Before him lay a desolate and ruined landscape. Although it was still part of New York, Manhattan and Queens seemed like two completely different worlds.
It was as if he had fallen from heaven into hell.
Dilapidated houses, broken brick walls, overgrown weeds, needles, and garbage strewn everywhere. Wastewater that hadn't been dealt with for a long time had pooled into a small puddle, and the dirty soil was already covered in moss. The abandoned houses had no windows, yet there were still a few homeless people trying to make this place their home.
It wasn't hell, but it wasn't far off.
A woman curled up in a ball, helpless and in pain, but still refusing to let go. Clinging to the man's leg with all her might, she was on the verge of losing consciousness, yet she kept biting down and screaming, again and again.
"Run, Jack… run."
"Don't come back… don't…"
"Jack…"
She kept calling out. The man, as if provoked, became even more brutal and violent. His fists, the size of bowls, rained down on the woman's back like a storm, causing her cries to become fragmented and broken. Her pain was evident just from the sound of her voice.
The young boy was engulfed in despair, his feet rooted to the spot, fists clenched tightly in the pockets of his jacket.
He just kept yelling, tears streaming down his face, "Stop. Please, stop!"
Anson froze, stiff and unable to move—
He saw himself.
Those victims had come to their door, unable to find his father, they found him and his mother instead. They believed he was hiding his father, forcing him to reveal his whereabouts.
But he didn't know, he truly didn't know.
So they went mad, losing all reason, first shoving him, then using their fists.
Instinctively, he wanted to resist.
However, thinking of the harm his father had caused them, his clenched fists eventually relaxed. If beating him up could help them vent their anger, if it could redeem even a tiny bit, then he would take it.
In the chaos, he didn't know who had pushed him down, but punches and kicks rained down on him like a storm.
He could only curl up into a ball, holding his head tightly, gritting his teeth, and silently enduring.
And then, he saw his mother returning with a block of tofu and some green vegetables.
"Run, Mom, run."
That was the only thought in his mind.
His mother seemed stunned, standing there in disbelief at what was happening. She tried to call for help, but all she saw were unfamiliar, indifferent faces, coldly watching the scene unfold.
Finally, the tofu and vegetables fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.
His mother picked up a stone from the roadside, screaming in anguish, "I'll fight you all!"
She seemed to go mad, charging into the crowd, swinging her arms wildly, losing all reason as she drove them away, striking anyone in her path. After a frenzied assault, she managed to clear some space and held him tightly, so tightly, yet she couldn't even cry, only muttering over and over.
"We don't know, we really don't know."
However.
The crowd wasn't satisfied and started beating her too. Punches and kicks fell like a torrential downpour.
They couldn't fight back.
He tried to protect his mother, but he couldn't even stand up. His mother just held him like that, using all her strength to hold him.
The bloodstained face before his eyes silently overlapped with the memory, holding Anson in place, paralyzing him with fear.
A bone-chilling cold crept up from his feet to his head, leaving him numb.
"Jack, run, get out of here."
However, the boy couldn't do it—
The man seemed further provoked, beating the woman with terrifying ferocity, his eyes gleaming with a murderous intent. His punches and kicks grew more and more frenzied.
Finally, the boy couldn't control himself any longer.
A sense of dread gripped Anson's heart: Don't.
Anson noticed the boy's fists trembling slightly in his pockets, a glint of determination flashing in his eyes—there was no despair, no anger, only a resolute will to move forward.
He recognized that look, the look of someone ready to go down together.
Anson screamed, "Don't!"
The next second, the boy pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at the man.
Anson dashed forward, stepping in front of the boy just before he could raise the gun. His heart clenched tightly, "Don't, Jack, don't."
The boy shook his head repeatedly, not even seeing Anson, his eyes fixed intently on the man. "Let's end this, let's just end it all. We'll all die, clean and clear, with no more worries. In the next life, let's not meet again."
It wasn't worth it.
Anson shook his head.
He had a bright future ahead of him; it wasn't worth throwing his life away for someone like this. Revenge shouldn't come at such a cost.
Anson had once wondered if it would be easier to end everything. If he ever saw his father again, what would he feel? Would hatred outweigh longing? Did he want to hurt his father?
But he didn't have an answer.
Because he had never seen his father again, the memories had faded, and he could no longer distinguish whether they were rooted in hatred or longing.
He had chosen to live, like a cockroach, surviving in the sewers.
"Jack, look at me."
"Hey, Jack!"
"Wake up, look at me, Jack, snap out of it. Don't throw your life away for garbage like him. He's not worth it."
"Did you hear me? He's not worth it."
Over and over again.
At this moment, the man noticed what was happening and burst into contemptuous laughter. "Jack, shoot, pull the trigger. I bet you don't have the guts, you coward."
"Haha, so, did you steal that gun from my drawer?"
"You've got the guts to steal but not to use it."
"How many months has it been? Three? Four? You've had that gun for so long, every night, I was lying right in front of you, and you still didn't have the courage to pull the trigger. How many chances did you miss? Huh? You coward!"
"Shoot! I'll take you down with me! I promise I'll drag you to hell with me! You better shoot fast, or I'll just beat this piece of trash to death right now. You and your mom belong in the garbage, you shouldn't even be here."
"What's wrong? Too scared? I knew it, you little—"
Taunting, insults, attacks, scorn, and disdain rained down like a storm.
Seeing the boy's hesitation, the man didn't hold back but grew even more arrogant, as if witnessing the funniest thing in the world.
This pushed the boy into despair. He stared blankly at Anson, tears welling up in his eyes, struggling, torn, as a faint smile curled at the corners of his lips.
The boy smiled.
It was a smile born of absurdity and pain, a smile so tragic and resolute, as if mocking the cruelty of fate and his own foolishness.
The smile bloomed like a night-blooming flower, brilliant but fleeting, expending all its energy only to wither in an instant.
That smile gripped Anson's heart because it meant the boy had nothing left to lose. He had made his decision.
In that moment, memories flooded Anson's mind like a tidal wave, dragging him into darkness. All reason collapsed, leaving him with only one thought.
"No."