Frizz searched the unconscious guard, looking for any valuables. He grabbed the pistol, an M1911, that the guard flaunted earlier, causing an unnerving feeling go down his spine.
"It's been some time since I've held a gun. This is so very strange." He said, holstering the pistol and continuing to loot the guard. He looted two magazines and some money from the wallet.
After looting, Frizz then approached the door and sensed someone near the entrance. "Best not to make a noise." He opted for the silent approach.
Frizz knocked and then waited for the door to open, planning a surprise attack. (Hopefully, he's alone and that there's no one in the living room. If this fails, I may have to flee.)
The door then opened. "Yes?"
*Thwack!* Frizz delivered a swift uppercut before the man could adequately react, knocking the man cold with a punch. He then grabbed the man's shirt, preventing him from collapsing.
Frizz glanced at the living room, finding no one. (Nice!) He gently placed the guard down, trying not to alert the others. He searched the jacket. "This guy only has a wallet," he muttered, pocketing the money and discarding the wallet.
[System]
Enemy defeated: 20 experience.
"System, turn off any notifications for gaining experience," Frizz grumbled. It was distracting. A split-second distraction was not a good thing when in stealth mode, he thought. He spotted a tiny plastic bag in the guard's wallet.
(Heck, is this? Salt?) He squinted hard, scrutinizing the tiny white crystals. (It looks like shards - wait. This is meth!)
Frizz squinted his eyes, taking a second look. (This is really meth! I've seen it on TV.) He flicked it away, disinterested in drugs.
"Fuck!" A loud voice boomed from upstairs, someone angry. It was a person on a call with someone. Frizz slowly crept up the stairs, reaching the second floor and peeking through a slightly opened door.
A lone figure, wearing a loose jacket and jeans, was anxiously pacing around the bedroom.
(Baron Morales. I will never forget that mug. A local bully in high school, the teachers said he would amount to nothing. They're wrong; he's a drug-dealing scumbag. I certainly didn't expect him to be a drug dealer; it was quite a surprise after hearing about it.)
Frizz observed Baron's heavy pacing. The expression plastered on his face: rage and irritation. "I've sent you two fucking kilos. You said you'd pay with B-Cash, yet I haven't received shit. What are you doing!? Are you trying to pull a fast one? Do you know my fucking dealer? You think he's a fucking joke!?"
"You're my fucking friend, but I have limits. I don't care if you use your own fucking supply or skim something off the top so long as your money is good. You think this is a fucking charity!?"
Baron roared, volume increasing. "You will fucking pay later this night, and if I don't see any fucking money. I am going to report you. I will be beaten for trusting a slob like you, but at least I won't be fucking dead. You fucking mongoloid."
A moan bellowing from below surprised Frizz; the guard he had knocked out with an uppercut earlier was waking up. (No more idling!)
Frizz barged inside, surprising Baron. "W-what!? Who are you!?" Baron was surprised, eyes darting toward the baseball bat propped on the bed.
Baron rushed for the baseball bat, but Frizz charged forward, and he was slightly faster. "W-wait!" Baron pleaded, but he was struck in the head; he recoiled and hit his head against the wall. Baron was knocked out cold.
"Fuck! Grab whatever!" Frizz murmured, grabbed the sling bag on the bed, and opened the nightstand. A smile formed on his face; it was a jackpot. The nightstand's drawer was full of cash; blue one-thousand-peso bills were neatly banded together.
And there were several of them. Frizz stuffed the sling bag with the wads of cash. "This is dirty money, so it isn't a crime to steal it!"
He headed for the door, grabbing the baseball bat that Baron tried to reach for. (The only good thing about that shitty sport he used to play back then was the bats. Very useful.)
*Bang!* The door slammed against the wall.
"Hey, you!" The two guards shouted in unison. "You're fucking dead, asshole! You messed with the wrong people." The two of them threatened, brandishing their pocket knives.
(Head-on combat. Two versus one, this is bad. I may be stronger than both of them, but I still don't know how to fight. I can barely throw a punch.) He thought, second-guessing, eyes darting for a possible escape route.
(Wait! Telekinesis! I have that!) Frizz held out both his hands. The two guards strolled forward, cautious of what Frizz might pull. The vase levitated into the air, then the nightstand, then the pillows, the picture frames, the scattered clothes, the chairs, and even a small stand.
The two guards stared in disbelief; everything around them began to float, and they could feel a slight pressure emanating from Frizz. Frizz then pointed at the two, gesturing a finger pistol, and smiled.
"Bang," Frizz said, as the floating items shot forward with a powerful charge. The two guards were sent back and crashed into the wooden railings outside the room.
"Shit!" Frizz cursed, looking down from the floor. The two guards were in severe pain, and they were writhing from their injuries, but still alive. He sighed with relief since he didn't want to kill them.
Frizz then jumped from the second floor and made a swift exit from the house. He passed by several bystanders, noticing the group of drunkards from earlier amongst the crowd. He didn't stop running until he made some considerable distance.
*Huff!**Huff!* Frizz stopped, almost kneeling and breathing hard. He turned around and spotted no one following him. Frizz hurriedly undressed, taking off his long-sleeved white shirt, revealing a grey shirt, then removed the balaclava and sling bag, stuffing them into his electric bike's compartment.
He lodged the baseball bat he acquired between the electric scooter's compartment and frame.
*Huff!**Huff!* "I have to escape," Frizz mulled, speeding away with the electric scooter. His heart was beating fast while sweat rolled down his face.
[System]
Level: 4 » 5.
The system window appeared in front of Frizz, but he ignored it; leaving the area as soon as possible was his top priority, and he focused on increasing his speed and pushing his electric scooter to the limit.
Frizz grinned, sweating hard, wheezing through his teeth, almost not believing his luck. He robbed a drug dealer's house and got away with a lot of money. His dopamine went through the roof. For the first time, he felt truly alive.
"Yeaaaah! Wooooah!" He shouted with extreme vigor, ignoring his parched throat.