A single shop at the far end still had its lights on. Pale light buzzed behind the glass.
'That was the one,' Ken muttered. Just looking at it made the guilt kick in.
He had been in this line of work so long, he could picture how it would play out step by step—especially with how predictable his crew was.
Niko banged on the glass—twice—then kicked it with the heel of his boot. The frame rattled before giving in.
An old man stood inside, apron still on. His face lost colour as soon as he saw who walked in.
His youngest son stood behind him. Couldn't have been older than twenty. Skinny, nervous, wearing a baseball cap that sagged low over his ears.
Leon was the first to speak."Mr. Soria. You missed your payment."
"I—I know. I just need one more week, please." his voice shook. "Business has been slow. I'm not running—"
"We don't fucking care!." Leon shoved him back through the door. "Maybe we take your son as interest."
The kid froze. His father lunged forward, arms raised to protect his son.
"No—don't touch him! I just need time, please. I swear I'll pay—"
Leon slammed him into the wall. One hand at his throat. The other pulled a knife halfway from his belt.
"Father!" the young man yelled, scrambling forward.
Dre yanked him back by the collar and slammed him into a stack of boxes, knocking them over with a crash.
"You see this, Mr. Soria? This is what happens when you don't pay on time." Leon grabbed him by the collar and slammed a fist into his face. Then another. And another.
The old man crumpled to the floor, nose bleeding, jaw clenched, too disoriented to cry out.
"I'll pay… please, don't hurt us anymore." he crawled behind the counter and opened the register with trembling hands.
He held the stacks of bills out with both hands like some desperate offering to a god.
'You should've paid when I gave you the chance,'
He tried to save them from this outcome, but they ignored his warning just because he did not speak like a thug.
And now, it came to this. Them getting wrecked.
Leon grabbed the money, flipped through it, then scoffed. "Still short."
The old man fell to his knees, forehead pressed to the floor. "Please... I'll pay the rest next week. That's all I've got."
Leon looked over his shoulder. "You got anything to add, Ken? Or just gonna keep watching us do all the work?"
"Let's just get out of here." He walked away, done humouring them.
Niko shook his head and smiled. "Hey, Mr. Soria. Our kid's a bit of an idiot, so when he comes by next week to collect, make sure you pay him—so we don't have to show up and beat the shit out of you."
"Yes... yes..." the old man repeated, like a broken radio.
His son glared at the trio, very pissed. All this over some inflated debt. He looked ready to fight, but his father gave him a gesture to stand down.
Antagonising a few street thugs wouldn't solve anything. More would just show up, and doing business here would only get harder.
.
.
.
Back on the market street, most shops had already closed, afraid they might be the next target—smart, considering Robert's gang's reputation.
The few witnesses who had seen everything quickly turned their heads. Not a single one thought of calling the cops.
They all knew better. If the gang decided to bring chaos into the area, the police wouldn't be able to protect them.
Fear had that effect. It didn't need handcuffs or locked doors. Just the right dose of pressure.
Ken knew that too well. Lived it. Was stuck in it. Only difference was, he had to deal with that bastard leader every single day.
While his mind wandered, footsteps echoed behind them.
First three.
Then five.
By the time they passed the noodle cart, at least ten men trailed behind.
The others didn't notice. Too busy laughing and talking trash. He could've warned them. But tonight, something in him didn't see the point.
They turned a corner and found a dozen men waiting.
Bats. Pipes. Rusted metal rods. Most had caps pulled low or bandanas covering their faces, but their eyes said enough.
Looking back, Ken noticed that every exit were blocked.
Leon dropped his cigarette. "...Shit."
Niko drew a knife.
Dre let out a laugh, but his hand shook. "Fuck."
Meanwhile, Ken stayed calm, breathing steady as he sized up the hostile group.
His body wasn't at its best, but good enough to run if it came to that. This was his turf—he knew every alley and corner like muscle memory.
One of the ambusher stepped forward. He was taller than the rest, with a tank top stretched tight over thick arms. Looked like the one calling the shots.
Leon didn't back down. "You're messing with the wrong people, man. This block? This market? It's ours. Always been. So unless you're here to pay, walk the hell away."
The guy just sneered. "We're not here to talk turf. We're here to make an example out of you four."
Ken saw it. A tattoo, just under the man's ear. A fang inked inside a snake's open mouth.
Serpentel Gang.
Rumours had been floating for weeks about a new gang moving into the area.
People expected tension, maybe a few fights here and there. Even Ken thought it would stay small—some bruises, not blood and dead bodies on the pavement so soon.
Looking around, he noticed the trio were sweating hard. They talked big, but now that they were surrounded, their real colours started to show.
"You think you can handle them?" Niko asked.
Ken sighed. As usual, he had to bail these fools out.
"Normally, yeah. But I still haven't recovered from the beating I took. I can't even move my shoulder right now."