Terso District, South of Nova Vitae
An outlying area of the city where men's shadows seemed larger than the sunlight itself.
Night held dominion over the district, while the streetlights illuminated the roads that ran through its neighborhoods.
At one of the intersections, a floating truck driver was listening to the radio as he made his way, looking exhausted, toward one of the Ferrum Industries warehouses.
"Who the hell scheduled this delivery at this godforsaken hour?" the man grumbled as he adjusted his rearview mirror.
As soon as his eyes returned to the road, something strange caught his attention.
Three vans were parked across the lane, seemingly blocking the way.
Slamming on the brakes, the driver brought the articulated truck to a sudden halt. He climbed out, leaving the engine running, and slammed the door behind him in irritation before approaching the three vans.
"Just what I needed..." he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
As he approached the vehicles, looking for their drivers, a sudden chill brushed the back of his neck.
"Now, listen carefully..." a hoarse voice suddenly spoke.
"Lie down on the ground. Face down."
The man pressed his gun against the driver's head, making it clear that he expected immediate obedience.
Overcome by panic, the unfortunate driver remained frozen, as though he hadn't understood a word.
"Argh!" he groaned when the assailant kicked him behind the knees.
"I said get down! Face down!" the man barked, his voice growing harsher.
"Hands clasped behind your head."
He paused briefly, allowing the driver to obey before continuing.
"Where's the key to unlock the trailer?" he asked, now keeping his gun pointed at the unfortunate man's back.
"I-it's in the... glove compartment... passenger side..." the driver stammered.
At that very moment, six men stepped out of one of the three vans.
"Trevis, the key's in the glove compartment. Start transferring the cargo to our truck," the armed man ordered one of his accomplices.
Just then, another floating truck appeared down the road. With practiced ease, it maneuvered into position, parking its trailer opposite the one they had just ambushed.
When Trevis opened the trailer, he found a multitude of containers before him, all bearing the Ferrum Industries emblem: two crossed blacksmith's hammers.
He whistled at the sight of the haul.
"Hey, boss! We've hit the jackpot today! Hahahaha!" the thug exclaimed.
"Move your ass, idiot! We've got only eight minutes before Ferrum's security realizes there's been a problem with the delivery!"
Meanwhile, the innocent man lying on the ground was breathing rapidly.
The vehicle headlights were shining directly into his eyes.
The damp asphalt kissed his forehead.
"Why does this always happen to me...? Sniff... sniff..." he whimpered, on the verge of tears.
He trembled both from the cold and from the fear of being at the mercy of criminals.
The noise of containers being shifted from one truck to another only deepened his terror.
Even the engine of his own vehicle, still running, seemed eager to flee the scene.
"Four minutes, then we're out of here, boys!" the leader of the gang called out.
His accomplices nodded, diligently continuing their work.
All of a sudden, the helpless truck driver felt a weight settle on his motionless back.
His attacker had sat down on him, as though to mock him.
"And you just stay right there. It's tough running the whole operation, you know?" the man sneered, prodding his victim with the barrel of his gun.
Jonn, the truck driver, instinctively turned his head as far as he could.
His eyes briefly settled on the wrist of the scoundrel checking his watch. Just beneath it, a small tattoo depicting a black serpent came into view.
"Shit... shit... They're the Black Serpent."
His eyes immediately returned to the ground.
His last hopes had vanished.
The Black Serpent were notorious for their cruelty and their tendency to leave no witnesses behind after their jobs.
Jonn closed his eyes and sighed...
During those four minutes, his entire life flashed before him.
His childhood, his parents, his failed studies, an honest but unfulfilling job...
The only people who truly mattered in his life were his two daughters, born from his previous relationship.
"Fay... Jenna... Your father won't be coming home..."
Tears streamed down his face.
Sobs broke through the silence.
"I see you've realized the situation you're in..." Welaim, the gang's leader, remarked, noticing that Jonn had finally understood his fate.
"Two more minutes and it'll all be over," he continued, confirming Jonn's worst fears.
Trevis, Welaim's right-hand man, was coordinating the others while lighting a cigarette.
"Come on, we've only got two minutes left! Take as much as you can. Move!" he urged, clapping his hands.
The others, well aware of Trevis's particularities, didn't argue. Their arms and hands moved faster, while their legs hurried up and down the trailers.
Their breath formed clouds of vapor in the cold night air.
Small smiles crept across their faces, as though they were already enjoying the profits from the heist.
"STOP!" Welaim shouted.
"Time to go, but first..."
He rose from his comfortable "seat" and, driven by a sadistic pleasure, turned his attention back to Jonn.
"On your knees," he ordered.
Still crying, the truck driver slowly used his hands for support, first getting down on all fours before lowering one knee at a time, preparing to face his end.
Reflected in the man's eyes was the image of a gun, its metallic profile a dull shade of gray. A gunpowder firearm, one of the old kind—not one of the modern weapons powered by mana.
"Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you..." Welaim said, placing his finger on the trigger.
BANG!
"I'm dead."
Jonn kept his eyes closed, but he felt no pain.
Instead, he heard a series of noises, impacts coming from both sides.
Screams of pain.
"So this is what the afterlife is like..." he said aloud, waiting to feel the heat or cold of the mythical Hell.
But nothing happened. His knees were still on the ground, the air hadn't changed in the slightest, and, curious to see where he had ended up, he finally opened his eyes.
"What...?"
There were no infernal flames before him. No purgatory filled with suffering souls.
The same road. The same streetlights. They were still all around him.
A body came flying past him.
His head instinctively turned, following its trajectory.
And when he turned back...
A young man, not even twenty years old, was standing where Welaim had been.
"Don't worry. It's all over. The AFs will be here shortly," the young man told Jonn with a kind expression.
Before disappearing, the Good Samaritan picked up Welaim's unconscious body and vanished as swiftly as the wind.
Still stunned, Jonn slowly got back to his feet, unable to believe he was still alive.
Before his eyes, seven other men lay unconscious. Trevis was among them, his legs broken in several places. The remaining men had been knocked out, tied up, or handcuffed together.
Tears of relief streamed down the man's face. Deep in his heart, he thanked the mysterious stranger who had saved him.