
"Then do it!"
Bang! The gunshot was loud, but it didn't drown out the explosion—
Almost at the moment Eric pulled the trigger, the lamp beside him suddenly exploded with a bang!