Telaga City, 10:15, in the morning...
[SNATCH!]
"Ah! A snatcher! Help! My bag has been snatched!!!"
The cry of a middle aged woman pierced the bustle of the street, her voice trembling with desperation.
Not far away, a man ran with ruthless determination, clutching the stolen bag as though it were a prize.
His name was Havian Shahreza, a striking figure of forty eight, known throughout the city as a repeat offender.
Havi, now infamous as a seasoned bag snatcher, had carved his reputation in the alleys and markets of Mulyo.
His shadow fell often upon that district, where whispers of his deeds spread like smoke.
Yet his sins reached far beyond petty theft.
He had stolen motorcycles, committed robberies, and even carried the stain of murder upon his soul.
The killing, however, had never been proven, for Havi's cunning had ensured another man bore the blame.
On that fateful day, Havi and his two victims had gathered in an abandoned house at the city's edge.
Every detail had been rehearsed in his mind.
He wore gloves to leave no trace, and the knife he carried had been scrubbed clean of prints.
When the moment came, Havi struck. The victim fell lifeless, and the companion felled earlier by a blow from behind, lay unconscious.
Havi placed the knife beside the companion's hand, then slipped the victim's wallet and mobile phone into the companion's bag.
Before departing, he smeared blood upon the companion's clothes, a cruel touch to complete the illusion of a fight.
With calculated calm, he discarded his gloves in a distant public bin and walked away.
When the police arrived, summoned by neighbours who had heard the commotion, they found the victim dead, the companion sprawled upon the floor, the knife at his side, and the stolen belongings in his bag.
And so the trap was sprung. The companion was taken as the culprit, while Havi, silent and unseen, slipped once more into the shadows, his crime buried beneath the weight of deception.
Most of Havi's victims were young women or middle aged women who carried their bags with careless ease.
Before striking, Havi would linger with meticulous patience, his eyes sweeping the scene.
He watched for those who seemed distracted, alone, and burdened with bags that hung loosely at their sides.
In his mind he marked out the weakest, like women who looked frail, women absorbed in their mobile phones, women oblivious to the world around them.
Escape routes were calculated with precision, like narrow alleys, parked vehicles, or public pathways where he might dissolve into the throng.
Before acting, he ensured there were no guards, no cameras, no suspicious eyes that might bear witness.
If the conditions were unsafe, he would delay, or seek another target.
But when the moment was ripe, he moved with ruthless speed, snatching the victim's bag and sprinting towards the escape route he had already rehearsed in his mind.
He had prepared for every eventuality.
Should the victim cry out, should someone attempt pursuit, he had alternative routes ready.
He knew the safe points where he could vanish, where he could change his clothes and shed his identity.
Thus he lived, a shadow in the marketplace, his craft honed to minimise the risk of capture, his cunning sharpened by years of deceit.
Havi was a man long acquainted with prison walls, for he had passed through them time and again.
Each release brought no change, no hint of reform, only a return to the same shadowed path he had chosen.
Time after time, his actions stirred the anger of the townsfolk.
He snatched bags in broad daylight, seized belongings in crowded places, and left unease wherever he walked.
The fury of the people was not idle, on more than one occasion they had caught him, their rage spilling into blows as they beat him in the street.
Yet Havi never raised his hand in defence. He did not strike back, nor did he curse those who punished him.
He endured in silence, his body absorbing the pain, his eyes fixed upon some distant thought.
When the violence subsided, if the police did not take him away, he would simply rise and depart without a word.
This strange composure unsettled many. For though he was a criminal, marked by countless sins, he never sought vengeance against the very people who had struck him down.
Instead, he carried his silence like a cloak, leaving behind confusion and whispers in his wake.
One afternoon, a man who had once beaten Havi saw him seated at a modest food stall.
Curiosity compelled him to draw nearer, and he took a place beside Havi.
He asked why Havi had never borne a grudge against those who had struck him in the past.
Havi smiled faintly. He explained that his thefts were not born of malice but of hunger.
If fortune favoured him and he succeeded in snatching a bag, the money would be spent only on survival, like food to eat and water to drink.
But if he failed, then there would be no grain of rice, no drop of water to sustain him.
The man, moved by pity, drew several notes from his pocket and pressed them into Havi's hand.
He hoped that Havi might soon find honest work and abandon the life he now led.
Havi's smile turned bitter, "My chances are gone!" He said quietly. "I've no need for a future in this world!"
The man shook his head slowly, rose from his seat, and departed, leaving Havi in silence once more, his gaze fixed blankly upon the road ahead.
Havi was blessed with a striking visage, a handsome face framed by curling hair, fair skin, and a body both smooth and athletic.
His appearance was such that many women might have considered him the very image of desire.
Yet beneath his clothing the truth was revealed, scars and bruises scattered across his frame, the cruel legacy of beatings delivered by townsfolk and police alike.
Around Mulyo Market, resentment towards him ran deep.
Traders and residents alike were weary of his relentless acts of snatching, their patience worn thin by his audacity.
But Havi, clever and cunning, always contrived a way to deceive those around him, slipping through their grasp and eluding capture.
The old proverb that even the nimblest squirrel must one day fall proved itself upon Havi.
After snatching the bag of a middle aged woman, he found himself cornered in a narrow alley, clutching his prize with desperate strength.
Before him stood a crowd, their faces darkened with fury.
They bore weapons like sticks of wood, bars of iron, or stones clenched in angry fists.
Panicked, Havi could no longer think clearly. The only thought that remained was to break through.
He longed to escape their wrath, praying that this time the wounds would not be too grave.
With all his strength, he hurled himself forward, forcing his way through the throng.
He swung the stolen bag to left and right, using it as both shield and weapon to carve a path.
His tall, athletic frame lent him speed and power beyond most of those who sought to stop him.
The crowd faltered, overwhelmed by his reckless defiance.
Alone though he was, Havi fought with a desperate strength, his body driving forward against the tide of rage that sought to engulf him.
Yet his advantage was fleeting. A man from the crowd, armed with an iron bar, slipped behind him unseen.
Without warning, the bar was swung with brutal force towards Havi's head.
[THUD!]
The sound of the blow echoed through the chaos, sharp and unmistakable.
Havi was hurled forward, his body collapsing face down upon the ground.
The crowd fell into sudden silence, their anger stilled as they saw him lying motionless, blood beginning to pool around his head.
No one moved, no one spoke, the air grew taut with dread.
Even in that moment, Havi's hands clutched the stolen bag with desperate strength, as though he would not release it even as life ebbed away.
"Ah! It seems we've gone too far this time!" Cried the man who had struck him, his voice trembling with shock.
He stared at Havi, shaken by the sight of his stillness.
"Call an ambulance at once! Save him first! I'll explain everything to the police later!" Commanded another, his tone firm and urgent.
The crowd remained frozen, the narrow alley heavy with silence, as Havi lay unmoving, his fate uncertain beneath the weight of blood and consequence.