The Hidden Seeds Of A Gangster

Afternoon in Paris, the weather turned ominous. Heavy rain poured relentlessly, and lightning struck the sky without mercy. In an abandoned building, a white-haired man was violating a woman. Her face was filled with despair, tears streaming down her cheeks, yet the man continued his act with deep moans of pleasure until he reached his climax.

When he was done, he casually put his pants back on and left the woman without a second glance. He hurried away, unfazed by the pounding rain soaking his body, as if afraid someone might recognize him.

Moments later, the man arrived home. As soon as he stepped inside, he shouted furiously, "Sammi! Where is my lunch? Why didn't you prepare it?" His voice echoed through the house.

A teenage girl emerged from her room, her face tense, eyes brimming with tears as she responded, trying to suppress her anger, "Mom is gone, and she's never coming back!"

The man scoffed mockingly, "Ungrateful brat! If it weren't for me taking her in, she wouldn't have survived. She got free food and shelter, yet she was still unsatisfied!"

The girl's anger boiled over. She glared at her father with pure hatred. "You have no right to insult my mother!" she snapped, her voice trembling with rage.

Her father rose abruptly, his face flushing red with fury. He slapped his daughter hard. Slap! "You're just like your mother! One day, you'll become a whore just like her!" he spat with venomous hatred.

That was the breaking point. Years of suppressed anger surged through the girl's body. With trembling hands, she raised the knife she had been gripping tightly. Without hesitation, she stabbed her father in the stomach.

"Aaaahh!" The man howled in pain, but his daughter didn't stop. Her hatred consumed her, driving her to stab him over and over, her rage burning uncontrollably.

"Aaaahh!" His screams grew weaker, blood pouring onto the floor in a crimson pool.

Breathless, the girl stood there, the knife dripping with blood in her shaking hands. No one understood what had pushed her to kill her own father. Afterward, she turned herself in to the police. Because she was only 15, she was sentenced to just three years in juvenile detention.

The next day, the entire nation was shocked by the news-the murder of Jones Walker, killed by his own daughter. The tension among the people escalated as they struggled to grasp how a once quiet and well-mannered girl could become a killer.

Meanwhile, the woman who had been assaulted by Jones Walker was found dead after jumping from the same abandoned building where she had been violated. She had tried to fight back but ultimately succumbed to the deep emotional wounds left by the attack. Her tragic fate symbolized the injustice often faced by victims-not only suffering from the crime itself but also bearing the weight of society's stigma.

At the crime scene, a teenage boy sobbed uncontrollably in the crowd, his hoarse voice calling out for his mother, who lay lifeless before him. His red, swollen eyes could no longer hold back the tears, revealing the profound pain of an unexpected loss.

The area was swarmed with police and reporters, ensuring that no detail was overlooked. The relentless clicks of cameras and the chaotic voices of journalists competing for information intensified the already suffocating atmosphere.

---

Seven Years Later

The midnight air was cold and silent. In a dimly lit alley, a man stood trembling. His face was flushed, his breathing ragged, and cold sweat dripped from his temples. His vision blurred, and a wave of dizziness clouded his mind.

Five thugs surrounded him, each holding a sharp weapon that gleamed under the streetlights.

"What did you put in my drink?" he asked, his voice hoarse with barely contained fury as the effects of the drug took hold.

One of the thugs smirked wickedly, his narrowed eyes glinting with amusement. "An aphrodisiac. We're actually doing you a favor." His voice dripped with mockery, as if they had already won.