The heavy iron door slid open with a tooth-aching grind, like a rusty floodgate reconnecting two different worlds.
The air outside was still turbid. The Ghost Market's unique blend of burnt smells, mold, and cheap oil rushed in. The One-Eyed gang leader and his men were still at the door, like vultures smelling blood but refusing to leave. They were waiting—waiting to see the arrogant kid carried out, or at least leaving a finger or two as the price for offending Old Ghost.
However, when the door opened fully, the noisy alley fell into a moment of dead silence.
No smell of blood. No screams.
Vance stepped over the threshold, his pace as casual as if strolling in his own backyard. His dark grey coat was crisp, dust brushed off. He wore his sunglasses, hands in pockets, looking calm as if he'd just finished a mundane second-hand deal.
Behind him, Cerberus walked out carrying the heavy black metal crate.
The change in the boy sent chills down everyone's spine. The black tactical gear wrapped his lean frame. His previously dull eyes were now cold as polished blades. He made no sound; even his footsteps were silenced by the tactical boots. He stood there like a beast with retracted claws, yet fully in hunting mode.
One-Eye paused, playing with his nail gun. He stared blankly, looking past Vance to Old Ghost inside the door.
Old Ghost, usually violent and quick to cut fingers, was leaning against the doorframe, smoking. He didn't chase the two away. Instead, as Vance passed, he turned sideways slightly, making way.
That subtle movement was deafening.
In the survival rules of the Ghost Market, that meant Equality. Even Concession.
One-Eye, a veteran of the streets, understood the body language perfectly. The cruel anticipation on his face vanished, replaced by deep fear. He instinctively shrank into the shadows, hiding his weapon behind his back.
The surrounding gang members felt choked. No one spoke. No one provoked.
The crowd silently parted, opening a path to the alley exit. Not out of respect, but out of the biological instinct to avoid unknown danger. Someone who could make Old Ghost yield and walk away with gear was far more dangerous than these toll-collecting thugs.
Vance ignored the silence.
He walked straight through them, treating them like roadside trash. He didn't need their awe; cheap emotions were worthless before true power.
He reached the exit. The heavy black hovercar hovered there, engines humming low, thrusters rippling the sewage puddles.
Two bodyguards opened the door respectfully.
Vance walked up the steps, Cerberus following.
Only when the hatch closed, the black armor blocking the murky view of the Ghost Market, did Old Ghost flick his ash.
"District 9 is about to get lively." Old Ghost muttered, turning back into his shop and slamming the iron door shut.
...
Inside the hovercar.
The climate control blew cold air, dispelling the machine oil smell. Vance took off his sunglasses, rubbing his brows wearily. The sensory game in absolute darkness had taxed his brain heavily; he felt like needles were pricking his mind.
"Boss, back to the Arena?" the driver asked.
"No." Vance's voice was raspy.
He plugged the black chip from Old Ghost into the car's terminal.
"Go to the safe house on the edge of Sector D-6. We're staying there for a few days. I have some math to do."
The holographic screen lit up. Infinite encrypted data reflected in Vance's pupils. He didn't relax after his victory. The Ghost Market gamble was a warm-up. The real war was starting.
He pulled up the file on the Seven Deadly Sins.
Ranked first was a man codenamed [Envy].
The data showed this man controlled the massive fortress known as the "All-Seeing Surveillance Center." He was the intelligence hub of District 9, and holder of one of the seven Bio-Keys.
"Cerberus." Vance spoke.
The boy turned, clear eyes watching Vance, waiting for orders.
Vance pointed to the blurry photo on the screen—a middle-aged man with thick glasses and a sinister look, sitting before a wall of a thousand monitor screens.
"Remember this face." Vance whispered. "He is our next prey."
Cerberus stared at the photo for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Kill him?" the boy asked directly.
"No, that's too easy for him." Vance shook his head, a cold smile touching his lips. "This guy is a voyeur. His life's greatest joy is hiding behind screens, peeping at others' privacy to satisfy his pathetic desire for control."
Vance swiped the screen, enlarging the fortress blueprints.
"So, we won't just kill him. We will destroy his pride."
"We are going to walk right into his eyes, let him see us, but fail to catch us. We will teach him that in this world, there are things he can never see through."
Vance turned off the screen, sinking deep into the soft leather seat.
"Twenty-seven days left." He murmured, voice low.
That was the sound of District 9's format countdown, the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head.
"Drive." Vance gave the final order.
The hovercar accelerated, blue flames cutting through the dim night of District 9, like a meteor flying upstream, charging toward the depths of the city forged of steel and lies.
The era of the nameless was over.
Next was the stage for the Usurper.