The moment Calvin saw the gun, he froze, stopped mid-swing as if every drop of blood in his body had turned to ice. Was that thing real? It had to be for show, right? He couldn’t believe it. There was no way Carmen, a girl with no connections, could bring someone this powerful to deal with him. That gun had to be fake!

“Don’t even think of fooling me!” Calvin’s hesitation vanished as he bellowed, lifting the lid and swinging it at Baldy. “I’m not scared of you!” The lid was heavy; a direct hit would leave Baldy with a bloody head.

Calvin expected Baldy to dodge, but he didn’t move. He let the lid slam into his head. Calvin expected a bloody scene, but it didn’t happen. He paused, bewildered. He’d swung with all his strength, yet the impact felt like striking solid metal, not a human head. Even his hand tingled from the shock, while Baldy showed no sign of pain. Does this guy have a skull made of steel?

Calvin’s mind raced, preparing to strike again. This time, Baldy removed his baseball cap and slammed his own head into Calvin’s. Calvin screamed in pain, his vision blurring with dizziness. Warm blood trickled down his scalp. Baldy’s head, unyielding as iron, had hit him like a hammer.

“That’s it. I’ll kill you!” Calvin scrambled to his feet, rage boiling. He spotted a fruit knife on the table, snatched it, and lunged at Baldy.

Unfazed, Baldy calmly attached a silencer to his rifle, aimed at Calvin, and fired a single shot. The bullet grazed Calvin’s head; a bit lower, and it would have been fatal. Cold sweat poured down Calvin’s face. He wet himself.

Finally, Baldy spoke. “If you don’t want to die, then sit still. Got it?”

Calvin’s face went white. Fear consumed him; he dropped the lid and nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. Baldy looked away, walked to the balcony, drew the white curtains, and set up his rifle. He sat perfectly still, like a statue.

After a long while, Calvin regained his senses. His legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees. Baldy didn’t turn around, but he frowned. “Clean yourself up, coward.”

Terrified, Calvin scrambled to wipe the mess, changed his pants, and cleaned the living room. He bundled up all the trash—leftover noodles and takeout. Baldy gazed out the window, like a lone wolf, calm and alert, his eyes glued to his scope, his finger hovering over the trigger.

This continued until dark. Calvin huddled in a corner, too scared to move or make a sound. If not for the bullet lodged in the wall, he might have thought it was a nightmare. He trembled all day. When night fell, his stomach growled, but he dared not move, occasionally stealing glances at Baldy on the balcony.

Only then did it dawn on Calvin: Baldy wasn’t here for him, and definitely not sent by Carmen. So, what was Baldy really here for? His curiosity got the better of him. Following the line of Baldy’s scope, his face went pale as he pieced it together. Baldy was aiming at the seventh floor of the building across the street.