The Flyer
Leo tore down a crumpled flyer that was stapled to a telecom pole, raising an eyebrow at the bold tagline:
“Join us. We’ll build you a solid gangster career and make your future shine.”
He smirked. “A gangster career? What is this, LinkedIn for criminals?”
Without thinking twice, he pulled out his phone and scanned the QR code printed on the flyer.
A shady-looking form popped up—name, phone, emergency contact… hell, they even wanted a selfie.
He filled it all in, and bam—he was booked for an in-person interview.
“Wow,” Leo muttered. “Even gangs go digital these days.”
The screen blinked: Tomorrow. 1:00 p.m. Sharp.
Welcome to the Alley
The next day at exactly 1 p.m., Leo arrived at the address—a wide but grimy alley. The stench of rotten garbage hung heavy in the air.
Standing there like some street-level recruiter was Canelo, the leader of the local gang faction.
He wore a black hoodie, ripped jeans with holes you could stick your fist through, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Lined up beside Leo were five other punks, all around his age. They stood there casually, like they had nothing to worry about, waiting for whatever “interview” this was going to be.
HR from Hell
Canelo stepped onto a cracked concrete step like it was his podium.
“Alright, rookies! Welcome to our Gangster Talent Program,” he said with a grin.
“You six idiots want to join the gang? Well, congratulations, you’ve made it to the final round of interviews.”
He flicked the ash off his cigarette.
“In a few minutes, some random folks will walk by. I’ll pick a target. You’ll jump them.
I’m grading you on how savage, how cruel, and how powerful you look when you do it.
Each of you will get a score out of 100 points.
Get 60 or higher, you’re in. Fail? Go home and practice on your grandma’s purse.”
The Candidates
Leo listened to Canelo’s words and thought, “Well, that doesn’t sound too hard. A stick-up? I’ve seen enough TV to know how this works. Piece of cake.”
He let out a quiet sigh and glanced sideways at the five guys next to him. Each one of them had their own… unique vibe.
One guy was smoking a cigarette like he didn’t give a damn about anything.
Another was chewing gum so aggressively he managed to blow a bubble big enough to cover half his face.
One of them had a face completely covered with pimples, and another had a giant booger hanging under his nostril.
The last guy had two fingers pinching his nose, like he was reminding everyone that something in this alley seriously stinks.
Leo sniffed the air. Yeah, something’s definitely off.
He turned his head toward the stench—and there it was, a nasty pile of dog crap on the ground.
But hey, to avoid traumatizing the readers, we’ll just call it “the pixelated object” from now on.
Canelo’s sharp eyes caught sight of the guy pinching his nose.
“Look at you,” he muttered, tilting his head. “Can’t even handle a little stink?”
Without warning, Canelo stepped forward and swung a brutal kick straight at the kid’s face.
WHAM!
The poor guy flew a few meters back, hit the ground hard, and was completely out cold.
Canelo spat on the ground, shaking his head.
“Can’t even stand a whiff of bad smell—how the hell are you supposed to be in a gang? Pathetic. Absolutely disgraceful.”
The Targets Appear
Canelo checked his phone, exhaled smoke, and murmured, “It’s about time.”
At that very moment, two people simultaneously stepped into the alley from opposite directions.
From one end shuffled a hunched old granny with a cane. Her wrinkled face looked like she must be at least 100 years old.
From the other end came a young woman in a red spaghetti-strap top and white shorts—slim, toned, and beautiful enough to make heads spin.
Susan and the Exam
Leo’s jaw dropped. Wait… Susan? My old classmate Susan?! What the hell is she doing here?
A wave of panic hit him. I can’t rob her. How do you even mug someone you know? What am I supposed to say—“Hey Susan, remember me from math class… now give me your wallet”?
Just the thought made him cringe. It felt way too personal, way too awkward.
Canelo smirked and pointed at her. “Alright, boys, show me what you got!”
The crew started swaggering toward her like a low-budget gangster parade. Leo’s pulse spiked.
“Uh, boss… don’t you think robbing the granny would be, you know, easier?” he blurted, hoping to steer the attention elsewhere.
Canelo’s grin faded. He lowered his voice to a near whisper, his tone suddenly deadly serious—as if he didn’t want the old granny to overhear.
“That old lady… don’t be fooled. She’s a hidden master. You see that cane she’s holding? That’s not a cane—it’s a blade. A real sword.”
He narrowed his eyes, his voice sinking even lower.
“If you try to rob her, I’m afraid you won’t even make it home to see your parents. She’ll slice you into pieces right here in the alley. Even I… I wouldn’t dare claim I could beat her with a hundred percent chance of winning.”
The five punks felt a chill crawl down their spines, and cold sweat poured down their faces like crazy.
“Okay… let’s go, boys!” Canelo barked.
The five punks immediately staggered toward the young woman—Susan. Leo quietly walked behind a taller guy, trying to blend into the group and hide himself.
Just like that, the real exam had officially begun.