David Clark climbed off David Scott's daughter, naked, apparently finished, leisurely putting on his clothes, his thing hanging limply like a soft worm.

  “Mr. Harris said I’m to guard these people in the basement.” Ryan Carter's gaze merely swept over the two naked women lying on the ground, his eyes calm, without a trace of desire.

  “Haha, I get it, I get it. Anyway, I’ve had both mother and daughter, now it’s your turn to enjoy yourself. Tsk tsk, the daughter is really tight down there, much tighter than her mother. Alright, have fun, I’m heading out.” David Clark patted Ryan Carter on the shoulder, humming a tune as he walked out of the basement.

  David Scott sucked in a breath and climbed up from the ground, coming to his wife and daughter’s side. Both women bore marks of being beaten, clearly having been punished by David Clark when they tried to resist his violence. David Clark wasn’t one for mercy at a time like this; he only cared about his own pleasure.

  “Darling…”

  “Daddy…”

  Seeing David Scott, the two women seemed to have found something to lean on, both collapsing into his arms and crying, while David Scott’s son also hugged his father at this moment.

  Ryan Carter had no interest in this family “reunion.” He walked straight to the basement door and locked it from the inside. The basement door was thick and had a steel plate core, offering strong protection.

  After doing this, Ryan Carter sat down on a chair, a pistol in his hand to intimidate David Scott’s family. Then he did nothing else, as if waiting—for the scene he had foreseen to appear. Ryan Carter firmly believed that vision would come true. He trusted his eyes. He… trusted himself.

  “Wuwuwuwuwu…!”

  At exactly seven o’clock, alarms blared, and every loudspeaker in America broadcast the same message:

  The Night of Slaughter has begun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter Five: The Locked Door

  When the government and the upper class attempt to “resolve” so-called social conflicts with something like the “Night of Slaughter,” the lower classes, apart from enduring this massacre year after year, have also begun to rise up in resistance. As the saying goes: where there is oppression, there will inevitably be resistance.

  The rich and the elite can hide in their homes equipped with advanced security systems to survive the Night of Slaughter, or they can pay to organize mercenary-like teams to personally join in and enjoy the thrill of killing, holding the absolute advantage.

  But this year, during this “Night of Slaughter,” a group of people from the lower class gathered together. Through their own channels, they all managed to buy weapons and formed a team of over five hundred people. In terms of scale, this team far surpassed the small mercenary squads of the rich, which usually only had seven, eight, or a dozen members. This “Slaughter Legion” of the lower class had one goal: to attack those seemingly “untouchable” rich people during the Night of Slaughter.

  They wanted the rich and the elite to bleed on the Night of Slaughter, to make them truly fear the event from the bottom of their hearts, and thus force the upper class to abolish the “Human Purge Plan,” so that the lower classes would no longer have to endure this annual bloodbath. They called themselves the Saints, and under the leadership of the Holy Father Martin, they were fearless—using slaughter to suppress slaughter, killing to stop killing!

  Tonight, as soon as the clock struck seven and the Night of Slaughter began, they mobilized in full force. Over five hundred people, armed, rode more than a dozen buses to a wealthy villa district.

  “Tonight, with our own hands, we will make those so-called rich people feel fear. We will return all the pain that the ‘Night of Slaughter’ has given us over the years. We will show them that we, the lower class in their eyes, are not just lambs to be slaughtered. We will make them bleed, make them feel pain, make them feel our anger!

  And thus, force them to abolish this damned ‘Human Purge Plan’!!!!!!”

  The one called the “Holy Father,” Martin, was giving a passionate speech. He truly had a gift for oratory and incitement. As he spoke, the eyes of the hundreds of “Slaughter Legion” members around him blazed with fury, eager to drink the blood of the rich right then and there. The atmosphere was electric.

  “There is a family here, their head is called David Scott. It was he who designed the security systems for the rich, and he became wealthy by selling them. It is because of him that the rich can enjoy the protection of these systems while watching us poor people scream as we are slaughtered. You could say that David Scott’s hands are stained with the blood of the poor. Tonight, we will make him pay in blood!”

  “Blood for blood! Blood for blood! Blood for blood!”