Bang...!
The already flimsy wooden door to Alan's basement was kicked open, splinters flying everywhere.
Murphy and his men rushed in like a pack of hungry wolves.
In the basement, Alan sat at his workbench, unhurriedly wiping a freshly sealed can, seemingly undisturbed by the sudden intrusion.
"Williams!" Murphy's inexplicable rage intensified at his calm demeanor.
"Where's my money? I've waited five days patiently; you'd better give me a satisfactory answer!"
Alan slowly put down the can, looked up, a polite smile even gracing his face.
"Mr. Murphy, I was just about to come find you. However, regarding our 'cooperation,' I think the terms might need a small change."
"Change?"
Murphy laughed in extreme anger, "Yes, it needs to change! From today on, eighty percent of your profits are mine. I need money to rebuild my warehouse, and you, this goldmine, will be responsible for funding me."
He took a step forward and said menacingly, "Now, hand over the money immediately! Otherwise, I wouldn't mind burying you and all your junk together in this basement."
"Eighty percent?"
Alan shook his head, his smile turning somewhat playful, "I'm afraid not. Because I won't give you a single penny."
"What did you say?!"
Murphy's eyes instantly became bloodshot, and he raised the snake-head staff in his hand.
"You're looking for death!"
Just as he was about to give the order to act, Alan's voice rang out again, clear and calm.
"Mr. Murphy, before you act, wouldn't you like to meet my new partners? I imagine you're in the same line of work."
Before he finished speaking, two figures silently emerged from a charcoal-filled shadow in the basement.
Leading them was a middle-aged man in his forties, tall and resolute, with a scar running from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, making him look exceptionally tough.
He wore a clean, old military uniform, and his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's.
Beside him was a young man, also in military uniform, carrying a heavy iron bar.
Murphy and his men were stunned.
They hadn't noticed before that people were hidden in this small basement.
"Who are you?" Murphy demanded, his voice belying his fear.
"Miller, a retired Army Sergeant."
The leading man introduced himself in a steady tone, his hand naturally resting on the holster at his waist.
"This is my assistant, Corporal Jones. From today on, Mr. Williams's business is under the protection of our 'Spartan Security.' If you gentlemen have nothing else, you may leave now."
"Spartan Security?"
Murphy sounded as if he had heard a joke.
"You two useless men in worn-out military uniforms dare to meddle in the Viper Gang's affairs?"
"Whether we are useless, you will soon find out." Sergeant Miller's face showed a cold smile.
"And I can tell you, we've been through real wars, faced Mexican artillery fire. Frankly, you street thugs who only bully civilians are not much of a match in our eyes."
These words, full of undisguised contempt, completely ignited Murphy's already fragile self-esteem.
"Get them!" he roared frantically, "Kill them! Chop them all to pieces."
Several thugs behind him charged towards Miller and Jones, howling.
However, they were not facing panicked civilians.
Sergeant Miller's movements were as fast as lightning.
He didn't even draw his gun but sidestepped, dodging a knife thrust from the man in front, while his elbow struck the opponent's neck with lightning speed.
The man fell softly without even a grunt.
Corporal Jones was even more direct; the iron bar in his hand whistled, cutting through the air, and accurately smashed onto another thug's wrist.
With a crisp "crack" and a shrill scream, the short knife in the man's hand fell to the ground.
In one encounter, two members of the Viper Gang fell.
The remaining thugs were momentarily stunned by this professional, efficient lethality.
And just then, Alan, who had been still, suddenly moved.
He snatched the Colt Navy revolver from under the workbench.
A thug who was about to ambush Miller from the side only saw a blur before a dark gun barrel was aimed at his forehead.
"I suggest you don't move."
Alan's voice was soft, but the chill in it made the thug stiffen, cold sweat pouring down.
The situation on the field was dramatically reversed in just a dozen seconds.
Murphy stared at everything before him, dumbfounded.
His proud "elite enforcers" were like toddlers before the two retired veterans.
"This... this is impossible..." He couldn't accept the reality.
"Nothing is impossible, Mr. Murphy."
Alan's gun was still pointed at the thug, but his words were directed at Murphy.
"You think violence can solve everything. But you don't know there's something called 'professionalism.'"
"I'll kill you!" Murphy completely lost his mind, he himself brandished the snake-head staff, rushing at Alan recklessly.
"Bang!"
A loud gunshot echoed in the small basement.
Everyone's ears rang from the blast.
Murphy's body, halfway through his lunge, froze. He looked down at himself; there was no wound.
The bullet hit the floor beside his foot, kicking up a cloud of dust.
This shot was not meant to kill, but to intimidate.
Taking advantage of Murphy's dazed moment, Sergeant Miller darted forward, executed a clean takedown, twisting Murphy's arm behind his back and pinning him firmly to the ground.
The silver snake-head staff also clattered to the side.
"Ah—!" Murphy let out a frustrated roar, struggling futilely on the ground like a snake with its fangs removed.
The remaining thugs, seeing their boss captured, completely lost their will to fight and turned to run.
But Miller and Jones didn't give them the chance.
In short order, they knocked everyone to the ground and tied them up securely with pre-prepared ropes.
The gunshots and fighting had already alerted the entire street.
Mrs. Hudson's screams and the exclamations of the neighbors rose and fell.
Soon, a large crowd gathered outside Alan's basement, pointing and gesticulating inside.
Alan ignored them. He walked over to the subdued Murphy, looking down at him.
"Mr. Murphy, now, we can renegotiate the terms of our 'cooperation.'"
Murphy looked up, his dust-covered face filled with venom and confusion.
"You... who exactly are you?"
"I'm just a small canner."
Alan smiled faintly, then stepped out and loudly addressed the onlookers, "Ladies and gentlemen, please look! This man, Murphy, who calls himself 'Viper,' and his gang of thugs, broke into my workshop in broad daylight, not only extorting money but also attempting to harm people! This is the cancerous growth plaguing our neighborhood!"
His voice was loud and clear, full of righteousness.
"But today, we will not bow to them! We honest people who earn our living with our own hands will never compromise with evil!"
A round of cheers erupted from the crowd.
These merchants and residents, who had suffered under the Viper Gang for too long, were all delighted to see them subdued by a young man today.
Just then, two policemen, who had rushed over after hearing the commotion, finally squeezed through the crowd and entered.
"What's going on? Who fired the gun?" The police nervously drew their batons.
"Officer, you've come at just the right time!"
Alan went to meet him, his face full of righteous indignation.
"We acted in self-defense. These men are members of New York's notorious 'Viper Gang,' and they committed armed robbery! We used all our strength to subdue them. Now, I formally hand them over to you!"
The police looked at Murphy and his gang, tied up like dumplings on the ground, then at Alan and Miller, armed and looking righteous, and were momentarily bewildered.
In the crowd, a young man wearing a reporter's hat was writing furiously, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of a major scoop.
Alan noticed him and gave him a meaningful look.
He knew that tomorrow's New York newspapers would feature a headline: "Street Hero: Canner Battles Gang, Defends Business Freedom."
He had not only eliminated a major threat but also secured an astonishingly effective, zero-cost advertisement for his products.
He watched Murphy being dragged away by the police, looking disheveled, the latter still glaring at him with venomous eyes.
Sergeant Miller walked up to Alan and whispered, "Sir, you handled that very well. Better than many officers I've seen."
"This is just the beginning, Sergeant."
Alan's gaze swept over the crowd, looking further afield, "Just a beginning."