I'm in Detective Conan, and I start with the Grand Theft Auto system.

Behind the abandoned building beneath the Ferris wheel.

A middle-aged company president was standing still, pacing back and forth anxiously.

He was carrying a black briefcase in his left hand, which was full of cash.

He would raise his right hand every now and then to check his watch, his brow furrowed so deeply it could trap a fly.

"Damn it... that bastard Gin, we agreed on a 3 o'clock deal, and it's already 3:20!" The middle-aged president cursed as he pulled out his phone, found Gin's number, took a deep breath, and dialed.

The moment the call connected, his tone immediately became extremely respectful, and his face was filled with a fawning smile: "Hey? Mr. Gin... It's me, I've arrived at the place you mentioned."

Where are you now? Is there traffic on the road?

"No rush, no rush, I'll wait patiently. You don't need to hurry, I have plenty of time..."

On the other end of the phone, Gin said coldly, "Something unexpected happened. Wait a little longer."

"No problem, no problem!" The middle-aged president nodded and bowed repeatedly, even though Gin couldn't see him at all. "You go ahead with your work, I'll wait here for as long as I want!"

The phone hangs up.

The middle-aged company president's expression changed instantly.

One second he was all smiles and flattery, the next he was seething with rage.

He muttered under his breath while staring at his phone screen, "Fuck you, Gin! What a piece of shit!!"

"You have no sense of time at all! I've been feeding mosquitoes here for twenty minutes! You bastards..."

Unbeknownst to him, his subservient and obsequious demeanor just moments ago, and his current obnoxious and foul-mouthed behavior, had all been observed by two sniper scopes in the distance.

On the second floor of an abandoned building, behind a half-open window.

Chianti lay on the windowsill, a small section of the sniper rifle barrel sticking out, the camouflage netting obscuring the gun's reflection.

She looked at the middle-aged company president through the scope, a disdainful smile playing on her lips.

She was wearing wireless earphones, and the channel was connected to Gin and Vodka: "Gin, after that guy hung up the phone, he was still swearing at you, and he said some really nasty things."

"Should I just shoot him dead? That way you won't have to listen to him and get annoyed?"

Gin's voice came through the earpiece: "Ignore it."

"Tch, boring." Chianti clicked her tongue, but she didn't insist any further.

She pressed her eye back onto the scope, the crosshairs firmly locked onto the middle-aged company president's head.

At another window not far from her, Cohen was also setting up the same sniper rifle, the two of them forming a crossfire network, one on the left and one on the right.

With this setup, let alone a middle-aged company president, even a team of SWAT officers could be taken down.

Chianti, bored, looked at the middle-aged company president through the scope, wondering where to go for drinks that night.

Just then, a person suddenly appeared in her scope.

A young man.

He was wearing a dark gray jacket, a black face mask, and his hat pulled low, obscuring his face.

He moved very lightly, like a cat, and appeared silently behind the middle-aged president.

The middle-aged president was still looking down at his phone, completely unaware that someone had appeared behind him.

Chianti's pupils contracted sharply, and before she could even warn him, the young man had already moved.

His gun-drawing motion was so fast it was dazzling—drawing, raising, aiming, and pulling the trigger, the whole process took less than a second.

The silencer emitted a dull "thud," and the bullet struck the middle-aged company president precisely in the back of the head.

The middle-aged president's body stiffened abruptly, then he fell straight forward like a bag of cement, his head hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Blood slowly seeped from under his head, spreading a dark red patch on the floor tiles.

Chianti's eyes widened suddenly, her pupils contracted sharply, and she almost roared, "Oh no! Someone killed that company president!!"

As soon as she finished speaking, she saw the young man slowly bend down and pick up the briefcase that the middle-aged president had dropped.

Then he looked up—directly toward the abandoned building where Chianti was hiding.

Chianti's heart skipped a beat.

"He...he saw me?" The thought had barely crossed her mind when she saw the young man reach behind his back with his right hand and pull out a G3 semi-automatic sniper rifle from somewhere, pointing it directly in her direction.

Chianti's scalp tingled instantly!

She didn't have time to think; her body's instincts reacted countless times faster than her brain—she jerked to the side, her whole body tumbling out like a startled snake, skimming the ground!

Almost at the same moment she rolled, a sharp whooshing sound whistled past her ear!

The wall brick she had been lying on was hit by a bullet, sending fragments of brick and dust flying everywhere, clattering against the wall.

"Damn it!!!" Chianti's heart pounded wildly, and she was instantly gripped by fear.

She didn't even have time to catch her breath, and continued to roll around desperately.

Bullets kept hitting the spot where she had just rolled, sending cement debris flying everywhere, and bullet holes were embedded in her back like nails.

One, two, three—she could even feel the scorching heat from the bullets as they grazed her hair!

If she had been even half a second slower, her head would have been cracked open like that middle-aged company president's!

Chianti rolled behind a concrete pillar, curled up, and gasped for breath.

Her forehead was covered in cold sweat, and her hand holding the gun was trembling slightly.

She leaned against the pillar, her heart pounding as if it would jump out of her throat—"Damn it...damn it...that bastard tried to kill me!!"

She took a few deep breaths, steadied her voice, and yelled into the headset, "Cohen! Did you see that?! That bastard almost killed me!"

There was a two-second silence in the earpiece, then Cohen's deep voice came through, filled with obvious suppression and tension: "I saw it... because I was being sniped just now too."

Cohen's situation is not much better than Chianti's.

Just as he locked onto the man who fired the shot, the man quickly changed position, turned around, raised his gun, and locked onto him in a second!

It's like they've been given a cheat code!!

Before Cohen could react, a bullet struck the window frame in front of him.

The sawdust exploded and scraped against his face, stinging painfully.

Cohen instinctively leaned back and fell off the windowsill, landing on his back with a muffled groan.

But he didn't have time to cry out in pain—a second bullet pierced the window, and the glass shattered with a crash.

Cohen rolled and crawled on the ground like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, using both hands and feet to shrink into the corner.

The bullets followed his trajectory, hitting the wall one after another, leaving behind a series of smoking bullet holes.

The gunfire only stopped when he shrank into the corner and completely hid behind the wall.

He was panting heavily, veins bulging on his forehead, his hand gripping the sniper rifle tightly, his knuckles white.

He had been a sniper for over a decade and had never been outmaneuvered like this before.

The feeling of being locked on is like being watched by a venomous snake.

They dared not show their heads, because the moment they did, it would be their death.

Chianti leaned against a pillar, catching her breath, and gritted her teeth, saying, "Bastard... I'll show you how to kill him!"

After she finished speaking, she quickly changed her position.

She crouched low, moving as quietly as possible, and circled around to the other side of the building to find a new shooting position.

She set up the sniper rifle, held her breath, and slowly and carefully put her eye to the scope...

Through the scope, all that could be seen was the middle-aged company president's corpse lying in a pool of blood.

The briefcases in the hands of the young man and the middle-aged president were gone.

"Damn it!" Chianti slammed her fist on the wall. "That guy's gone! He ran off with the money! Cohen, did you see him?!"

On the other side, Cohen had just found a new observation position. He scanned the surroundings with his sniper rifle, but found nothing.

The young man seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving not a trace.

Cohen gritted his teeth and replied in a low voice, "Didn't see it. It ran away."

The target was dead, the money was stolen, and the killer slipped away with the money right under the noses of the two top snipers.

The two of them didn't even touch a hair on each other's head.

At the other end of the abandoned building, Gin and Vodka were trapped by the police at the scene of the roller coaster incident. Gin heard Chianti and Cohen's report through his earpiece, and a slight change finally appeared on his usually icy face.

He clenched his fist so tightly that his knuckles cracked.

A flash of undisguised killing intent crossed those deep green eyes.

He didn't speak.

But the chilling murderous aura emanating from him made Vodka, who was standing next to him, unconsciously take a half step to the side.

Vodka swallowed hard and asked cautiously in a low voice, "Brother... about that money..."

Gin did not answer him.

He simply pulled his hat down further, obscuring the sharp light on his face.

He is now trapped at the crime scene, surrounded by dozens of police officers and hundreds of onlookers. Even if he wanted to rush over and tear that reckless guy to pieces, he could only hold back.

Impotent rage—this was the first time in Gin's life he truly understood the meaning of this word.