Chapter 2 I'd Like To Join You

A runaway car crashed through the wall, slamming into the burly man and sending him flying. Meanwhile, Hubert, standing just twenty centimeters away, remained completely unharmed. The man lay sprawled on the ground, convulsing. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose, staining the floor. His wide, shocked eyes stayed fixed on Hubert. His lips parted slightly, as if trying to say something, but no sound came out. In the end, his initial shock twisted into pure, murderous intent. With a trembling hand, he struggled to lift his gun, trying desperately to aim at Hubert. "Well, my luck has always been pretty good." Despite brushing shoulders with death, Hubert showed no fear. He remained where he stood, sighing softly before walking toward the burly man. "I told you...A gun won't kill me." Hubert crouched in front of him, pressing his foot down on the man's right arm, crushing his last hope. "Shattered skull. Multiple rib fractures, organ failure. No saving you." He examined the man's injuries and kindly pointed them out. "Don't look at me like that. After all, I'm the only certified doctor on Black Street—very professional." The only doctor on Black Street. As those words echoed in his fading consciousness, the burly man's dilated pupils gradually lost focus. In his final moments, a well-known saying from Black Street surfaced in his mind: 'The Three You Shouldn't Mess With on Black Street—' 'Idiot from East Street, Cripple from West Street...' 'And the one you should never cross—Lunatic from Central Street.' It was said that the lunatic had disappeared six months ago, and everyone assumed he had died in some forgotten alley. But now— The burly man's eyes closed for the last time. His breath stopped. "Agh! I shouldn't have let him wear that white coat—it's covered in blood now. Can't use it anymore. If I had taken it back and washed it, it'd still be useful! But then again...A doctor should wear a white coat." Hubert stood there, momentarily lost in his own dilemma. But soon, as he glanced around the wreckage of the room, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. "So... That really wasn't a dream? The strange, chaotic world from that 'dream'—it's actually coming. How exciting." At that moment, Hubert's eyes shone brightly, and a thrilled smile spread across his face. "Thank you for your sacrifice in the name of my experiment!" Finally, he sincerely expressed his gratitude to the corpse before slipping through the hole in the wall and vanishing into the streets. Strangely, despite all the commotion, none of the occasional passersby even bothered to take a closer look. They merely cast indifferent glances before hurrying along with their own business. As for calling the police? Not a single person even considered it. However, a few young kids sneaked into the shop. A moment later, they dashed out, eyes gleaming with excitement, glancing around cautiously before sprinting away. ****** "Damn it! Scarface is dead!" In a run-down house, a wiry middle-aged man, thin as a monkey, pushed the door open with a grim expression. He turned to the others and described the gruesome scene that had just unfolded in the so-called "Psychological Consultation Clinic." "What!?" A blue-haired young man sitting in the center of the room slammed his hand on the table, his eyes blazing with anger. "Scarface was the one scouting out Redted Bank—if he's dead, how the hell are we supposed to move forward with the plan?!" Frustration radiated from him, and his sharp glare brimmed with uncontrollable killing intent. Seeing the look in Blue Hair's eyes, Monkey swallowed nervously, a flicker of fear crossing his face. "I've said it before—robbing a bank is simple! What's with all these pointless, complicated plans? We just storm in, guns drawn, and start stuffing the cash. That's it! Pack up—we're leaving now!" Blue Hair took a deep breath, his expression fierce and ruthless. As he raised his arm, his well-defined muscles tensed beneath his skin. Clearly, he had been fed up with his crew's overcomplicated robbery schemes for a while now. "B-Boss, I still think we should be a bit more careful. A-After all, we've only just arrived in Black Street... S-Scarface said even the random passersby here aren't to be messed with..." Monkey cautiously voiced his concern again. Blue Hair sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Hah! I think Black Street is way overhyped. What 'lawless zone'? It's just a bunch of nobodies! We've been here for two weeks, and we've already killed four or five people. What's there to be afraid of? When Scarface joined us, I knew he was unreliable. Since when have I ever needed to think to get things done?" Blue Hair continued, "Quit your damn yapping. Grab your gear—we're moving out! We're pulling off a big one!" With that, Blue Hair tucked his cheap, homemade pistol into his waistband and strode toward the door. The others stood up one after another, following closely behind him. "B-But we're still on the outskirts of Black Street..." Monkey wanted to say more, but when he saw the impatience in his boss's eyes, he wisely swallowed the rest of his words. Any more complaints, and given his boss's temper, he'd probably get beaten to a pulp. Just then— Knock, knock, knock. A rhythmic knocking sounded at the door. "Excuse me, is this the hideout for a gang of robbers? I'd like to join you!" A cheerful, polite voice called out from outside. Blue Hair froze mid-step. The others stiffened as well, their faces tensing. Monkey swallowed hard and instinctively looked at his boss. "Tch! What the hell are you all scared of? Open the damn door! Let's see which idiot is trying to mess with us." Irritated by his crew's hesitation, Blue Hair cursed under his breath, pulled out his pistol, chambered a round, and glared at the door with a murderous look. If it weren't for his... questionable intelligence, he'd actually be pretty fearless. Monkey cautiously approached the door, cracking it open just enough to peek outside. He eyed the young man standing there and asked in a low voice, "Who are you?" "Haven't I already said? I'm here for the interview." With a bright smile, Hubert pushed the door open further, completely ignoring Monkey as he stepped inside. His gaze swept over the group inside—each holding an assortment of weapons, from machetes to daggers, all looking mismatched but deadly. Hubert couldn't help but praise them with genuine admiration. "Just like in my dream—this robber hideout is really quite professional!" "Let me introduce myself! Hubert! Male, 20 years old! Born and raised in Black Street! My special skill? Oh, right! I'm great at blending in — whether it's getting along or throwing punches!" Hubert looked directly at Blue Hair, his eyes clear and sincere, his expression warm. That gentle, spring-breeze-like smile somehow made him seem naturally trustworthy.