Russell clapped his hands, slung his weapon over his shoulder, and fixed his gaze on the last standing survivor.
"You can choose: Will you keep your dignity, or do I have to give it back to you myself?" he said calmly.
"I…" The bandit stood frozen in shock, staring at Russell, then at the fate of his companions. His weapon clattered to the ground. "No… don't kill me, please…. I didn't see anything—I know nothing…"
"Relax. I won't kill you. I'm not really interested in that." Russell squatted down so he was eye level with the man. "But I won't make it painless either. So before I run out of patience, give me a few names."
He pressed the shotgun up under the man's chin; the metallic tang of blood made the bandit swoon.
"I don't care whether you have a grudge with someone here—honestly, I hope you're all the kind of scum that deserves to die as much as your fellows. Now answer me—Who do you work for?"
He fell silent, giving the man the floor. At last, the survivor, lips trembling, answered in a faint, trembling voice.
"Bilson… Mr. Bilson…"
"That's something. What about an address?"
"Please... really, that's all I know… And… there's the Professor."
"The Professor? Who's that?" Russell raised his eyebrow. "Which school?"
"No… Not a school… The Professor's a mysterious figure. No one knows who he is. The whole plan was his idea…"
Russell frowned. Was there really a "Professor Moriarty" of criminology in London?
Not good news.
"Did he keep in touch with you?"
"No… He's been missing for a long time. At least a year. Only a few days ago did he finally contact us to give this plan…"
"That's all I know, sir… please, let me go…"
[From Bayer: Malice +50]
"Let you go? Sure—tell Scotland Yard all about it. If they let you go, I won't object."
He picked up his weapon again, spinning it in his hand, and cracked the butt beautifully across the bandit's skull—hard enough to daze, not enough to injure the brain.
Rising, Russell dragged the still-conscious bandit he'd shot in the limbs and propped him against the wall.
"All right, sir." He flashed a smile. "Anything to add to what your friend just said?"
The bandit, leaning against the wall, trembled as he stared at Frederick's ordinary face, his eyes filled with terror and despair. But as he opened his mouth, summoning the last of his strength to beg or curse, his pupils suddenly shrank.
He saw…something strange. Something horrifying.
It looked as if Frederick's yellow, plain face had begun to melt in front of his eyes, like being thrown into boiling oil. The skin's texture was morphing, the once-high nose flattening, the puffiness under his eyes fading… His whole face melted and changed, right before his eyes!
Sizzle—
[The effect of Imitation Soft Rubber has been triggered.]
A translucent gel peeling away from Russell's face, falling off like a snake shedding its skin. To the terrified bandit, the sight was beyond belief—like watching a demon in a man's skin finally show its true form.
At last, the bandit fainted dead away from terror beyond fear itself.
[From Charles: Fear + Mental Breakdown, Malice +80]
"Tch." Russell clicked his tongue at the internal notification, then touched his own face. No more soft, rubbery simulation—only a rough, calloused texture under his fingertips.
Damn, time's up.
He glanced at the fainted bandit foaming at the mouth, then finally understood why he had reacted so extremely—the mask was still hanging on, looking unsettlingly like loose human skin. Russell himself felt nothing, but anyone else would be traumatized by the sight.
"What kind of thief are you if you're this mentally fragile?" Russell sneered.
Still, at least the man hadn't seen his real face.
Getting up, Russell nonchalantly tossed the heavy shotgun to the ground and quickly bought a new mask from the system shop. He surveyed the chaotic mess of the room and sighed helplessly.
"The Professor…"
"I just hope they don't sue me for copyright."
While he muttered this, he heard noise at the warehouse entrance—the sound of the door being opened. Russell's brows instinctively knitted. The soundproofing here was so good that gunshots could never have reached the surface. Plus, with the system in maintenance, even the automatic alarms were down; Scotland Yard wouldn't have been notified. He'd intended to head out later and report the crime himself. Why was someone suddenly returning? He couldn't understand.
A rematch? No thanks.
Instead of fleeing immediately, he hid behind a storeroom door and eavesdropped. Then he heard Tommy's wailing—the kind you'd make at the end of the world.
"What the hell! What happened here?!"
"Damn… the gunpowder smell's so strong… Was there a gunfight or something?"
That was Lestrade's voice.
Russell sighed in relief.
Anyone except fellow professionals, and I'd have had to reset the mission.
Whoever designed these mission conditions must have a loving family at home.
He thought this ruefully, then looked over at one of the safes. There was definitely no time to unlock it slowly now.
A wise thief spends carefully. Heart aching, Russell spent another 200 Malice Points at the system store for a one-time universal key. Insert, turn, and unlocked—one smooth motion.
Click—
The sound of the unlocking rang out in the silent underground. For security reasons, the safe's designer had made the unlocking extra loud—a clever groove mechanism.
"Who's there!" Lestrade's shout immediately echoed down.
Inside the safe there were no piles of gold or silver—but mountains of paper documents, stamped and sealed. But Russell didn't have time to pay attention to the contents right now. Grabbing a handful of smoke grenades, he quickly threw the last one to the ground before Lestrade and his men arrived.
When Lestrade and his team burst in with weapons drawn, all they found was an open safe, a couple of unconscious men, and a single signature graffiti on the wall: —[Moriarty]