Chapter 35
Upper District.
If the Lower District was a chaotic, lawless hell — filled with rampant gangs, shootings, kidnappings, rapes, and countless crimes the police could barely handle — a filthy, nightmarish place that the people of Central City never wanted to step foot in…
Then the Upper District was heaven.
It was home to over sixty-five percent of Central City's wealthy elite, packed with luxurious mansions, major corporations, aristocrats, civilization, elegance, and modern urban sophistication.
Everything here embodied the superior quality of civilized human life.
Bright, orderly, lined with towering skyscrapers, beautiful and majestic. Professional beauties shuttled back and forth like shuttles in a loom. Stunning scenery stretched endlessly. Luxury cars flowed like water, showcasing wealth and extravagance. This was an enviable, decadent, colorful dream world of indulgence.
There was no exaggeration in this description.
In modern America, in famous metropolises like Los Angeles or New York, it was entirely possible for conditions to change completely just by crossing one street. On one side, homeless people piled up, living wretchedly on cardboard in filthy gutters, envying the other side. On the opposite side stood magnificent mansions, filled with the extravagant pleasures of the rich.
The stark gap between rich and poor was so extreme that anyone who saw it could hardly believe it. Just one street apart, and it was the difference between heaven and hell.
Class stratification had always been the root of contradictions, giving birth to even more crime and evil.
Unlike other cities, Central City rarely had such visible, street-by-street wealth disparity.
This severe rich-poor divide had been deliberately isolated by the entire city's structure, which was why a chaotic Lower District existed. Meanwhile, the Central District, Upper District, South Bay District, and Northwest District remained bright, warm, and orderly places where the citizens of Central City could live in peace and trust.
Central City, one of the safest major cities in the DC world, owed its reputation not only to The Flash's efforts but also to this carefully designed urban structure.
Upper District — Phi Haukada Club.
The décor was luxurious, with classical taste. The soft sound of live violin music flowed gently through the bar.
This was originally a place for relaxation and soothing the nerves.
Al Swan looked completely out of place in this environment. His chin was covered in stubble, his ash-blond hair was messy as if he had just rolled out of bed, and his eyes were glazed over as he slumped in a corner of the bar like a dead fish. His shirt reeked of alcohol.
A bartender passed by, politely removed the empty bottles from his table, and, following Al's slurred, alcohol-heavy request, opened another bottle of XO brandy, poured him a glass, and left.
"Cough… cough…"
Al Swan grabbed the bottle directly, put it to his mouth, and gulped it down. The rich, fragrant liquor flooded his throat and nasal cavity, burning fiercely. His heart pounded like an engine roaring, yet it couldn't drown out the decadence and despair in his chest.
He choked on the alcohol. XO brandy spilled from the corners of his mouth, trickling through his messy beard and down his neck, soaking the front of his shirt.
He looked like a pathetic, defeated loser.
Kevin, slim and dressed in a fitted suit, walked into the bar with a worried expression.
He had been here once before with Al Swan — back when they had busted a major drug ring worth over a hundred pounds. Their boss had brought them here to celebrate and reserved the whole place.
That time they had dressed casually and entered under Al Swan's lead, enjoying themselves to the fullest. They had witnessed a level of luxury and wealth that was hard to believe.
Now, to enter this place on his own, he needed formal attire and a membership card. He had gone through several layers of review and been given numerous warnings before being allowed into this high-class establishment.
Even when he showed his police ID, the security here showed no fear and refused to yield an inch. If he tried to force his way in, he might not even be a police officer by tomorrow.
Kevin scanned the room and spotted Al Swan coughing in a relatively dark corner.
"Boss, stop drinking."
Kevin walked over and took the XO bottle from Al Swan's hand. The bottle was wet and greasy, mixed with Al's sweat and alcohol, like touching the body of a sweaty, reeking drunkard.
"Boss, it's just a demotion. We still have a chance to fight back."
Kevin placed the bottle on the table, unable to bear watching his boss sink like this. This man he had always followed — his boss, comrade, colleague, partner, and friend — had collapsed under the blow and turned into a depressed alcoholic.
"Get lost!"
Al Swan looked like a crazed drunkard. Separated from alcohol, he went completely mad. He shoved Kevin away with his hand, causing Kevin to stumble backward and bump into a chair to stop his fall.
Al Swan's eyes were bloodshot, filled with drunken frenzy. He grabbed the XO bottle from the table and smashed it toward Kevin's head.
Bang!
Kevin couldn't believe it — his boss would actually smash a bottle at him. The first blow already made his vision blur and the world spin. He saw Al Swan raise the bottle again.
Bang!
His head took another hit from the XO bottle.
The relaxed, comfortable atmosphere with the gentle violin music was shattered. Guests and staff stopped what they were doing and looked over.
This kind of crude behavior had never happened here before.
"You know nothing!"
"You're just my dog!"
Bang!
Al Swan raised the bottle again, his eyes red with rage, and smashed it down on Kevin once more. The blow left Kevin dazed and in unbearable pain.
Especially that phrase "you're just my dog." It struck Kevin — who had always treated Al Swan as his boss, followed his lead, and considered him a friend and comrade who would advance and retreat together — like a thunderbolt. He couldn't believe it.
In Al Swan's eyes, he was nothing but a dog!
He simply couldn't accept it. The pain chilled him to the bone.
The physical pain on his skull and the blood dripping down were nothing compared to the cold agony in his heart.
"You're just a dog. You came to comfort me? Who do you think you are? You're a dog!"
"You think it's just a demotion?"
Al Swan panted heavily, holding the bottle and looking at Kevin, who had been smashed to the ground. Blood dotted the floor, and his body was half-covered by overturned chairs and tables. The chest that Alex had kicked was starting to hurt again — not from heartache, but because the violent movements had aggravated the injury.
"I have no future!"
"Get lost!"
"Go find someone else to lick. Go find someone else to be your master."
Al Swan tilted his head back and poured the remaining liquor from the bottle into his mouth. He choked and coughed, spraying out a large mouthful. His bloodshot eyes glared as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Kevin on the floor, then burst into wild laughter.
What he had done might seem to Kevin like nothing more than a demotion.
But he himself knew the truth. He had caused a member of the Central City First Brotherhood to be removed from a high position in the police department. The Swan family had supported him for years, pushing him to such heights with future plans and ambitions for him. All of it had been destroyed by his own greed for glory.
Just this one stain was enough for rival forces to latch onto. Al Swan would never be able to return to the upper echelons of the police. All the Swan family's arrangements in the police force had been ruined.
The Swan family had officially given up on him.
Without the backing of the Swan family, and with rival forces eager to push their own people forward, he would gradually be marginalized, made a scapegoat, and demoted further.
On top of that, with the First Brotherhood controlling over forty-five percent of Central City's wealth, power, and status, Al Swan could already see his dead end.
Although the Brotherhood wouldn't target him directly because of this, many other forces would be more than happy to say a few words to suppress him and curry favor with the First Brotherhood.
This demotion was only the beginning. He had already seen clearly that he had no future.
This kind of high-level power struggle was far beyond what Kevin could understand.
Al Swan continued staring at Kevin like he was looking at a pitiful child who had fallen into water. His laughter was heartless and cruel.
Wasn't it true? He himself had fallen. Kevin was just the unlucky child who had fallen into the water with him.
Thinking of this, Al Swan laughed even more wildly.
The onlookers remained silent.
The bar grew even quieter.
Kevin silently climbed up from the floor, where he had been partially hidden by chairs and tables. He said nothing. He pressed a hand to the wound on his head. Blood from the injury had stained half his face red.
One eye was covered by the flowing blood. The other eye was silent and emotionless.
He didn't look at his former boss Al Swan again.
Pressing on his wound, his back carried a desolate, tragic loneliness as he walked toward the exit. Behind him, he felt another bottle smash into him — Al Swan's final act of drunken rage.
The hard XO bottle struck Kevin's head three times and his back once, then fell to the floor, rolling with a clatter but not breaking.
Kevin staggered forward, nearly falling, but steadied himself and continued walking out the door step by step.
Al Swan continued his drunken rampage, cursing nonstop.
A waiter with a white towel draped over his arm approached the raging Al Swan with impeccable politeness. He bowed slightly and offered him a towel along with a phone.
"Mr. Al Swan, the boss would like to discuss something with you."
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