Breaking News!

Due to a drastic increase in school and university shootings, the UC government has decided to ban all firearm transactions outside the military.

A strict legal prohibition has been imposed, and anyone found engaging in such transactions will be arrested and immediately imprisoned.

This move demonstrates the UC government's strong stance against illegal arms trading and has brought some comfort to the families of thousands of innocent victims caught in gun violence.

(Television turned off.)

I see. So this is why the neighborhood has been so quiet lately.

It seems even the black market is facing a shortage of firearms.

That's a good thing. At least violence in UC will decrease, and people will have a better life.

Maybe gang activity will decline as well. After all, they're sustained by the arms trade. And now, with their primary source of income gone, they'll have no choice but to disband.

(Flashback ends.)

Hah.

How naive I was.

How naive indeed.

The violence didn't decrease. Instead, it became even more brutal. More people were dragged into it, and the crime rate surged.

Perhaps, in some twisted way, the gangs' weapon trade had maintained a fragile peace for many.

Though times were tough back then, most people could still live normal lives. But now, more than double the number of people before the ban have become victims of violence.

The crime rate among children has also skyrocketed. It's as if the fear of firearms was the only thing holding people back.

After all, a single gunshot could end a life instantly.

But now, fights depend on strength, numbers, or blades. People may not fear getting shot, but the sheer brutality of their attackers has intensified.

The soft-hearted have become prey.

"Al, what are you doing? Hurry up!" Mike shouted.

"Mike, go ahead. I'll hold them back."

"No! There are too many! Let's retreat first and regroup. Then, we can handle them."

"I wish we could, but we can't. If we run now and they follow us, even if we regroup and defeat them, they'll gather information on our numbers. That'll put us at a disadvantage."

"But we can't take them on alone!"

"We don't have to defeat them—we just need to delay them. Go ahead. I have a plan."

"..."

"Go, Mike. Trust me."

Al met Mike's hesitant gaze as his friend finally turned and ran.

Hah.

Now, let's get started.

Al scanned his surroundings. It was a narrow alley littered with garbage cans and scattered waste—plastic bags, bloodstained clothes, and scraps of paper.

He quickly spread the garbage into a line between himself and the approaching group. Then, he pulled out a small bottle of oil from his pocket and sprayed it over the trash.

The gang was almost upon him.

Yet, Al remained still, watching them with an eerily calm gaze.

The group came to a stop at the garbage line. Their leader, Kite, stared at Al, his expression unreadable.

"I don't know who you are, but you made a mistake messing with us. Do you even know who we are?"

"I know both you and your gang."

"Oh? Then who are you?"

"So you don't remember me? Well, that doesn't matter. Your judgment day has arrived."

Kite scrutinized Al. He seemed familiar, but the memory didn't surface. Not that it mattered. He would extract all the information he needed after capturing and torturing him.

He gestured for his subordinates to seize Al.

But before they could move, Al flicked open a lighter and dropped it onto the oil-soaked garbage.

The flames erupted instantly, licking at the air with violent intensity. The five gang members, along with Kite, were caught in the blaze.

They stumbled back, their clothes engulfed in fire.

Al didn't waste a second. Before they could extinguish the flames, he hurled the remaining oil into the fire.

The blaze roared.

And in that split second, Kite's face was seared by the flames.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Kite's scream pierced the alley.

But Al was already running, his expression eerily blank. He didn't even glance back.

Kite's subordinates scrambled to put out the fire on their clothes before turning to help their leader.

When they finally managed to douse the flames, they froze.

Half of Kite's face was burned beyond recognition.

Once, he had been ferocious. Now, with his charred, disfigured face, he looked even more terrifying.

His men gulped nervously.

Then, they heard him speak.

"Where did that bastard go?"

His voice was calm. Not a hint of pain.

Despite the grotesque burns on his forehead and cheek, he showed no fear—no agony.

His subordinates were shaken. For a moment, they felt an eerie sense of admiration.

"He ran straight ahead. We won't be able to catch him now."

Kite exhaled slowly.

"Let's head back."

"Shouldn't we go to the hospital first, sir?" one of his subordinates hesitantly asked.

"No need. We're heading to the base to report this to the leader."

"That guy is dangerous. We need to find out who he is."

"Do you know him, sir?" another subordinate asked, recalling Kite's earlier exchange with Al.

Kite's burned lips curled into a grim smirk.

"I have a guess. But I'm not sure yet."

He turned on his heel.

"Let's go."