"Tch, finally shift change. I'm dead on my feet," grumbled a Red Fang Gang member who had just swapped shifts with a teammate and was hurrying downstairs without wasting a second.
He had a little gathering planned there—a few brothers knocking back drinks and blowing off steam. In this high-pressure environment, it was the only way they could decompress.
Even if this kind of behavior was strictly forbidden by Silver, they had no choice. Too much pressure, and they'd snap.
"Weird... why's it so dark down there? What, they're too cheap to flip the lights on?" he muttered as he descended another floor and immediately sensed something was off.
The entire floor was silent—eerily so. No sign of anyone. Not a soul in sight, and the darkness was suffocating. It felt like no one had ever even been there.
Still, he didn't think much of it. Maybe the wiring had shorted, and the other guards on that floor had gone to fix it. That would explain the absence.
But his assumption was shattered quickly.
Because of the pitch darkness, he reluctantly pulled out his phone, intending to turn on the flashlight to see where he was going.
He had just lit up the screen when his foot caught on something. He tripped hard, lost his balance, and fell with a loud groan of pain.
His mind blanked for a moment. Once he gathered his thoughts, the gang member cursed out loud, "Damn it! Who the hell just leaves stuff lying around? Don't they know people could trip over that?!"
Still grumbling, he shifted his legs and shined the flashlight at whatever had tripped him, wanting to get a good look.
And then he froze.
Bathed in the flashlight's beam was a corpse—one of their own. A Red Fang Gang member, mouth stained with partially dried blood, eyes wide open in pure terror as though he had died in utter horror.
But the most terrified person in that room was now the one who had found him.
As he stared at the body of his comrade, a chill surged up from his feet to his scalp. Panic kicked in, making him instinctively lash out with a few kicks at the corpse before scrambling back to his feet.
Just as he turned to bolt upstairs to warn the others, he noticed something.
At the far end of the corridor, near the tall window, a figure stood silhouetted in the darkness.
Beside the figure was another gang member—barely alive, so weak he couldn't even speak.
At death's door, the dying man cast a pleading glance toward his fellow gang member. But whatever flicker of hope remained in those eyes quickly faded into emptiness.
The figure casually tossed the dying man's body aside.
Only then did the surviving gang member realize the horrific truth—around that figure lay dozens of corpses, strewn in grotesque disarray.
The sight was too overwhelming, the visual shock too immense. Whatever remained of his sanity was instantly drowned in fear.
At that moment, the masked figure turned toward him.
Under the moonlight pouring through the window, a stark white mask became visible.
Beneath that white mask, a pair of eyes glowed—a vivid, demonic red—locking onto him like a predator stalking prey.
Instinct kicked in again. The man tried to run.
But suddenly, the corpse at his feet grabbed his leg.
"Why… why didn't you save me...?"
A raspy, corpse-like growl rasped from the dead man's mouth. His bulging eyes remained wide open, and blood streamed from every orifice.
Panic consumed him. He kicked and struggled, but the grip wouldn't loosen. No matter how hard he thrashed, he couldn't break free.
Finally, he fell back, completely losing balance and crashing to the ground.
Then came a strange noise, a whisper—an unfamiliar sound that rang in his ears. When he looked up again, the masked figure was already standing before him.
And the "reanimated corpse"? Gone. Still lying there, motionless. It had been a hallucination. He'd simply tripped and panicked.
But that truth didn't matter anymore.
Because the killer had raised his weapon and brought it down hard on his skull.
With a dull, wet thud, everything went silent once more.
But the Red Fang Gang's blood-soaked Red Moon Night was far from over.
As the lights went out on the next floor above, a fresh round of slaughter began.
...
Meanwhile, on the ground floor, Belle—piloting Eous's small frame—zipped through corridors, tirelessly searching for any sign of Silver, completely unaware of what was happening upstairs.
"Weird… why haven't Zhong Yan or Anby said anything since the mission started?" she murmured to herself, currently in the records room of an old video rental store.
Since the mission began, only she and Wise had been communicating on the channel. The silence from the other two was unsettling.
Anby being quiet made sense—she was naturally introverted. But Zhong Yan?
A creeping sense of dread surfaced in Belle's heart, pushing her to speak up. "Zhong Yan? Anby? Are you okay? You haven't run into trouble, have you?"
It wasn't even a few seconds later that she got a response.
"This is Anby. All clear for now. No sign of Silver on the fourth or fifth floor. I've also remained undetected by the Red Fang Gang."
Belle exhaled in relief. But something still didn't add up. If Anby had responded—why hadn't Zhong Yan?
"Zhong Yan, can you hear me?"
She tried again, but even after waiting for a long moment, there was no reply.
Worry now gripped her fully. She turned to Anby again: "Something's wrong—Zhong Yan's comms are offline. Do you think he's in danger? Can you head up and check on him?"
Since Anby's search area was adjacent to Zhong Yan's, only she could realistically go confirm his safety. Belle couldn't sit still either.
Just then, Wise chimed in over the channel. "If worst comes to worst, we can ask Nicole's team to assist. But honestly, the Cunning Hares probably can't handle a gang as large as the Red Fang on their own."
"So, we should also contact New Eridu Public Security and file an anonymous tip. If they deploy enough manpower, this whole thing could be wrapped up quickly."
The plan was met with immediate agreement.
Belle made the call to Nicole, while Wise prepared to send the tip-off to Public Security.
A massive storm was beginning to stir—ready to engulf all of the Fourteenth Street.