Neverland

Week 0 – 01

“Welcome to the Miracle Bar!” The mechanized female voice rang out along with the bell.

He walked towards the bar silently, his pitch-black figure disappearing into the shadows cast by the liquor cabinet.

“Welcome, honored guest!” The bartender approached, carrying a tray with three items: a deck of cards, a rose, and a dagger.

He glanced down blankly and turned his palm down, signaling to take them away.

The bartender kept the same look and posture, unmoving.

“Take the rose in the middle.” The woman’s order came through the headset, lazy and with a bit of interest.

He gave a soft “tsk”, carefully avoided the thorns, and picked up the rose.

“You don’t look very happy?” The bartender asked with a smile.

And the man ignored him as usual.

“You don’t look like one of ‘Queen’, if you take something by mistake, we will be very troubled.” The bartender said politely, “Do you need me to explain the meaning of these three signs?”

“Hush—” The man raised a finger wrapped in pitch-black leather and gently pressed it against his lips, “Hear the gunshot?”

The bartender suddenly stopped moving.

The man stopped talking. His body leaned slightly forward, as if collapsed into a tight bowstring. On the slender and firm body, every muscle was full of tension, blended into a centimeter of wire that could chafe and ignite in an instant.

This slight movement allowed him to completely melt into the blind spot of the wall and the light. Taking the window and the surrounding colored walls as the boundary, from the best sniper’s point of view, this blind spot was as small as a grain of rice, but it happened to hide an adult, healthy Alpha male.

“Captain! Danger!” The bar door was slammed open urgently and two bloodied men rushed in, “Queen’s trying to sanction us! We’ve been betrayed!”

A series of torrential gunfire rang out immediately afterwards, and all of a sudden, the glass in the small bar burst and the fragments spattered. Under the sudden temperature rise, bloody smell combined with the smell of gunpowder smoke formed an indescribable fishy stench, but the bartender standing in front of the bar acted as if nothing had happened, quietly and smoothly sorted out the filth in front of him, accompanied by a bell ringing, politely saying, “Welcome to the Miracle Bar.”

The next second, the sound of music and his greeting was drowned out in a second wave of gunfire. The bullets smeared his body with numerous large blood splatters, the colorful lights over the bar shattered into powders, and darkness enveloped the entire long-sleeping neighborhood.

At the moment darkness fell, the man lurking silently in the corner suddenly moved, He threw the rose to the ground in a disgusted gesture. His fingers clenched over the hilt of his dagger, so deft that the sharp blade seemed to grow into his flesh and blood, turning lightly and swiftly along the back of his hand along the edge of his fingers, and finally he held it precisely in his palm.

He trampled through the pool of blood soundlessly. Beasts distinguished enemies and companions by smell and intuition. His speed was very fast and his movements were very steady—the reason he relied on cold weapons regardless of time and place. No matter which weapon did one control and use, there’d exist loss of time and accuracy due to its disconnection with the owner. The best gunner would need time to aim and pull the trigger, but he didn’t. He was a fierce beast, one with the dagger he aimed. He attacked faster than pulling the trigger, his intuition more accurate than a carefully-selected sniper point.

In the darkness, the sound of gunfire became chaotic. He made judgement and dodged without changing his face. Once the dagger in his hand got stained with blood, it would seal the throat. Finally, he ran towards the sniper in the distance, sprinting up the edge of the wall, his long black coat blowing in the wind. He didn’t mind at all that he had become a clear target, because he was as fast as a ghost. No matter how precise, bullets could only brush his hair.

With a stab, he pierced the dagger into the sniper’s throat. Along with the massive gushing of blood, he slightly frowned, as if remembering something. Instead of pulling out the dagger as usual, he cut off the already lifeless head in the same posture.

His arm was so strong that it didn’t take much effort to cut off a head, but his face, hidden by shadows, showed a look of pain, and the moment the head separated, he took two abrupt steps back, away from the blood and at the same time dusted off half a rose stuck between the folds of his coat.

The broken petals scattered in the pool of blood, and the last ripple turned into a moment of calm. As he thought, the bell signifying the end of the week rang.

It was Sunday, the day when the online votes were announced.