Dim lights flickered in the damp basement, as if they might extinguish at any moment, swallowing the small space in darkness. Jack Thompson sat at a battered wooden table, its surface marred with scratches and stains, while across from him, the gang leader Michael O'Connor stared intently at Jack with eyes that seemed to pierce through to his soul. The basement was filled with a pungent, musty odor, and droplets of water seeped through the walls, plopping down and forming puddles of varying sizes on the floor. The faint sound of dripping water was particularly clear in the oppressive silence.

　　"Jack, you're a smart guy; you should know that in this post-war world, opportunities are scarce," Michael's deep, raspy voice echoed in the cramped space like distant thunder. His sharp gaze held a hint of cunning, as smoke from the cigar clamped between his teeth swirled slowly upward, creating hazy shadows in the dim light.

　　Jack furrowed his brow, his gaze drifting away from Michael as memories of returning home after the war flooded his mind. The streets were filled with the unemployed; once-bustling factories now stood as ruins, like remnants of a battlefield, silent and desolate. Prices soared like wild horses, and people fought desperately for meager food and scarce resources, as the civilization and order of the past seemed to vanish overnight. His family was also in dire straits; his parents, frail and sickly, were worn down by years of poverty and illness, while his younger siblings wore innocent expressions filled with a yearning for food and warmth. Their plaintive cries of "Brother, I'm hungry" pierced Jack's heart like arrows. He sighed helplessly and said, "I know, but I don’t want to go down that path. I have my principles."

　　Michael let out a cold laugh, tinged with disdain and contempt. He flicked the ash from his cigar, a small piece floating down, instantly swallowed by the damp ground. "Principles? In this chaotic era, can principles feed you? Look outside; those who once lived in glory are now begging on the streets, like lost dogs. If you join me, I can guarantee you and your family a good life, with endless food, a spacious and bright home, and fine clothes. You won’t have to worry about your next meal."

　　Jack fell into deep thought, memories of his experiences in the war flashing through his mind like a film reel, the endless killing and fear crashing over him like a tide. The smoke, screams, and blood of the battlefield felt so close. He had thought that everything would improve after the war, that people could rebuild their homes and reclaim happiness, but reality hit him like a heavy slap across the face. His gaze fell on the shiny watch on Michael's wrist, its band gleaming under the light—a luxury he could not reach, a stark reflection of the widening gap between the rich and the poor in this era.

　　"What do I need to do?" Jack finally spoke, his voice hoarse and dry, as if eroded by the oppressive air.

　　Michael straightened up, a smug smile creeping onto his face, hiding endless greed and desire beneath, "It's simple. Help me deal with some troublesome people—some disobedient souls, some competitors blocking my path to wealth. You've killed many in the war; this should be a piece of cake for you."

　　Jack's body tensed slightly, his hands instinctively clenching, knuckles turning white. "I killed in the war to defend my country, not for this."

　　Michael waved his hand impatiently, the gesture crude. "Don’t give me that noble talk. You need to think of your family. You don’t want to see your siblings starve, do you? Do you want to watch your parents die before you because you can't afford their medical bills?"

　　Jack fell silent, his heart waging a fierce battle, as if two voices were arguing in his mind. One urged him to stick to his principles, to never sink into darkness; the other reminded him of his family's plight, their suffering, suggesting that for their sake, perhaps a temporary compromise was necessary. At that moment, the basement door swung open, and a glamorous, seductive woman entered—Michael's lover, Lucy. She wore a tight-fitting red dress that swayed gently with her movements, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor, each step dripping with deliberate allure.

　　"Darling, how's the conversation going?" Lucy swayed her slender waist as she sat beside Michael, the strong scent of her perfume mingling with the dampness of the basement, creating an oddly unpleasant aroma.

　　"Still considering. This Jack is a bit stubborn," Michael replied, glancing at Jack with a hint of displeasure and irritation.

　　Lucy sized Jack up, a flirtatious smile curling her lips, but her eyes held a trace of condescension. "Oh, this guy's not bad-looking. Jack, if you follow Michael, there will be plenty of women vying for your attention. What kind of woman do you want?"

　　Jack shot her a disgusted look, utterly uninterested in such vanity and decadence. "I'm not in it for the women."

　　Michael chuckled, the sound echoing in the basement. "Jack, don’t be ungrateful. I’ll give you time to think. By this time tomorrow, I want your answer. If you refuse, well, you know the consequences."

　　Jack stood up, casting a cold glance at them, his eyes filled with anger and helplessness as he turned toward the door. Stepping out of the basement, the sunlight outside hurt his eyes, causing him to squint. He walked along the dilapidated street, observing the ragged, hollow-eyed people around him, his heart heavy with mixed emotions. Some elderly folks sat by the roadside, staring blankly into the distance, as if reminiscing about better times; women huddled with their frail children, shivering in the cold wind, their eyes filled with helplessness and despair.

　　Returning to his small, rundown home, his sister Lily rushed into his arms like a joyful little bird. "Brother, where have you been? I'm so hungry." Her tiny hand clutched tightly at Jack's shirt, her eyes full of dependence.

　　Jack gently stroked her hair, the dry strands causing a pang of sorrow in his heart. "Don't worry, I'll find a way."

　　His mother emerged from the back room, her face pale as paper, her frail body seeming as if it could be blown away by a gust of wind. "Jack, we can't go on like this. You need to find a way out. Your father's condition is worsening; we need money for his medicine."

　　Looking at his mother, Jack felt a wave of sadness. He knew she had endured too much pressure and pain. "I know, Mom. I'm working on it."

　　That night, Jack lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. He gazed at the faint moonlight filtering through the small window, his mind racing. He recalled Michael's words and thought of his family, unsure of what choice to make. Just then, his friend Tom Harrison arrived, looking weary and troubled, his clothes tattered and patched.

　　"Jack, I heard you met with Michael today," Tom said, concern etched on his face.

　　Jack sat up and looked at Tom. "Yeah, I'm hesitating. I don’t want to get caught up in the gang's mess, but I have no other options."

　　Tom sat on the edge of the bed, sighing deeply, as if carrying the weight of the world, "I understand your situation; I’m in the same boat. I went to the docks today looking for work, but the foremen don’t treat us like humans. The pay is pitiful, and they expect us to do the heaviest labor. I saw the dockworkers, exhausted like dogs, struggling to even meet their basic needs."

　　Jack and Tom talked for a long time, reminiscing about their experiences during the war, those days of fighting side by side feeling like they were just yesterday. On the battlefield, they supported each other, facing the hail of bullets together, united by one belief: to survive and protect their country. But now, they faced such a harsh reality, their once steadfast belief crumbling before the brutal truth.

　　The next day, Jack returned to the basement. Michael was there, a glimmer of anticipation on his face, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the table, producing a dull sound.

　　"Jack, have you made up your mind?"

　　Jack took a deep breath and slowly said, "I can work with you, but I have one condition: no harming innocent people."

　　Michael laughed, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Good, it’s a deal. Welcome aboard, Jack. From now on, you’re one of my men."

　　Jack looked at Michael, a swirl of complex emotions rising within him—helplessness, regret, and confusion about the future. He knew that from this moment on, his fate had taken a path filled with the unknown and danger, a decision that would not only change his life but also impact those around him. In this post-war turmoil, where despair and hope intertwined, he could only grope through the darkness, searching for a glimmer of light, even if that light was shadowed by endless darkness and peril.