Chapter 62

A prickling sensation, crawling up from Kent’s soles, surged rapidly past his cleft, then raced up his spine to the crown of his head!

Wherever this numbness passed, his skin erupted in gooseflesh.

The will to survive is humanity’s most primal, instinctive, and intense desire!

He swallowed hard, about to speak, when Lans pointed to the remaining large chunk of meat and said, “Don’t waste it. Eat.”

Including him and all the enforcers, there were eight men here; the dealers weren’t present—they only came when business started.

These dealers, with hands-on experience, could find work anywhere at any time; they had their own circles and earned high incomes.

They wouldn’t help with dirty work, so they weren’t here now.

Eight adults, and the enforcers alone had bought six pork elbows—each about two pounds, boneless.

It wasn’t originally this much, but the enforcers weren’t rich either—they were poor, and their craving for meat wasn’t much less than that of the beggars on the street.

Buying too little meant they never got enough, and fights over meat always turned unpleasant, so now he bought enough each time, plus four pounds of bread and some vegetable salad to cut the grease.

These were meant for eight people to finish—now he had to eat it all himself?

That was clearly impossible!

“I can’t eat anymore,” he declared again that he had lost his appetite.

Lans shook the Magre semi-automatic pistol in his hand. “Bullets—or meat?”

Anyone faced with this choice would almost certainly pick meat.

Kent did too—he lowered his head and gripped the meat with both hands, trying to crush the lean portions that filled half the elbow, to make swallowing easier.

The mixing of his fingers with fat made him feel even more nauseous; the earlier aroma of meat and grease kept triggering his gag reflex—but he still had to eat.

As he ate, he said, “Lans, I’m completely broken. I won’t seek revenge. This ends here.”

“You keep running your business, I’ll run my casino. No one will know what happened, and no one will bother you…”

He looked up at Lans, speaking as he kept shoving meat into his mouth.

Lans said nothing—neither agreed nor refused—leaving Kent even more uncertain.

“This was just a small matter. I apologize for everything I did yesterday.” He glanced at Enio standing behind Lans. “This young man is Enio, right?”

“I’ll give him another three thousand, and introduce you to a doctor—free of charge. I’m sure three thousand is enough to fix your arm and leave you with change.”

“It’s my fault. All my mistake…”

He slowly rose, testing Lans’s limits—but Lans pointed the gun at his head, the muzzle tapping him a few times, signaling him to keep eating.

The two locked eyes again for a moment. Kent saw nothing in Lans’s gaze. He fell silent for several seconds, stopped begging, and lowered his head to gorge on the meat.

The entire basement grew oppressively still; every eye fixed on Kent.

He ate while gagging, vomiting—he’d consumed far too much. His body instinctively rejected what he’d swallowed, yet he’d only eaten half, at most sixty percent—half still remained!

Minutes passed, his eating slowed further. Kent, who’d always found fullness a pleasure, felt pain for the first time from eating too much.

His stomach, his belly—felt like it would explode!

Even breathing caused him excruciating pain!

If he ate another bite, he’d surely burst from overeating!

“I… I can’t!” He dropped the meat, gripped the small table, afraid to straighten up. “Call an ambulance—I feel like my stomach’s about to burst!”

Lans turned to look at Ethan. “Kent won’t go down with dignity. Ethan, help him be dignified.”

Ethan stood still for two or three seconds, building his resolve, then walked over with a blank expression.

Kent’s eyes filled with terror—he tried to flee, but as he rose, Ethan slammed a hand onto his shoulder and forced him back down!

Ignoring his struggles and pleas, Ethan grabbed the food and jammed it into Kent’s mouth.

Lans sat across, pulled out a cigarette; Elvin struck a match and lit it. Lans crossed his leg, half-closed his eyes, watching Ethan force the meat into Kent’s mouth, down his throat.

Kent thrashed wildly, slapping Ethan’s body and arms—but Ethan was too strong. Soon Kent’s bent posture straightened into a rigid arch; his slaps grew weaker.

Seven or eight minutes later, after one final weak slap at Ethan’s arm, Kent went limp, motionless.

Ethan checked Kent’s nostrils, then whispered, “He’s dead.”

Lans curled his lip. The room’s tension deepened. He stood, turned to Enio. “I’ve solved your biggest problem. Now it’s your arm. You handle it—or do I?”

One enforcer froze, sweat drenching his face. He dropped to his knees, begging for mercy.

A dead man and a living one were two entirely different things to them.

If they’d tortured Kent to the brink but he’d lived, they wouldn’t have feared.

To them, as long as he didn’t die, nothing serious had happened.

But now Kent was dead—they had every reason to fear.

He blamed Kent for breaking Enio’s arm yesterday—everything was Kent’s fault; he was just a poor victim.

Elvin walked to Enio’s side and handed him the pistol. “Stick to your choice. No one will blame you. Lans won’t either.”

“Just remember—we’re brothers. Family. We’ll support you. We’ll avenge you. That’s enough.”

He meant to tell Enio: you can deal with this man—or let it go. It’s your decision. Lans won’t pressure him.

He thought of the past—of his mother, whose whereabouts he still didn’t know; of his father, who daily begged for acceptance from the Federals, dreamed of becoming a lucky beneficiary of the Federal dream, yet always failed, and loved to beat his family; of his childhood suffering and poverty.

He thought, too, of the money that could bring happiness.

He stared at the revolver in his hand for a long while, then asked, “How do I use it?”

“Safety’s already off. Aim. Pull the trigger.” Elvin taught him the basics.

He stepped forward, aimed at the enforcer, ignored the man’s red-rimmed eyes and tear-and-snot-streaked face begging for mercy, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet struck the enforcer’s shoulder—he collapsed, feigning death. But he didn’t know Enio had just realized something—he wanted to vent every injustice, every hatred from his entire life.

He walked over and fired repeatedly at the “corpse.” At first the enforcer tried to resist, but after a bullet cracked his skull, his body went slack.

When the hollow “click-click-click” of the hammer striking empty chambers echoed several times, he finally withdrew the gun, standing numbly to the side.

He had much to think about: life, the past, the future—even himself.

Some enforcers had already sensed what was coming—but before they could react, Lans made a small gesture. A burst of gunfire followed, and no one else remained standing.

Watching the enforcer’s lifeless eyes wide open, Lans muttered in frustration, “Damn it—I told you to spare him. But you…” He sighed. “Am I a man who breaks his word?”

Elvin smiled. “I pulled the trigger. Not you, Lans.”

Lans clapped his shoulder, gathered himself, and they left together.

The moment they stepped out of the basement, blazing sunlight bathed the entire world—even patches of the alley were lit.

But some places will never be touched by sunlight.

The moss in the corners, the damp, shadowed nooks—if one day your life is shrouded in darkness, and no sun reaches you,

then light your own lamp. Don’t let the darkness swallow you!

Doesn’t matter if that lamp is gunfire—or anything else!

At this moment, everyone’s mindset shifted drastically. In their hearts, a voice echoed: grow stronger!

All of them, more than ever before, craved power—craved everything!

Lans drove everyone back, including Enio’s group—just squeezed in together.

Back at the company, Lans counted the money taken from Kent’s safe: over thirty-three thousand.

He put thirty thousand into the safe. He thanked Mr. Kent for the substantial role he’d played in his early career.

The rest he divided.

Everyone got over a hundred.

“Go home, shower, buy new clothes, new shoes, eat a good meal, then come back to work!”

Lans looked at Enio and his friends. “If you’re willing, the company welcomes you too.”