Night fell over the city, its dazzling lights like torches illuminating the bustling steel jungle.
Even at 2 a.m., the downtown area which is packed with skyscrapers and crowds remained vibrant with revelry and neon-lit extravagance.
However, the slums, home to the homeless and the undercss, painted a starkly different picture...
Dipidated old apartment buildings, wandering hippies and vagrants loitering on the streets... and if you ventured deeper, you'd find scantily cd streetwalkers striking suggestive poses, as well as gangs clustered in groups.
This was a pce drowning in drugs and crime, a dark corner untouched by the light of the w.
"Which one of you is Rasul?"
Sean, cd in a leather jacket, stepped into the slums and entered an aged apartment building with a distinct sense of decay.
The moment he pushed open the door, his nose wrinkled at the assault of foul odors... cigarettes, beer, and the pungent stench of marijuana and narcotics mingling into a nauseating cocktail.
The room buzzed with noise, everyone absorbed in their own activities; getting high, sleeping, pying video games... It was as if no one had noticed his entrance.
Sean had to raise his voice and repeat his question, "Which one of you is Rasul?"
"I'm Rasul. Can't you see my voluptuous curves?" A heavily made-up woman in revealing clothing stood up, bending slightly to tease the young boy who had just walked in.
Sean gnced at her, then at her garishly painted face... He was utterly unimpressed.
"I'm looking for Mr. Rasul. I have some questions." Sean crified.
"Questions? You wanna know which street your mama works on? Or did you get lost on your way home? Hahaha!"
Amid the jeers, a Bck man with dreadlocks stood up and eyed Sean with undisguised malice.
"Ah. So you're Rasul." Sean's eyes narrowed, "I just wanted to ask about Frank D'Amico. But now, you'll have to pay a small price for your rudeness..."
The boy's words triggered another round of ughter.
The burly men in the room rose to their feet and stared at him like wolves eyeing a lost mb.
"This ain't school kid. No teachers or mommies here to save you!" Rasul grabbed a knife from the table, brandishing it threateningly, already relishing the thought of this brat pissing himself in fear.
"One, two, three, four... Hmm. Six people, excluding the dy dressed like a streetwalker. Honestly, I don't like resorting to violence."
The moment the words left his mouth, one impatient thug lunged forward, eager to teach Sean a lesson.
The boy sidestepped, twisted the man's arm with lightning speed, and–
*CRACK!*
White bone pierced through skin as blood sprayed across the floor and sofa.
Ignoring the agonized screams, Sean moved with casual ease, effortlessly flooring every attacker who rushed him.
In under thirty seconds, only the terrified, scantily cd woman and Rasul remained standing.
The once-boastful man now trembled, his legs shaking uncontrolbly, knife clutched in a sweaty grip.
"I just wanted to ask a few questions. Why does it always have to be so complicated?" Sean advanced slowly.
Rasul retreated until his back hit the wall. Then, driven by sheer terror, he roared and sshed wildly with the knife!
*SNAP!*
A crisp sound echoed as Rasul's arm broke like a twig.
The demonic boy now held the knife with a smile, "I told you. A small price for your rudeness."
Without hesitation, Sean plunged the bde into Rasoul's thigh...
"Now for a little Q&A. Answer well, and I might call an ambunce before I leave."
...
Minutes ter, Sean got what he came for and exited via the fire escape...
But atop a building hundreds of meters away, someone had witnessed everything through a sniper scope.
"Dad, someone beat us to those guys!" A little girl in a purple wig excimed excitedly.
Damon, the heavily armed ex-cop, frowned... 'Has someone else really set their sights on Frank D'Amico?'
"Let's follow him. We'll see what he's up to." The middle-aged man, shouldering a Barrett sniper rifle, trailed Sean with his daughter in tow.
....
"F%CK! Do you know what time it is?!"
Frank D'Amico bellowed into the phone, furious at being woken in the dead of night.
<...Frank, it's bad! Rasul got arrested!>
His right-hand man delivered the night's disastrous report: multiple hideouts were raided, and the police station was now packed with Frank's key dealers...
"So all my men are locked up? And we lost a huge shipment? Am I suddenly the West Coast's biggest pushover?!" Frank roared.
No one had ever dared challenge him like this. As the region's top drug lord, even the police chief showed him respect.
"Find out who the hell did this! I want his head on my desk by morning!" He smashed the bedside phone.
The crime boss was seething... if this kept up, who would do business with him? Losing his supply chain would be catastrophic.
Without the drug trade's massive profits, how could he pay his army of enforcers? A crime boss might sound invincible, but loyalty was bought with money.
"You better pray I don't catch you, you little shit! I'll make you regret being born!" Frank poured himself a whiskey, staring out at the glittering skyline.
Rage gave way to cold calcution. This was just some rat hiding in the shadows. A hefty bounty would soon bring its head to his doorstep.
He downed the drink with a smirk...
Many had tried to kill him over the years. All ended as cement-filled corpses at the bottom of the river.
*BANG!* *BANG!* *BANG!*
Gunfire snapped Frank from his thoughts.
He grabbed the office phone, "Can't I get one goddamn quiet night?!"
<...I'm afraid not, Mr. D'Amico...>
A young voice ced with amusement replied.
<...I did say I'd pay you a visit. Don't worry, we'll meet soon...>
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Read ahead on my P@treon...
[email protected]/MayaMatengele01
