"Pass... pass..."
"Straight."
"Don't want it."
"Sorry — four nines, bomb!"
Robert hummed a carefree tune as he slapped his cards down onto the table, casually glancing at the one card remaining in his hand. He glanced across the table, seeing that the Russian Ross gang lieutenant still had six cards left, while the poor warehouse boss was stuck with a fat stack of seventeen.
Robert's lips curled into a cocky smirk.
This round was already in the bag.
Just as Robert was about to play his final card and seal his easy victory, the burly Russian Ross suddenly laid down his own hand.
"Four tens. Bomb."
Robert froze. His fingers stiffened above the table.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then—
"Drip! Drip! Drip!"
The red lights blinking on the mock bomb strapped to his chest suddenly began flashing faster. The urgent, rhythmic beeping filled the air like a ticking clock of doom.
Around them, every single gangster who had been pretending to sort cash and inspect pork instantly dropped what they were doing. Without hesitation, they dove to the ground, covering their heads in pure terror.
Warehouse boss Curry threw a murderous glare at the Russian Ross lieutenant.
Are you trying to kill us all, you idiot?!
The Russian Ross, for his part, also looked like he regretted every decision in his life.
He had gotten too serious in the heat of the card game and forgotten about the "heart-rate" bomb tied to the lunatic across from him.
Now, looking at the pair of fives still in his hand, he hesitated.
He had to finish the round before Robert's supposed heartbeat reached the danger zone!
Gritting his teeth, he placed a single five onto the table.
Robert looked at his own last card.
It was... a four.
His face twisted into despair.
"I'm sorry..." Robert muttered helplessly.
The Russian Ross lieutenant looked equally horrified.
Warehouse boss Curry looked like he was about to vomit.
"Dripdripdripdripdrip—"
The bomb's beeping quickened, screeching through the cramped room like a demon's shriek.
Desperation flashing in his eyes, Warehouse boss Curry suddenly slammed his own cards onto the table.
"A two! A three!"
Before Robert could react, Curry gritted his teeth, dropped another card. "A four!"
He threw the card down and practically roared, "I WIN! I WIN! GIVE ME THE MONEY, GIVE ME THE MONEY!"
Robert stared blankly at the finished round.
For a long moment, the tension clung to the room like static electricity.
Then, miraculously, the blinking red lights slowed.
The bomb's beeping returned to its normal, steady rhythm.
Robert blinked.
Then grinned.
"Ah, what a relief."
He cheerfully scooped up the pile of bills in front of him.
Meanwhile, the two gang bosses slumped forward like collapsed puppets, their faces pale with exhaustion and terror.
For the first time in their criminal careers, they realized that losing money was far preferable to blowing up.
...
After a few deep breaths, the Russian Ross lieutenant seemed to remember something.
"Wait," he croaked, voice dry as sandpaper. "Was... was that the twentieth round?"
Warehouse boss Curry's eyes brightened like he'd seen salvation. "Yes! Twenty rounds exactly!"
Robert tapped the growing mountain of cash he had stacked on his side.
"Well, that's that," he said, stretching lazily. "And it looks like your boys over there have finished inspecting the pork and cash again. Perfect."
He looked at the two bosses and clapped his hands together. "Fifth transaction completed. Congratulations!"
[Target met the condition ×10]
The game system flashed inside Robert's mind.
Finally.
Finally, he was nearing completion of the 'Sinful Villains' unlocking task.
Robert let out a content sigh and rose to his feet, dusting off his clothes.
"Since we're all good friends now, I suppose I should leave."
The words hit the warehouse like a lightning strike.
The gangsters who had been lying face-down on the ground in terror almost burst into cheers. The two bosses struggled to hide their overwhelming joy, forcing stiff smiles onto their faces.
They stood up quickly, respectfully following Robert to the iron door of the warehouse.
Robert turned back dramatically, giving a mock-sad expression.
"Alas," he said, hand over his heart. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. We've had so much fun tonight. I never expected we'd have to say goodbye so soon."
Fun?
Everyone in the room thought simultaneously.
You're the only one who had fun!
Robert looked at their stiff, desperate faces and chuckled.
"Relax. For the sake of friendship, I even prepared a farewell gift for you."
Saying this, he reached up and yanked the "bomb" off his chest.
Before anyone could react, he casually tossed it onto the floor at their feet.
The gangsters froze in sheer, unfiltered terror.
The two bosses' faces drained of all color.
Then Robert turned around—
And sprinted for the exit.
Behind him:
"BOOM!!"
The explosion rocked the entire street.
The force of the blast hurled Robert forward. He tumbled through the air, landing hard on the asphalt, coughing as smoke and debris rained around him.
Sharp pieces of metal clattered to the ground, bouncing off his rapidly healing skin.
Robert sat up, ears ringing.
A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face.
He turned back toward the warehouse. A massive column of black smoke rose into the night sky, flames licking the battered metal skeleton that had once been a freezer full of dirty money and illegal goods.
He sighed, brushing ash off his hoodie.
"So exciting," he muttered with a laugh.
Pulling out a small device from his pocket—a detonator—Robert twirled it between his fingers.
The whole "heartbeat bomb" story had been, of course, complete nonsense.
The bomb wasn't rigged to detect his pulse. It wasn't even active unless he pressed the detonator manually.
The flashing lights and beeping?
Purely cosmetic. Just part of his brilliant psychological warfare.
After all, Robert thought with a snort, who in their right mind could control their heart rate during something like this? He himself had gotten excited multiple times. If the bomb were real, he'd have blown himself up an hour ago.
...
Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to swindle the twenty million from the gangsters.
He had known it was impossible.
Even with the threat of death hanging over them, those two bosses would never willingly hand over that kind of cash or narcotics. That was their bottom line. They would have chosen to die protecting it before giving it up.
Still—
Robert patted the thick wad of stolen cash tucked into his pocket.
Probably over a hundred grand.
Enough for rent. Enough for weapons. Enough for him to move forward.
"Not bad," he said, grinning.
"If Brother Kai had pulled moves like this back then, he wouldn't have needed to eat that damn computer."
With the fires raging behind him and sirens wailing faintly in the distance, Robert casually turned his back on the scene.
Hands in his pockets, humming another cheery tune, he disappeared into the Brooklyn night.
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