RIKERS ISLAND - MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON03:00 AMRikers Island prison is the asshole of New York City. A place where hope dies faster than a rat crushed under a guard's boot. The smell is a mixture of cheap disinfectant, the sweat of thousands of caged men, and stale cabbage soup.But tonight, in the Block D communal kitchen (the isolation block), there was a new aroma.The scent of garlic and... almonds?"La la la~ Cook, cook, cook~ Special soup for the naughty boys~"Julian "Joker" Thorne hummed cheerfully while stirring a giant pot of watery corn grits. He wore a slightly oversized white chef's uniform, complete with a hairnet covering his striking blonde hair. A thick fake mustache sat crookedly on his lip.In his apron pocket, a fake ID card read: JOE "SLOPPY" MILLER - KITCHEN STAFF."Hey, Joe! Hurry up!" barked a fat guard standing at the kitchen door. "The VIP prisoners in the Isolation Block are hungry. They're screaming for food."Julian turned, giving a wide, terrifying smil

THE ROOF OF THE BLACK DRAGON HEADQUARTERS AT 8:30 PMThe evening breeze in Brooklyn Harbor blew hard, bringing with it the scent of sea salt and gasoline. Down below, the city of New York glittered like a carpet of jewels spread on black velvet.On a flat warehouse roof, four cheap plastic chairs were arranged in a circle around an oil barrel that had become a table. On top of the barrel, there was a pile of (cold) pizza boxes, several bottles of cheap beer, and a small tart with a single burning candle whose flame was fighting against the wind."Blow, Giant! Before the flame dies in the sea breeze!" Julian exclaimed, patting Bruno's broad back.Bruno "The Wall" Ferro smiled shyly. His scarred face looked a little softer in the candlelight."I didn't expect you guys to remember," Bruno muttered. Her voice was deep, but there was a touch of emotion in it."How can you not remember? You've been reminding us every hour since yesterday," Isabella sneered, sitting in a folding chair holdin

"EL DIABLO" RESTAURANT QUEENS 02:00 AMThe Mexican restaurant was closed to the public, but the kitchen was still emitting smoke. The smell of grilled meat, sharp spices, cheap cigars and gunpowder filled the humid air.At the back table, under a painting of the Virgin Mary holding an AK47 rifle, Marco Rossi sat face to face with death.Isabella sat beside him, holding an empty suitcase with hands that were white from gripping too tightly. Behind them, Bruno and Julian stood at attention, surrounded by twenty *sicarios* (cartel hitmen) who stared at them with soulless black eyes.Across the table, a thin old man with tanned skin sat eating tacos. He wore a clean white shirt that was unbuttoned all the way to his chest, revealing a giant gold cross necklace.His name was El Santo. Representative of the Sinaloa Cartel on the East Coast."So," El Santo spoke quietly, wiping the corners of his lips with a cloth napkin. His Spanish accent is thick. "The Black Dragon is thirsty. The FBI fro

ST. JUDE'S ELITE ACADEMY - COUNSELING ROOM10:00 AMThe room smelled of wax crayons and lavender air freshener. The walls were painted in soothing pastel colors, filled with cheerful drawings made by first graders. There were pictures of smiling suns, houses with chimneys, and dogs running in the park.But in the hands of Dr. Aris, the school psychologist with thick glasses, there was one drawing that was not cheerful.Marco Rossi sat in a small chair intended for parents. His knees touched the desk. He felt like a giant trapped in a dollhouse. His black suit looked too formal, too dark, and too dangerous for this room."Mr. Rossi," Dr. Aris’s voice was soft, cautious. He looked nervous, perhaps because he knew who Marco was—or at least, the rumors about him. "Thank you for coming on such short notice.""What’s wrong with Sofia?" Marco asked directly. His voice was flat, but his hands gripped the armrests of the plastic chair until his knuckles turned white. "Is she sick? Did she get

VANDERBILT MANSION LIBRARY - 8:45 PMThe once quiet room, filled with expensive books, had now turned into a war zone.BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!The blasts from Marco’s shotgun echoed, each slug shattering everything in its path—oak cabinets, marble statues, and the Kevlar vests of the tactical team storming in."Move in! Target is behind the desk!" shouted the HRT (Hostage Rescue Team) commander.Three agents moved forward in tactical formation, ballistic shields in front.Marco hid behind a solid wood desk that was already riddled with holes. His breath was ragged. He was out of shotgun shells. He tossed the weapon aside and drew two Beretta pistols.[ENEMIES: 12 UNITS INSIDE THE ROOM.][HEALTH STATUS: 85% (SCRATCHES & BRUISES).][TIME REMAINING BEFORE TOTAL ENCIRCLEMENT: 60 SECONDS.]"Julian!" Marco shouted over the radio. "Where are the fireworks?!""Be patient, Boss! A rat bit through the wires! I'm reconnecting them manually!" Julian’s voice crackled through the roar of the wind on the