/// T.L Note: There's quite a bit of "C pois*n" in this fic, so if you spot one or two, feel free to let me know and I'll fix them. It's a tough one and there's a lot of it, so i might miss some, so please bear with me ///
Start of Chapter 1
"Yes or no? Yes or no? Yes or no?"
"N-No... not yes..."
"That's for saying no! That's for saying no! That's for saying no!"
"Oh my God, my God, my gooood..."
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
Standing outside the motel room, Charlie White rolled his eyes and picked at his ear.
From the sound of it, this old fart was clearly suffering from performance issues, but still loved to pretend otherwise.
He shot a glance behind him.
In the shadows, two towering young men, each nearly 6'4" and built like brick walls, immediately understood the cue.
Charlie took two steps back and raised the dusty camcorder in his hand, pointing the lens at the flimsy door lock.
The first man, named Tom, stepped up and slammed his foot into the door.
With a bang, the cheap motel door burst open.
The three of them stormed inside.
Just as expected, the scene in the room was textbook sleaze: the stink of alcohol and cheap perfume mingled in the air of a rundown auto lodge.
A balding, middle-aged man was playing cards on the bed with a young woman.
The girl had just the right amount of fake tears and panic on her face.
"Wh-Who are you people?!"
Startled, the man tried to scramble off the bed, but his panic, along with his obvious obesity, made his every movement comically awkward.
Tom lunged forward and grabbed the man's greasy hair with one giant hand, yanking him off the bed like a sack of flour.
"You bastard! How dare you lay a hand on my wife?!"
Tom's eyes were bloodshot, and the veins on his forehead popped as he screamed, delivering a performance worthy of an Oscar.
He pulled the girl behind him protectively. She instantly burst into soft sobs on cue.
"Wife?! No, this is a misunderstanding! It's all a huge misunderstanding!"
The man fell to the floor, half-dressed, waving his hands frantically.
"I just had a few drinks with this young lady, we were chatting, that's all!"
"She told me she was good at massages! I saw how young she was and figured I'd help support her little business!"
"Oh, so supporting her business means ending up in bed with her?" Tom sneered, raising his fist.
"It was an accident! A complete accident!"
"My key fell between the mattress, and she was helping me look for it, I swear!"
He turned to the girl. "Tell them, miss! Say something!"
The girl's eyes shimmered with tears. She shook her head sadly.
"I don't know anything... he dragged me in here."
The man went pale.
He was just a middle-class white-collar worker from the UK, he'd never dealt with a scene like this in his life.
Charlie calmly kept recording, camera raised.
It was time to give this proper British gentleman a taste of an old-fashioned honey trap.
Because yes, Charlie was a transmigrator.
In his past life, he had no parents. In this one, he grew up in an orphanage, textbook background for a future antihero.
The matron, Granny White, had named him Charlie White. At one point, he'd considered giving himself a different name...
But after hearing how terribly everyone around him butchered pronunciations, he decided it wasn't worth it.
As a transmigrator, of course, he had a system too.
Or at least, it should've been a system. Aside from one ding when he arrived, the damn thing had gone completely silent since.
Meanwhile, Tom had stopped listening.
He punched the man hard in the stomach.
Thud!
Every blow landed with heavy force, but deliberately avoided the vital areas.
The man curled up on the floor like a dying shrimp, letting out miserable groans.
"Stop, stop hitting me... we can talk this out..."
"Talk to your mother!"
Tom slammed his foot into the man's pudgy face, leaving a perfectly crisp shoe print behind.
"You're not walking out of this room today without paying us £2,000!"
The man whimpered, groaned... then suddenly stopped.
Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, he raised his head slowly. His eyes, though swollen, gleamed with cunning and scorn.
"I see now... you're all in on this, huh?"
"Nice act. Really. But you picked the wrong mark."
He shakily got to his feet, steadying himself against the wall, regaining some composure.
"Money? You'll get nothing from me."
"Touch me again and I'll call the police. Let's see who they arrest, me or the gang of extortionists breaking into hotel rooms!"
Tom and the other thug exchanged uneasy glances.
They hadn't expected this fat pig to have any backbone.
Just then, Charlie stepped forward, calm and slow, having remained silent the entire time.
He idly twirled the camcorder in his hand, its lens now aimed squarely at the man.
"Sir... there's no need to get so worked up."
His voice was soft, clear, and surprisingly pleasant. Combined with his devilishly handsome face, it disarmed most people on sight.
But the words that followed made the man's stomach sink.
"This little thing? Shoots in HD. Has night vision. Great audio, too."
The man's face went pale.
"You wouldn't want your wife seeing that recording, would you?"
Charlie smiled.
"Oh, and just now, I think I heard you say you're a department manager, right?"
"What would your boss think... or your subordinates... if they got a glimpse of your true colors?"
Charlie didn't finish the sentence.
He simply lifted the camcorder and gave it a little wave.
Threats unspoken are always the deadliest.
Sweat poured down the man's forehead.
This boy, this boy who looked no older than sixteen, was the most dangerous of them all.
That angelic face hid the heart of a devil.
Through clenched teeth, the man finally hissed:
"I'll pay."
In a dark, damp alleyway somewhere in London...
The middle-aged man drove off in his dented Ford, cursing the whole way.
Charlie and the others had ducked into this secluded spot, just in case he came back with backup. They wouldn't be visiting that motel again anytime soon.
"Charlie, that was brilliant!" Tom slapped him on the back, grinning ear to ear.
None of them had the money to actually buy a camcorder. It was just a broken piece of junk Charlie had fished out of a trash heap.
Tom pulled out a fat wad of cash and smacked it against his palm gleefully.
"We're rich! That pig really was loaded!"
A full £2,000.
Sure, the British pound wasn't what it used to be, not since the decline of the empire.
But in the 1990s, two grand could still feed a family of four for six months.
The other young man and the girl gathered around, eyes gleaming.
"Tom, your punches really sold it!"
"And Lisa totally nailed her role!"
"Our first mission as the Dragon Gang, a resounding success!"
Tom laughed heartily and peeled off a few notes for the two of them.
In the alley, Charlie stood quietly off to the side.
He leaned back against the cold brick wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, expressionless.
"And my share?" he said flatly.
This whole setup had been his idea. They'd agreed from the start to split the take evenly.
But judging by the looks on their faces, they weren't planning to keep that promise.
The laughter died instantly.
Tom turned, looking at Charlie as if he were some clueless kid.
"Your share?" He tucked the wad of cash into his coat and patted it. "What would a little boy do with that kind of money? I'll buy you a Happy Meal later."
The other guy chimed in.
"Yeah, Charlie. You're still young. Let us hold onto it, we'll keep it safe for you."
They figured Charlie was just the brains of the operation.
Sure, the idea was smart, but they were the ones who did the dirty work.
They took the risks. They did the acting. They threw the punches.
Why give a kid a cut of the cash?
What a joke.
Charlie didn't laugh. He didn't even smirk.
The light-hearted mischief in his eyes vanished, replaced by a deep, icy void.
"I'll say it again."
His voice was quiet, but every word echoed clearly.
"My share. Now."
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200 P.S = 1 Extra Chapters