Vill-V's sudden reversal of roles left the newly arrived members of the Ghostfire Syndicate, as well as Madam Ma—who had nearly talked herself into defecting—completely stunned.
Oh, so you called us here just to get robbed by you?
"Damn it, get lost...!"
"@#%@!! %"
"Do you even know who you're dealing with? This is the Third Assault Squad of the Ghostfire Syndicate, led by Passionate Landro!"
"We're not some soft punks who work day jobs and race at night—we're hot-blooded killers who strike down anyone we see! We're the regional elite assault unit of the underworld Ghostfire Syndicate, an elite outbreak biker gang!"
"Do you two wild girls even understand what elite underworld fighters are worth?"
"You're from Kowloon Stronghold? You're finished!"
Reporter Tan, terrified by the scene and the deafening noise, crouched on the ground with his head in his hands, not daring to look up at them.
This was the normal reaction of an ordinary person.
After all, this was a real, full-fledged criminal syndicate—the kind that killed without blinking.
There were rumors that just to get their hands on a comic book, they had robbed a bookstore, then tied the shop owner to a motorcycle and dragged him for ten kilometers. The outcome for that poor man needed no elaboration.
Justice and courage were one thing.
Even Reporter Tan had no desire to experience such torture.
It was no different from the ancient punishment of death by a thousand cuts.
The shouting and roaring of engines merged into a deafening cacophony.
But...
Gang members were selfish by nature.
Though they shouted loudly one after another, in reality, none of them wanted to be the one stepping on a trap—they would much rather watch someone else become the expendable test subject.
As the most mobile gang in Barcelona, the most common tactic enemies used against them was setting traps.
Just like in ancient times with tripwires, all kinds of cybernetic traps had become the nightmare of the Ghostfire Syndicate.
Their rival gangs weren't fools.
If we can't catch you, we can at least trip you up.
Thus, whenever they received a distress call now, they no longer charged in recklessly. Upon encountering an enemy, they would always circle from a distance on their motorcycles, forming a perimeter while observing the situation.
Anyone qualified to ride into battle was an experienced biker.
The inexperienced ones were still stuck in the rear, doing grunt work—they didn't even get to smell exhaust fumes.
Of course, this level of caution only applied to the Third Assault Squad. The First and Second Assault Squads were still dominated by raw instinct and hot-blooded aggression.
Seeing Vill-V's utterly fearless demeanor, the bikers of the Ghostfire Syndicate became even more reluctant to approach.
Besides, their leader Landro hadn't spoken yet—why should they make the first move?
"Damn, a bunch of brutes, and this cautious? Aren't you supposed to be elite combat bikers? Where's that 'hot-blooded, kill-on-sight' spirit you brag about? Come on, kill us already!"
"So this is what 'Passionate Landro's passion' looks like?"
Vill-V mocked their leader, but they completely ignored her provocation, continuing to circle relentlessly.
Even as Vill-V and the others retreated to the wall to avoid being attacked from both sides, they showed no intention of advancing, letting them take a favorable position.
Vill-V even began to suspect they were trying to spin them dizzy.
And what were those guys over there doing—parking their bikes and playing cards?
What exactly did you come here for? Sightseeing?
To be this cautious—there really was no one else like them.
Were these "elites" just dogs barking behind a fence?
Loud and aggressive, yet unwilling to actually make a move.
To be fair, the Third Assault Squad's caution wasn't entirely unjustified.
After all, the two bikers who had died earlier still had their legs hanging outside the wall, swaying in the air.
How could they know those two had crashed into the wall and killed themselves?
In their eyes, Vill-V and her group must be hiding some kind of lethal trump card.
In stories, a protagonist intimidating enemies with a mysterious hidden trump card might look impressive.
But Vill-V had no intention of wasting time with them.
Because the Ghostfire Syndicate, with all its looting, arson, and destruction, inevitably attracted this city's Mobile Response Unit.
Wherever the Ghostfire Syndicate went, the Mobile Response Unit responsible for "cleanup" followed.
Nominally, the "company" used the Mobile Response Unit to maintain order in the city—but they had no interest in rebuilding anything.
They only responded to violence with greater violence.
Half the ruins seen along the way were their doing.
By now, the Mobile Response Unit had probably already received the alert and was on its way.
Moreover, Vill-V was thoroughly fed up with the noise exceeding 120 decibels.
Even covering her ears didn't help. She really should have brought earplugs.
To push the Ghostfire Syndicate into action, Vill-V decided to add fuel to the fire.
Just because they didn't want to be robbed didn't mean they couldn't be robbed by Magician.
"Come on... let me see the greed in your hearts."
Vill-V waved her witch's hat through the air.
Countless treasures spilled out onto the ground.
At the sight, the bikers' eyes gleamed with greed.
What was this supposed to mean?
Paying money to avoid disaster?
Too late. We'll take the money—and you too!
"Hehe, already amazed? In front of me, there's no such thing as an absolutely safe vault."
Vill-V casually plucked a gold coin from the swirling valuables. "Want it? Hehe, then it's yours~"
As she spoke, she grabbed handfuls of treasure and flung them outward without the slightest hesitation.
If Pardo saw this, she'd probably scold her again for throwing money around.
The bikers immediately stopped circling. Even those playing cards dropped everything and rushed to scramble for the scattered treasure.
But soon, something felt off.
"Hey, isn't that the antique jade seal I collected?"
"My gold tooth! My big gold tooth flew away!"
As members of the Ghostfire Syndicate who lived without fixed residences, they always kept their valuables on them.
That wasn't difficult—motorcycles had storage compartments, sturdier than safes.
Completely secure.
And yet...
They now realized that everything they carried had mysteriously vanished.
How was this possible? From dozens of meters away, items were being taken through the air?
Seeing their belongings flying toward others, they naturally tried to reclaim them.
But those who grabbed the items had no intention of returning them.
Thus, infighting broke out among the bikers.
"Bastard! Give it back—that's mine!"
"No way! If you lost it, that's your problem. If you've got the guts, beat me in the next squad leader contest!"
They began fighting each other, hurling all sorts of objects back and forth.
Even the innocent Reporter Tan in the distance was nearly caught in the crossfire, at risk of being battered bloody.
Vill-V lightly clenched her small hand, mimicking a baseball swing. With a "heh," the sharp objects were deflected by a central mechanism and sent flying back, smashing into the Ghostfire Syndicate members, splitting their skin and making them howl in pain.
However, as an elite assault squad, they were indeed different from ordinary gangs.
Even though their leader Landro hadn't said a word, they quickly suppressed the infighting.
But the situation was extremely strange.
It was as if everyone had been arguing—and then suddenly had a bucket of cold water dumped over their heads.
They all calmed down at once.
Not just one or two people, but everyone simultaneously...
The excitement faded from their faces, replaced by cold, emotionless stares as they looked back at Vill-V and her group.
Like zombies that had finally found their prey.