Gabriel stood alone inside the abandoned house, the wall had cracked open like a wound that never healed, and the floorboard groaned under his boot with every step he took. Water dripped from the broken roof above him, falling in cold drops that echoed through the empty rooms like a clock counting down years he could never get back.His eyes moved slowly around the room. Every crack, every stain on the wall pulled a memory from the deepest part of his mind, memories he had buried under Fifteen years of blood and war. He reached into his coat and pulled out the only photograph he still had, the edges were worn soft from years of his thumb rubbing over it in the dark.He stared at it. His mother, holding his five year old brother against her chest, himself, ten years old, standing beside her, smiling like nothing in the world could ever touch them.His father had left before Gabriel could even remember his face, Some said he was dead, some said he ran off and built a new life somewhere

The Foster mansion stood like a monument to power, an estate built in the most exclusive district in the city, its gates guarded, Tonight, the whole place glowed gold with light and music, dressed up for a celebration that had been planned for months.Fluorescent lights hummed softly above the grand ballroom. A live orchestra played soft classical music from the corner, the notes drifting over dozens of guests in formal wear, champagne glasses in hands, laughter rising and falling politely.Tonight was Ezra Foster's sixtieth birthday.This wasn't just any gathering, this was the room where the city's real power lived: top businessmen, senators, judges, police commissioners, and media moguls, all of them dressed, all of them here because being seen at Ezra Foster's party meant something.In the center of it all stood Ezra himself, dressed in a tailored black suit, a smile of satisfaction curling his lips. Beside him, his wife Nancy wore a deep red gown that clung to her like a second

outside the neighborhood bar, the air smelled of beer, fried food, and cheap tobacco.At a round table in the corner sat Archer Thatcher, a retired police officer with a loud voice was sitting with four of his long-time drinking buddies, slamming his glass onto the table as he roared with laughter."I'm telling you boys, the force was different back in my days!" Archer boasted, leaning back in his chair with a proud grin. "No soft rules, no HR departments breathing down your neck. You handled business on the street, and that was that!"One of his friends leaned in. "It must be nice seeing your old partner sitting at the top now, Archer.""Donald?" Archer smirked, swirling his drink. "Donald Woods was always smart, he played the game right. Now he’s the Inspector General of Police, controlling the whole damn city. And guess who helped him build that path, Me. If I wanted a favor today, one phone call to Donald and any problem disappears."The men laughed, raising their glasses to toas

Silas’s wrist remained trapped in Gabriel’s grip. The man gritted his teeth, his face turning red as he tried to pull free. "Let go of me, you arrogant bastard!"Gabriel didn't answer, he simply twisted his wrist half an inch.CRACK.Silas shrieked as his forearm bones snapped like dry twigs. Before the man could hit the floor, Gabriel stepped sideways, never turning toward Julian, and drove a backward foot straight into the chest of the second thug. The heavy man flew ten feet through the air, crashing through a stack of wooden crates.The third and fourth thugs lunged with iron bars. Gabriel caught the first bar mid-swing, ripped it out of the thug's hands, and drove the blunt end into the man's knee joint. As the third man collapsed screaming, Gabriel spun the bar around his back, striking the fourth thug across the side of his neck.In less than a minute, all four men lay ruined on the concrete floor.Silas, clutching his shattered arm, scrambled backward toward the wall. With h

The morning headlines across the city were dominated by a single story: the sudden, catastrophic destruction of the Foster estate.To the public, official police spokespersons maintained that a massive industrial gas leak was the sole cause of the explosion. The city council issued standard statements of condolence, and financial analysts speculated on how the market would react to the loss of Ezra Foster's vast corporate empire.But inside the heavily fortified walls of City Police Headquarters, Inspector General Donald Woods knew the official story was a lie.Woods stood at his desk, staring down at three separate intelligence reports filed over the past twelve hours. His collar felt suffocatingly tight, and sweat trickled down his neck despite the air-conditioned cold of his top-floor office.The first report detailed the total demolition of the Foster mansion, a concrete structure built to withstand high-caliber explosive charges, reduced to ash in minutes.The second report came