X

Yeah… Pedro got away from Lucifer, but he couldn’t get away from himself. Other people knew what happened, and they wanted Pedro gone. He heard footsteps everywhere, saw enemies in every shadow. The million sat untouched while his guilt kept getting heavier. Then one night… Pedro made a tragic choice. And the first person to find him wasn’t a cop, wasn’t a killer… it was a street kid named Xavier. They called him X.

Pedro sitting in the dark, million packed in a case, Rondo’s picture on the table, tears running down his face. Lucifer let him live, but the streets wanted blood, every rumor getting louder, every shadow looking sus. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t silence his mind, kept hearing Rondo’s voice every single night. He knew people were hunting, knew his name was getting hot, but the guilt hit harder than the fear of getting caught. He looked at all that money, said, “What did I really win?” A million in the room and a war raging within. He remembered being brothers, remembered every dream, now the biggest stack of money couldn’t make his conscience clean. Pedro knew the streets were closing in around him, but what broke him wasn’t them—it was what he did to him. He couldn’t carry the weight, couldn’t face another dawn, and made a tragic choice believing all his pain would be gone.

Million-dollar heist, but the money couldn’t save him, Rondo’s ghost in every room, the guilt wouldn’t break him. Lucifer let him walk, but the streets still wanted blood, Pedro had the million, but he couldn’t live with what he’d done. Million-dollar heist, what a price for the score, he had everything he wanted but couldn’t take no more. The money stayed behind when Pedro’s story came to an end, and the next one finding everything… was X, a kid from the streets.

Xavier was a young street kid, everybody called him X, running through the neighborhood with nothing but a backpack. He knew about the whispers, knew Pedro had the cash, but he never thought he’d stumble on the ending of the past. He pushed open that door, called, “Pedro?”—nothing back, walked inside and saw the million sitting in the black. Then he saw Pedro, and the whole world stopped cold, a young kid witnessing what the streets had never told. X didn’t touch a dollar, just stood there in shock, thinking, “How the hell a million get a man this lost?” He remembered all the stories, Rondo and Pedro as brothers, how one chased the money and destroyed the other. X looked at the cash, then looked back at the room, realized that dirty money brought nothing but doom. Sirens in the distance, X knew he had to move, but something in his heart said, “Don’t become like them, too.” He grabbed the case, not knowing what the money would bring, walked into the night carrying somebody else’s sin. The city kept breathing, but X wasn’t the same, a million-dollar fortune with a dead man’s name. And somewhere in the darkness, another player knew—the money had survived… and now it belonged to X.