The city has never truly been at peace.
On the surface, it is like any city in the world - the steam from breakfast stalls escapes from under the rolling shutter doors in the early morning, people coming off work meet at the intersection in the evening, and the lights of patrol cars slowly glide along the main road late at night. Some people are talking about a business worth hundreds of millions in a coffee shop, while others are digging through picked up cardboard boxes under an overpass. There is nothing new under the sun.
But in those unseen corners, in those forgotten streets, in those places beyond the reach of the law, something is growing.
It doesn't grow in a day.
It started with a car accident. On a rainy night, a Mercedes-Benz ran a red light, an ordinary couple was knocked away, and a thirteen-year-old boy sitting in the back seat was pulled out of the deformed iron sheet by passers-by. It started with a bribe - the perpetrator was so prominent that he didn't need to speak himself, someone would settle everything for him. It started with a teenager's entire trust being crushed, with his grandmother's white hair kneeling at the door of the prosecutor's office, and with the three broken teeth in his grandfather's mouth when he was dragged out of the office building by security guards.
It starts with every "no way to complain", every "it's useless to complain", and every ordinary person who is swallowed up by the system but no one cares about it.
Then, it exploded.
