Wipe out a few of them, and the rest would not dare step up to lead food collections again. That was the plan. However, before the crew even had a chance to act, the so-called protection gang beat them to it. At the crack of dawn, when most residents had just dozed off, more than a hundred rough-looking guys swarmed the complex. They started tearing through Building 1, kicking open doors and checking every apartment. They figured it would go the same way it had everywhere else—snatch the food, rank the residents, then move on. However, things went sideways fast. "Cyril, there's no food in this whole building!" Their leader was called Cyril Hansen.He had been chilling in a chair on the first floor with his eyes closed, but the report made him snap upright. "What do you mean no food?" "People say some dude named Owen in Building 6 already took everything. And he's got a gun." Cyril's brow furrowed. "A gun? What kind? How many? Drag some residents in here. I want every detail about this Owen." Once he learned Owen only had a handgun and a few newbies backing him up, he thought it over, then yelled, "Perfect! Someone else did the dirty work. Now we'll just take it from him!" The whole group roared together, "Get the food! Get the food!" Nearly 200 voices shook the building, making the residents of Building 1 shiver. These guys sounded even scarier than Owen himself.However, honestly, it was just ordinary people who would end up paying the price. Most of them secretly hoped the two sides would fight each other to the bitter end so the rest could finally breathe easy. Over at Building 6, the mob gathered outside, yelling so loud it echoed through the complex. "Where's Owen? Get your ass down here!" They were not dumb. They knew there was no room for hundreds of them to rush inside at once, and nobody wanted to walk into an ambush. Better to wait out front, stir things up, and pressure Owen into showing his face. Upstairs, Owen had spotted them the second they barged into the neighborhood. After thinking it through, he knew there was no way to avoid this fight. Once real interests clash, talking things out becomes impossible.Either he scared them off today, or they would strip him clean and force him to hand over supplies like everyone else. There was no other option. He had planned to hole up in his apartment and fight from there, but with over a hundred people outside and only about 20 bullets left, that was impossible. The only way was to go downstairs, make a big show, and scare them all at once while using as few bullets as possible. He had already decided—just like with the neighbors before, no matter how many people there were, as long as he had the gun, who would be dumb enough to stick their neck out and die for the rest? Confident in his read on human nature, he headed downstairs, bringing a few lackeys along to boost his presence. The noise had woken the whole complex. Residents leaned out of windows, watching with wide eyes.Natalie stood at hers, smirking like it was entertainment. "Let the dogs fight—showtime." Lucky barked in protest at being compared, and Natalie quickly scratched her head to calm her down. Cash bounded over as well, eager to see what was happening, too. On the ground, the air was thick with tension. Owen stood straight, looking sharp. "So, what business do you have in Maplecourt?" Cyril grinned slyly and called back. "Just doing our job to keep things safe. That means collecting food. Every other complex has already paid up. You're the last holdout." Owen's stare went cold. "We're fine here. We don't need your protection." The guy chuckled. "Oh yeah? Funny, I heard someone in your building already robbed everyone's food. What do you call that, if not a thug move?" Owen's face tightened. Robbery was robbery, but hearing it dressed up as some noble duty made his blood boil. No point wasting words. He lifted his gun, pointing it square at the man. "What happens here is our business. Turn around and get lost." The grin slipped. Cyril's face hardened as he stared down the barrel. "So there's no deal to be made, huh?" Owen hoped it would not come to shooting, as every bullet mattered. He even thought about handing over some supplies to make them leave. However, it hit him. If he gave 20 pounds today, they would demand 30 tomorrow.Greed doesn't stop. Either you refuse from the start, or you will never get rid of them.