Keep Scratching My Car, I'll Keep Leveling Up

I watched the young guard walk away and noted down his badge number.

The next day, the property management office posted a public notice on the bulletin board. The heading was printed in large red letters that read, "Notice of Mandatory Removal of Residents with Misconduct Records."

Their stated reason was that I had seriously violated community regulations and damaged the complex's reputation. They demanded that I move out within 30 days.

The notice was stamped with the property management's official seal. Attached beside it was a sheet filled with more than ten residents' signatures. Most of those signatures had been collected by Dexter, who went door-to-door pressuring residents into signing.

I went to a nearby real estate agency to check the market. The moment I walked in, the agent looked me up and down with a suggestive expression. "Chantelle, it's you. Someone's made an offer on your unit, which is 40% lower than the market price."

"Why has the price dropped so much?" I asked.

The agent lowered his voice. "Word has already spread throughout the area that a woman of bad character lives in your building and brings trouble.

"Chantelle, you should sell it while you still can. If you wait any longer, you won't even get this price."

When I went back, the chubby elementary school boy from next door was holding a bottle of ink and splashing it against my security door.

I seized his wrist. "Who taught you to do this?"

The boy burst into tears. The door across the hall flew open, and his mother rushed out, crossing her arms as she blocked the hallway. "What are you doing? Let go of my son! He's just a child and doesn't know any better. You're an adult. What are you picking on a kid for?"

I pointed at the ink-covered door. "He vandalized my property."

The woman spat on the ground. "What property? A filthy woman like you living here is what's corrupting my child. Throwing ink at your door was just the right thing to do. You had it coming!"

She yanked her son away and slammed the door shut.

…

At 11:00 pm that night, I walked home through the underground parking lot after working late at the office. The lights were dim and flickering. The moment I turned the corner, three security guards in casual clothes blocked the passageway, reeking of alcohol.

Dexter grabbed my wrist and shoved me against the concrete wall. His breath hit my face, thick with alcohol and cigarette smoke. "Go ahead and run. Why aren't you running? If you stayed with me, you wouldn't have to suffer so much. Wouldn't that be better than what you're going through now?"

Another guard turned on his phone's flashlight. The harsh beam made it hard for me to keep my eyes open. He laughed. "Don't rush. I'm going to record a video to keep as a memory and let everyone in the residents' group chat see how wild this bitch is in bed."

I pulled out my phone and tried to record them. Dexter smacked it out of my hand, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head against the wall.

I gritted my teeth and drove my knee hard into his groin. He let out a muffled grunt and doubled over.

Just as I tried to break free, the second man shoved me hard from behind. I lost my balance and crashed heavily to the ground. My elbows and the corner of my forehead scraped across the concrete surface, and blood seeped out.

Dexter spat beside me. "You ungrateful bitch! If you dare call the cops again, it won't just be a shove next time."

All three of them swaggered off deeper into the parking lot.

I sat on the concrete floor as blood from my forehead trickled down my cheek and dripped onto my white shirt.

The pinhole camera hidden in my shirt's buttonhole had already captured everything in 4K resolution and transmitted it in real time to an encrypted group chat. The group chat was named "Execution Team".

The latest message in the group came from someone labeled "Legal Director".

"The video has been secured as evidence. The threshold for criminal charges has been met. Ms. Stanton, are we ready to make our move?"

I typed on the screen with my bloody fingers. "Tomorrow."