Chapter 19: Do you want to come try it too?

The Anchor being trampled on was groaning nonstop, like a pig laid out for slaughter.

Cid wiggled the cigarette between his lips, raised his hand, and without even looking, fired a bullet.

The hot round blasted into Anchor's face, pinning it into the ground. It left a small hole in the pavement and wiped away a smear of blood.

Anchor immediately stopped groaning. His body twitched from the pain, sweat beading on his forehead.

Cid took a slow breath and opened his mouth.

"You see, I'm not someone who goes around disrespecting people.

I'm just here to ask a few simple questions," he said.

"Personally, I've never been a fan of violence. I'd always prefer peaceful methods."

At that moment, Beatrix noticed the bar door creak open behind Cid.

A man in a black jacket stepped out, blood trickling down his face.

He held a brick at a deadly angle—perfect for a sucker punch or a direct strike to the skull.

To the thugs around here, that brick was practically sacred—their weapon of choice.

Beatrix was about to warn Cid of the sneak attack, but before he could say a word,

Cid casually fired a shot behind him without turning his head.

The bullet shattered the man's knee in an instant.

The thug screamed, collapsing as the blood burst like a flower.

He dropped the brick—which bounced off the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

Even Beatrix looked stunned.

Not turning his head and still hitting a target? That's some cheat-code level precision.

If Beatrix had been the one sneaking up, he'd be terrified right now.

Actually, he kind of was.

Cid was just that kind of guy.

Meanwhile, back at the security department, if anyone fired a shot, they'd be buried in paperwork and interrogation.

But Cid? He walked into danger, guns blazing, with no hesitation and no rules.

Another shot rang out. Anchor, still under Cid's boot, flinched hard.

He now fully understood: this man wasn't just dangerous—he was uncontrollable.

And clearly not some kind of by-the-book official.

When the muzzle swung back toward him, Anchor panicked and blurted,

"Wait! I'll talk, I'll talk!

It's the Snakehead! Our boss ticked him off recently, tried to mess with his business.

Now he's retaliating.

The people you're investigating? They're our guys—we're being hunted down!"

"Who's the Snakehead?" Cid asked.

"He's another boss in this area. Deals mostly in drugs."

Cid said nothing. He just pointed the gun at Anchor's waist and pulled the trigger.

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the street.

"Wrong answer," Cid said calmly, exhaling another puff of smoke.

"Try again."

Anchor didn't know how Cid had seen through the lie.

Tears and snot ran down his bloated face as he cried,

"Please, if I talk, the boss will kill me. I have a family!"

Cid didn't respond—just fired again.

The bullet punched through flesh and bone, spraying shards and fresh blood.

Anchor screamed again, a sound so wretched even the nearby shadows seemed to flinch.

"If you really don't cooperate," Cid said, shrugging, "by the time your boss finds you, all that'll be left is a gravestone."

"Devil!" Anchor sobbed.

"Maybe. Or just a lunatic with a gun." Cid exhaled smoke. "Now, the truth."

Anchor couldn't stall any longer. Gritting his teeth, he choked out,

"Okay, okay. Those murders—it's not just a gang thing.

It's… we met a ghost."

Cid nodded. "Good. Keep going."

"It started as a normal deal," Anchor said, voice trembling.

"Just a regular contraband exchange.

We met the seller, paid up, got the goods. Everything was routine.

But someone saw us during the trade."

Beatrix could hear all of this from the car parked nearby.

The bar street was quiet, and the earlier screaming had scared off any pedestrians.

"We didn't pay attention to the guy at first—just a dirty drifter.

No one you'd even look at twice.

He begged us to let him go.

But come on, anyone with half a brain knows that's not happening."

"Our boss didn't hesitate—he gave the order, and the team dragged the guy away.

By the time we were done with him, he wasn't even recognizable anymore.

We dumped him into a cement pile. That's standard practice.

Every thug in this city knows: mess up, and you end up part of the foundation.

No one ever asks how many corpses lie under all this concrete."

Beatrix felt a chill hearing that.

At first, Cid's methods had made him uncomfortable—storming in, interrogating like a maniac.

But now? Now he felt like maybe these people deserved it.

"This time, the ones handling the concrete were Chris and Vicem.

They knew what they were doing—how to build a solid pile that won't crack even in the rain.

It was over quickly, and we all went out for dinner that night."

Anchor paused, panic flickering in his eyes.

"But this time was different.

The next day, out of nowhere—Chris murdered Vicem.

No, not even that—it's worse."

He looked terrified now, voice rising in pitch.

"When we got there, Vicem was already a rotting corpse.

Chris was kneeling next to him, muttering nonsense and stabbing him over and over.

He only stopped when he noticed us.

Then he stood up, turned toward us—mouth covered in blood.

I'll never forget his eyes."

Anchor swallowed thickly, blood mixing with his spit.

"Then he smiled and said—

'Wanna try it too?'