Killing with a Borrowed Knife

Hunters Point, 3:07 AM.

This is one of the most dilapidated corners of San Francisco. The abandoned shipyard buildings, like the skeleton of a giant beast, cast grotesque silhouettes in the moonlight.

The streets were riddled with potholes, and puddles reflected the flames billowing from the chimneys of a distant oil refinery. Stray cats darted among the garbage cans, startled by the distant sound of a car engine, and suddenly disappeared into the shadows.

Third Street, a house with a blue tin roof.

It huddled at the far end of a row of abandoned warehouses, like a forgotten tooth. The tin roof was rusty, the walls were a faded gray-blue, and the windows were boarded up from the inside. Only a small window on the second floor facing east let out a very faint light, blocked by thick curtains. Several empty paint buckets and some discarded building materials were piled up at the entrance, making it look like an abandoned house that had been uninhabited for a long time.

But at that moment, there were people inside the house.

The Big Snake was not asleep.

He sat on a worn-out wooden chair by the window on the second floor, with a can of cold instant coffee and a loaded Glock 17 in front of him. He had been sitting there for nearly six hours, peeking through the curtains every few minutes to observe the street outside. His eyes were bloodshot, his temples throbbed, and he was in a state of high alert, almost neurotic.

He has lost contact with Chief Blake.

He dialed the encrypted number twice during the day. The first time, the line was busy; the second time, it went directly to voicemail. He didn't leave a message—he didn't dare. He didn't know what that meant. Was Blake busy dealing with an internal police investigation and unable to answer the phone? Or... had something changed?

He dared not think the worst, but he also couldn't think the best.

Viper is dead. His stronghold has been burned down. Nearly a third of his core men were lost overnight. He is now like a snake whose fangs have been pulled out, possessing only a massive body and intimidating tattoos, but having lost his most lethal weapon.

He picked up the now-cold coffee, took a sip, and frowned at the bitter taste. He put down the cup, about to pull back the curtains again to check what was happening outside—

A very faint click, almost drowned out by the noise from the distant oil refinery, came from the ground beneath his feet.

The Big Snake suddenly froze.

That was... the sound of the back door lock being pried open.

Without hesitation, his years of street fighting experience made his body react faster than his brain. He abruptly dropped his coffee cup, grabbed the Glock 17 from the table, and rolled to the side, hiding behind the Zhang Tie in the corner!

Almost at the same instant he made the evasive maneuver—

"Pfft! Pfft!"

Two muffled gunshots, silenced by a silencer, came from the direction of the stairwell! The bullets struck the wooden chair he had just been sitting on, sending splinters of wood flying from the back of the chair! If he hadn't dodged, those two bullets would have left two holes in his chest!

The Big Snake's heart pounded wildly, his adrenaline surging to its peak. He lay sprawled behind the iron bed, gripping his Glock tightly, panting heavily. The enemy had already entered the house, and there was more than one person—judging from the gunshots, at least two were downstairs, creeping up the stairs.

He didn't have time to think about who the other person was. All he could do now was survive.

He took a deep breath, suddenly leaned half his body out from behind the iron bed, and fired three shots in quick succession toward the stairwell! The bullets hit the wall, scattering cement debris and suppressing the opponent's attack. He didn't expect the three shots to hit anyone; they were just to buy a few seconds.

In those few seconds, he flipped over and leaped up, rushing toward the window on the other side of the room—the one that was sealed shut!

He used all his strength to slam his shoulder hard against the wooden-paneled window frame!

"Bang!"

The plank groaned under the weight, but didn't budge. He rammed it again, and the plank loosened slightly. The third time—

"Bang!"

The plank was finally broken, and shards of wood flew everywhere! The night wind, carrying the salty smell of the sea, rushed in!

Ignoring the excruciating pain in his shoulder, the Big Snake had already leaned half its body out of the window, ready to jump.

"Puff."

A muffled gunshot rang out.

The Big Snake's body suddenly stiffened.

He looked down and saw a small, charred bullet hole in his chest. Blood was gushing out of the hole, staining his gray sweatshirt red.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a "hoarse" sound, like air leaking out, came from his throat. His body swayed, and then, like a sawn-off log, he fell out of the window and crashed heavily onto the weed-covered open space behind the house, raising a cloud of dust.

His eyes were wide open as he stared at the sparse stars in the San Francisco night sky, his pupils gradually dilating.

The leader of the South District Black Snakes, a figure who once dominated this neighborhood and struck fear into the hearts of countless people, died in the weeds behind an abandoned house, killed by a bullet that came from who-knows-where.

Upstairs, a man in a black combat uniform slowly lowered his silenced pistol and whispered into the walkie-talkie, "Target cleared."

Downstairs, two other men dressed similarly were quickly checking each room on the first floor to make sure there were no other survivors. One of them kicked the pried-open lock on the floor and gestured to his partner: safe.

The three men didn't linger, clean up the scene, or destroy any evidence. They left the blue-roofed house as quickly and quietly as they had come, disappearing into the intricate alleyways of Hunters Point.

Only the Big Snake's corpse remained, gradually cooling in the night wind.

After daybreak, his body will be discovered by a scavenger or an early morning jogger. The police will come, cordon off the area, take photos as evidence, and open a case for investigation. But that will no longer matter.

The Big Snake is dead. The last embers of the South District Black Snakes were also extinguished completely.

On the morning of the same day, at the Bayview District.

The downfall of the South District Black Snakes was like a boulder thrown into a pond, creating ripples throughout San Francisco's underworld. The news spread at an alarming rate among the various gangs— Big Snake was dead, Viper was dead, the core members were almost entirely wiped out, and the remaining lower-ranking members were leaderless and plunged into chaos.

For other gangs in the surrounding area, this was undoubtedly a golden opportunity. The gambling dens, loan sharking operations, and drug distribution networks left behind by the South District Black Snakes were like unguarded pieces of fat meat, emitting an enticing aroma. Several medium-sized gangs— the Salvadorans in the Sunset District, the Latin Kings in the Mission District, and even some Asian gangs as far away as Richmond District —began to stir, sending out spies to gather intelligence and prepare to divide up this pie.

However, on the eve of their operation, a group of unfamiliar armed men appeared like Ghost in the heart of South District Black Snakes's Bayview District.

No one knew where they came from. No one knew which faction they belonged to. They spoke fluent English and Spain, but their accents were mixed, making it difficult to determine their nationality. They moved swiftly, were highly disciplined, and well-equipped—uniformed in black combat uniforms, carrying MP5 submachine guns and tactical communication headsets. With lightning speed, they took over several key strongholds left behind by the South District Black Snakes: the gambling den next to the ruins of the burned-down villa, the loan shark office on the street corner, and the drug repackaging point hidden behind the laundromat.

Several former South District Black Snakes who attempted to resist were precisely shot dead before they could even draw their weapons. Their bodies were quickly dragged away, and the ground was washed clean, as if nothing had happened.

The next morning, when scouts from other gangs returned to the Bayview District to gather information, they found gambling dens, loan sharking operations, and drug repackaging points that had resumed normal operations, along with unfamiliar guards in black combat uniforms standing expressionlessly at the entrance.

The spies silently noted everything down, then quickly returned to their respective bases to report to their leader.

The news spread again: South District Black Snakes had been taken over by someone else. Moreover, the person who took over seemed to be someone not to be trifled with.

Those gangs that had been itching to make a move all held back. They needed time to assess the background and strength of this new force, and to figure out where they came from and who was backing them.

At the same time, the density of police patrols on the streets of the Bayview District has increased significantly.

Chief Blake kept his promise—or rather, he had no other choice. Immediately after the Big Snake's death, he mobilized a large number of police officers and increased the frequency of patrols in and around the Bayview District Area, citing the need to "prevent gang violence from affecting civilians." Several police cars patrolled in shifts, flashing lights and occasionally sirens blaring.

This high density of police presence made other gangs even more hesitant to act rashly. They didn't know if there was some kind of tacit understanding between Chief Blake and this new force, but they knew that at this critical juncture, any rash action could provoke a severe crackdown by the police.

Thus, a delicate balance was established in the Bayview District.

After a brief but violent upheaval, San Francisco's underworld has returned to calm.

And those strangers in black combat uniforms, just as they had appeared suddenly, silently blended into the shadows of the neighborhood, becoming the new, unseen rulers.