It was a spring afternoon in 1804 when the heavens adorned themselves in a breathtaking sapphire hue that reflected upon the dark clouds. The sunlight cascaded through the sky, scattering its radiance like beaming spotlights. A bluish tint floated in the cold air, indicating the approaching dusk.

     Amidst the vast grasslands, an imposing mansion stood, its size rivalling that of a stadium. It dominated the landscape, reaching towards the heavens, while a sea of lush green grass stretched as far as the eye could see. The pristine white facade of the mansion glistened under the sunlight, casting a luminous sheen. At the front, a grand porch awaited, its wooden entrance sturdy and still.

     A middle-aged man named Cal positions himself a yard away from the mansion, fixing his gaze on the entrance. His sunken eyes mirror the deep navy waves of the ocean, filled with contemplation. The contrast of his milk-white skin against his dark hair reflects the shadows of his thoughts as he gnashes his teeth. He clenches tightly in his right hand a loaded pistol, its barrel facing the ground.

     Behind Cal are seven men, all dressed in identical pitch-black suits and donning towering top hats. They grip rifles and muskets firmly in their hands, poised and ready. Their collective focus is directed towards the entrance, their weapons aimed with precision.

     Next to Cal stands his longtime minion, Nelson, who appears a decade younger than him. Nelson's eyes resemble roasted nuts, matching the colour of his short, curly hair. His pale skin emits a faint glow, partially concealed by his black coat, leaving his face maliciously furrowed.

     Silence reigns among the group, with no words uttered or even a breath escaping from their noses. Each of the nine men stands resolute, prepared for the imminent events, especially Cal, whose intense gaze remains fixed on the mansion's entrance. Cal's scowling face betrays his fierce determination as he remains alert during the tense interlude.

     The mansion's front door creaks open, revealing an alert family on the other side. The father and the mother carefully step onto the porch, followed by their four children. Albert, the father, possesses fiery hair that complements the dark brown hue of his eyes. His three children—William, Michelle, and the youngest—inherit most of his features. Meanwhile, Margaret, the mother, has ink-black hair and captivating emerald eyes, resembling her son, Andrew.

     Albert cautiously leads his family away from the porch, casting wary glances in every direction while the others trail behind him. Uncertainty hangs in the air, causing their hearts to race with loud, erratic beats. Suddenly, they freeze in their tracks, gasping at the sight of armed men standing on their lawn. Their feet remain rooted to the ground as they question if this encounter will seal their fateful demise.

Cal raised his pistol and aimed it directly at Albert's forehead. His loud, raspy voice echoed through the tense atmosphere as he clenched his teeth. "Podeshire!!" Cal yelled, his hand trembling.

     Flashes of light accompany the deafening gunshots that reverberate through the air. The relentless barrage of gunfire fills the surroundings, resembling a cacophony of booming fireworks. The ceaseless onslaught shows no signs of abating, even though some seek for the tumult to cease. The resounding shots echo, carrying their destructive force across the distance.