As tendrils of rival gangs snaked through the city from every direction, a mass exodus was already underway. The wealthy, their cars gleaming under the afternoon sun, and the truly privileged, whisked away in private jets, sought refuge beyond the city limits, fleeing the impending storm.
   The city's guardians, the police force and the Night Watchers, fanned out, a desperate attempt to engage the encroaching threat before they became hopelessly surrounded. Little did they suspect that they were merely pawns in a far more complex game - a brutal battle royale, where survival hinged not only on skill, but also on the deadly ambitions of the warring gangs themselves.
   The only slim chance for a peaceful resolution lay in a coordinated search of the gangs' hideouts, a united front to recover the stolen money. But these were not men of peace; they were ruthless criminals, driven by greed and a thirst for power, eager to claim the prize through bloodshed. Nor would the police ever sanction such chaos. The search itself would be a destructive rampage, tearing through the city's already frayed fabric. Conflict, it seemed, was inevitable.
   When the first gangs stormed into Los Angeles, brandishing weapons like trophies, a wave of terror washed over the civilian population. They scattered, vanishing into the shadows as the gangs moved with brutal efficiency, smashing through doors, shattering windows, and seizing control of abandoned buildings.
   Each occupied building became a flashpoint, a crucible of violence. Skirmishes erupted instantly, and with the sudden, unexpected arrival of the 18th Street Gang, any defending gang invariably succumbed, overwhelmed by their superior numbers and ruthlessness.
   As twilight bled into night, Los Angeles was transformed into a nightmarish tableau of gunfire and desperate screams. The cacophony reverberated through the deserted streets, a symphony of violence – save for the central path, a no-man's-land that no gang dared to claim.
   The chaotic free-for-all continued through the long hours of darkness, a maelstrom of violence that claimed countless lives. Gang members, trapped within the labyrinthine confines of abandoned buildings and shipping containers, perished in droves. The police and Night Watchers, stretched thin and primarily focused on defending the city's core, also suffered casualties, their ranks thinned by the relentless onslaught.
   As dawn painted the sky with hesitant hues, the city fell into an uneasy quiet. The fighting subsided, leaving behind a landscape of devastation and loss. But, most tragically, the initial objective of this bloody chaos – the recovery of the stolen money – remained elusive, unachieved by any of the warring factions.
   Shortly after nine o'clock, Mr. Brock, his footsteps echoing in the deserted streets as he walked back toward the Watcher's office, initiated a call with Twist.
   "Hello?"
   "Mr. Night Watcher," Twist's voice crackled through the phone, tinged with frustration. "No one seems to have found the money. Our plans might fall through."
   "Seriously? So many lives lost...and for nothing?" Brock exclaimed. "Well, the least I could do was get my wife out of West Adam. That place is definitely a living hell by now."
   "Not my problem though. I got what I needed." Twist said casually.
   "What do you mean you got what you needed?" Brock asked, a knot of suspicion tightening in his gut.
   "I recruited a new guy, two days ago just right after Overlord gave his order."
   "And what's so special about this new guy?"
   "Everything!" Twist said, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. "This guy is a genius hacker."
   "Okay, go on..." Brock urged him.
   "Not to brag about him but he achieved my goal for me, and I mean what I've always wanted."
   "You mean getting promoted in the gang, right? And how's that even possible?"
   "It's possible because we snuck into ER bank during yesterday's battle and with his help, we unlocked the bank's vault, stealing about ten million dollars."
   "What the... Are you fucking serious right now?"
   "So here's the plan, I'm gonna give Overlord half the amount, then we'd get thirty percent in return, which will be shared among all the members, while the rest remains with me."
   "Who's going to take over when you get promoted?" Brock inquired, his mind already racing.
   "Hmmm, rightfully the seat belongs to Hackerman, but the gang needs someone as strong as you..."
   "Well, if that's so, when will the ceremony take place?" Brock asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
   "In two days' time. Be early."
   "Don't need to tell me that," Brock replied, and the call abruptly ended.
   "Lives, promotion, and gang…" a voice rasped from the shadows behind Brock.
   Brock whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. "How long have you been tailing me?"
   A young man stood there, clad in the uniform of a Night Watcher, a pistol held loosely in his right hand.
   "Tailing? I'm also returning to the office," the youth countered, his gaze unwavering. "Your conversation sounded kind of suspicious. Mind explaining?"
   "To what do I owe you an explanation? You'd better think of your future and walk away," Brock said, turning to resume his walk.
   "I know I just joined the Watchers, but Mr. Rayman asked me to report anything suspicious, so I think you're the one who should be thinking of your future in the organization."
   "So you're a cocky one, huh?" Brock stopped, his expression hardening. "Well, go ahead, tell Rayman I was acting suspicious. But just know that if I'm to kill you anytime and anywhere, it wouldn't cost me a hair."
   The words hung in the air, chilling the young Watcher to the bone. He stared at Brock, his face pale.
   "Wait, are you joking?"
   "Haha haha, of course I am. I bet you almost peed in your pants!" Brock said with a dismissive laugh as he continued forward. "But you'd better not mess with me."
   "So you're still not going to let me know."
   "What's your name?"
   "Liam."
   "Liam, you see, in this world it's best to lay low in order to survive. Being nosy is only a shortcut to your grave. Take that as an advice from an experienced man."
   "I'm not a kid, you know that, and if you aren't telling me who you were speaking with on the phone, I have no choice but to report you."
   *Pew pew*
   "You had a choice," Brock said, the silent echo of the gunshots still ringing in the air as Liam crumpled to the ground, two bullets piercing his lower abdomen. "Go to hell."
   Liam groaned once, his body convulsing, and then fell silent.
   Leaving the young Watcher's lifeless form in the street, Brock continued his journey to the Watchers' office.
The Watchers returned their uniforms and ammunition to the office, their faces grim, and dispersed to their homes.
****
Brock arrived home in his car, pulling into the driveway. His wife, Julie, greeted him at the door, her smile warm and welcoming.
...
....
   "Off course it went well." Brock said, avoiding the real matter.
   "Did the gangs find what they were searching for?" Julie asked, her eyes searching his.
   "Like hell we'd allow them to do so," Brock said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "How do you like my timing?"
   "You mean the new house? Perfect. I can't imagine what West Adam looks like now."
   "Think of a living hell," Brock commented, and they both laughed, the sound echoing as they stepped into the luxurious interior of their new home.
//On TV: Breaking news! It has been discovered just this morning that ER bank was robbed yet again, and it seems to have happened during yesterday's catastrophe. It is being said that someone managed to crack the code, and the bank has lost another ten million dollars. As of now, the bank officials and the government are searching for a way to fix this and also to repair the city's infrastructure. A word from me to whoever cracked that code: This isn't the best way to make use of that talent. You could do greater things and make more money, legally. Till next time...//
   "Why does ER bank keep getting robbed? They have the most Watchers in the vicinity, but it looks like there's none," Julie asked, frowning.
   "Maybe our head officer never thought another group of gangs would be cooking up something in such chaos. Besides, I've never heard of a guy who could crack a bank's vault," Brock said, casually undressing.
   "How do you know it's a guy?"
   "Hmm, just a hunch."
   *Ting ting*
   Brock glanced at his phone, a message blinking on the screen.
   "From: Officer Rayman. We've identified seven bodies of our Watchers, but our bullet was found in the body of one of them. Everyone's attention is needed."
.....
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