Setting: A dimly lit underground lounge. Velvet curtains. Velvet tempers.
Around a heavy table sit the top brass of the Ivory Claw Syndicate—a supposedly united front of several local gangs. The air is thick with cigar smoke and paranoia.
the oldest and the most dangerous, leans forward.
"How the hell does Black Bear know about White Rat?"
Murmurs ripple across the room like static.
"Even we only got wind of it two years ago—and it's still buried. No one's mined it yet. No paper trail. No loose ends."
"the Crow" narrows her eyes:
"And who the hell leaked the codename? White Rat was need-to-know. Need-to-bleed if you talk."
The silence after that is heavier than the table itself.
Dozens of eyes scan the room.
Sweat rolls down the back of necks.
Some twitch.
Some grip the arms of their chairs.
In that moment, the Ivory Claw Syndicate stops being a "syndicate" and becomes a cage full of wolves.
> "There's a traitor."
"They're working with Black Bear."
"I say we purge the rats before they purge us."
No one says it out loud, but the White Rat—the name of the secret mine, a potential resource worth billions—is now up for grabs.
All trust is shattered.
Phones start buzzing.
Private calls.
Side deals.
Gun deals.
Mercenaries on speed dial.
Each lieutenant thinks the same thing:
If I can't have it… no one can.
By nightfall, a dozen splinter gangs are born.
By dawn, half the city's black market is on fire.
And in a quiet little room across town, a confused kid named Ren is rewatching the same cartoon episode and wondering why the Wi-Fi is suddenly so bad.
---
The Station, Late Night
Inside the main investigation room, exhausted police officers wipe sweat from their brows. The whiteboard glows under fluorescent light, covered in scribbled theories, maps, and that one sentence over and over:
"Black bunny will eat white rat because the lion king is fake."
The air is heavy with tension, coffee, and total confusion.
"Sir, is this really that big of a deal?"
Officer Grad exhales slowly, rubbing his temple.
"Yes. If Black Bear Syndicate is moving, it's not for pocket change. That line means something—and the underworld is treating it like gospel."
"But what even is the White Rat?"
"We interrogated a dozen gang members. No one knows. Too high up. Beyond their pay grade—or their lifespan."
"So… it's some kind of secret mineral?"
"That's our best guess. Black Bear deals in metals—gold, silver, lithium. But none of that is stored or mined in this city."
Another officer pipes up.
"Let's check for any white-colored minerals. Or ones linked to rats. Symbolism, nicknames, smuggling codenames—anything."
The room explodes into motion again—files, archives, digital databases. They even pull out old city geological surveys and half-forgotten urban legends.
By 11:47 PM, they have nothing.
Just a growing headache.
Officer Grad finally raises his hand.
"Enough. Call it a night."
Chairs scrape, sighs fill the room, bodies shuffle out with heavy feet.
Then—THUMP.
A loud crash.
Everyone freezes.
The junior officer has fallen again.
Eyes snap toward her with electric hope. Even Grad jolts up.
She waves her arms.
"I just tripped. My legs are tired. I swear!"
A groan rolls through the room like thunder.
"Tsk tsk tsk..."
Defeated, they scatter again. The junior officer holds back tears.
"Why is everyone mad? I just fell down..."
Now alone in the dim room, Officer Grad slumps back into his chair. He stares at the sentence one more time, dry marker ink bleeding slightly under the harsh light.
"Black bunny will eat white rat because lion king is fake."
He whispers to himself:
"We don't even know who—or what—the lion king is."
"And somehow, the entire underworld is ready to kill each other over this."
He turns off the light and walks out, leaving the phrase glowing faintly in the hallway emergency light.