Several hours later, Don sat quietly in the backseat of a plain, self-driving car as it moved through the city's streets. The interior was minimalistic, offering little distraction from his thoughts.
Above him, a screen played the evening news. The anchor, a mature woman with a tight fitting suit, delivered the headlines.
"Breaking news: A gas tanker explosion occurred earlier today within the southern tunnel on Route 9. Authorities report no fatalities, thanks to the quick response of ergency services. The area has been secured, and cleanup efforts are underway. Motorists are advised to seek alternative routes as the tunnel will remain closed for the foreseeable future."
Don's gaze remained fixed on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere. 'No fatalities?' he wondered silently. This was the second ti the dia had downplayed or outright concealed the truth about his actions.
'Are the police covering for the Hell Riders? Or are they simply trying to mask their own failures?' The possibilities turned over in his mind, but without concrete evidence, all he could do was speculate.
After a few monts, the screen flickered, static briefly obscuring the image. Then, the feed switched to a live video of Gary seated comfortably in a luxurious helicopter, the cityscape visible through the windows behind him. He wore a tailored suit, his blading grey hair neatly combed back.
"Evening, sir," Gary greeted with a polite nod. "The young madam just inford that you're pleased with the suit."
Don offered a slight smile. "Good evening, Gary. Yes, the suit is... impressive."
Gary chuckled lightly. "Given what I'm hearing on the news, I take it you're getting accustod to its capabilities quite well."
Don inclined his head modestly. "Thank you. Initially, I planned to just unsettle them a bit—perhaps sabotage the truck they were transporting. But the circumstances were... favorable for a more decisive action."
"Well, I would expect nothing less from the man the young madam holds in such high regard," Gary replied, his eyes glinting with a hint of admiration.
Despite the complint, Don chose to remain humble. "I couldn't have achieved this without the invaluable information and resources you both have provided. Truly, I expect nothing less from a capable duo like yourselves."
Gary laughed softly. "You flatter , sir. But it's a pleasure to assist."
Don leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "Now that we've disrupted one of the gang's key routes and eliminated so of their mbers, they should be scrambling."
"Indeed," Gary agreed, adjusting his cufflinks. "Their ranks should be in chaos at this very mont, but that can only work to our advantage. How would you like to proceed with the plan?"
"The overall strategy remains the sa," Don stated firmly. "We can't allow them ti to regroup. With the initial strike done, we need to maintain the pressure."
Gary nodded thoughtfully. "Understood. And when do you intend to make your next move? I'll need to coordinate a few arrangents."
Don glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur past as he answered. "Tonight."
"Very well," Gary replied with a satisfied smile. "I'll ensure everything is in place. Best of luck, sir."
———
anwhile, in the heart of downtown Santos City, Marcus sprinted through the dimly lit streets, his face still that of sheer terror.
Sweat dripped from his brow, and his breaths ca in ragged gasps. To anyone watching, he looked like a madman fleeing invisible demons.
He ran past rundown stores with flickering signs and cheap bars that spilled drunkards onto the sidewalks. A woman leaned against a lamppost, the glow of her cigarette illuminating her tired eyes as she watched him rush by without a glance.
His destination lood ahead at the corner of 5th Street—a notorious spot known to all who dared to tread these parts. Deadly Damsels.
Even before he reached it, revving engines and blaring music filled the air. Motorcycles lined the curbs, alongside muscle cars and hot rods gleaming under neon lights. The only proper establishnt in this area was this infamous strip club.
A colossal neon sign dominated the front, depicting the sexy silhouette of a woman entwined around a pole, the club's na flashing boldly beside it.
The building itself covered three adjacent structures, each one filled with its own set of debauchery. Nearby buildings bore the marks of the sa ownership—grimy windows and faded paint, yet bustling with activity.
The scene outside was nothing short of chaos. Gang mbers clad in leather jackets and adorned with tattoos loitered around, bottles in hand. Won, so dressed in provocative attire, others in the gang's colors, mingled freely.
A girl with fiery red hair laughed as she danced atop the hood of a car, while a group of n cheered her on. While nearby, two n grappled, their fight drawing a small crowd that placed bets and shouted encouragent.
"Get him Ricky!!"
"Go for the Knees Randy!!"
"Loser takes it up the ass!!"
"…."
Smoke from cigarettes and other substances hung heavy in the air. A couple leaned against a wall, lost in their own world as they aggressively locked lips and dry humped each other, while another man slumped on the sidewalk, an empty bottle rolling away from his outstretched hand.
And on the hood of a nearby black car, a trio huddled together, passing around a small packet and taking turns snorting its contents.
Amidst all this, Marcus's frantic dash went largely unnoticed. He dodged a group of won who barely gave him a second glance and sidestepped a man who stumbled into his path. His eyes darted around wildly, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting the shadows themselves to give chase.
As he neared the club's entrance, a towering figure stepped into his path. The bouncer was nearly seven feet tall, his skin a gleaming silver tal that reflected the neon lights. He wore a fitted black shirt stretched over his muscular fra and dark sunglasses that hid his eyes.
"Hold up there," the bouncer said casually, raising a massive hand to halt Marcus's progress.
Marcus practically skidded to a stop, nearly colliding with the tallic giant. The bouncer removed his sunglasses, revealing eyes that mirrored his steel-like exterior. A look of confusion crossed his face as he recognized the man before him.
"Marcus? What the hell's got into you?" he asked, his deep voice showing concern.
Gasping for air, Marcus struggled to form words. "T-Back... you gotta help ," he managed between breaths. "It... it might still be following ."
T-Back raised a tallic eyebrow. "What are you on about? Did you take sothing?" He leaned in slightly, sniffing the air around Marcus. "Look, I respect your crew, but you know the rules. Can't let you in if you're tripped out on drugs. If the bosses see you like this, it'll stir up trouble for your guys."
Marcus shook his head vehently, eyes wide with fear. "No, you don't understand! They're all dead! It killed them all!"
T-Back crossed his arms, the tal of his skin catching the light. "Wait a minute," he said slowly. "Shouldn't you be out on a run? I rember Cole ntioning sothing about it earlier." He squinted at Marcus, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Don't tell they ditched you because you were high on so crap."
"I'm not high!" Marcus shouted, his voice cracking. "Sothing attacked us! It was like a shadow—no, a demon! It killed everyone!"
People nearby began to take notice, casting curious glances in their direction. A few snickered, assuming Marcus was just another junkie losing his mind.
T-Back sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, let's get you sowhere to cool off. Maybe get you so water or—"
Before he could finish, Marcus lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around T-Back's legs. "Please! You have to believe !" he pleaded, his voice desperate. He clung to the bouncer like a drowning man.
"Hey!" T-Back barked, trying to shake him off. "Get off man!"
Marcus's eyes darted around wildly, fixating on the shadows cast by the club's garish lights. As a group of gang mbers approached the entrance, their shadows stretched ominously along the ground.
Marcus recoiled from seeing this, pressing his face against T-Back's knees. "It's here! The shadows—they're moving!"
T-Back's patience wore thin. He placed a firm hand on Marcus's shoulder, his grip unyielding. "Listen, man. You're making a scene. Stand up and get a grip."
"They're all dead," Marcus whispered hoarsely, tears streaming down his face. "It told to warn everyone. You have to let tell Ash and Victor—they need to know!"
At the ntion of so gang leaders' nas, T-Back's expression shifted. He glanced around, noticing the growing attention from the crowd. "Fine," he said gruffly. "But you need to calm down first."
He pried Marcus off his legs and steadied him upright. Marcus swayed slightly, his legs barely supporting him. T-Back then eyed him critically. "Can you walk?"
Marcus nodded weakly, though his eyes were unfocused. "I think so."
"Good. Let's get inside and sort this out. For your sake, I hope what you're saying is true."
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