Bloodline Protocol

CHAPTER 2 — THE DISAPPEARANCE

Rain hammered the city for three straight days. The storm never stopped, like Raventon itself was trying to wash something off its skin.

Derick moved through the alleys, small, cold, invisible. Every shadow felt like it was watching him. Every car that slowed made his heart spike.

He hadn’t spoken in two days. Not since the hospital. Not since the smoke. He stopped under a broken neon sign that buzzed weakly.

The red light painted him in blood. He clutched the book under his jacket like it was a heartbeat. From the far end of the street came a low voice. “You lost, kid?”

Derick froze. A man stood beneath a flickering lamp, gray coat, cigarette glowing in the dark. “I said,” the man repeated, “you lost?”

Derick took a cautious step back. “No.”

“You sure? You look like someone the city’s already chewed up.”

The man stepped closer. He had that quiet confidence, the kind that made you believe he’d seen worse things than the rain. “You hungry?”

Derick didn’t answer, but his stomach did, a loud growl. The man smiled. “Thought so. Come on. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Derick hesitated, then followed, keeping distance. They turned down a narrow passage and entered an old diner that looked abandoned from the outside.

Inside, it smelled of coffee and rust. A single woman sat behind the counter, eyes sharp, wiping glasses that didn’t need wiping. “Another stray?” she asked.

“Yeah,” the man said, dropping into a booth. “Give him something hot.”

Derick sat opposite him, silent. “You got a name, kid?” the man asked.

Derick shook his head. “Not anymore.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious. I like that. I’m Hale.” He leaned forward. “You from around here?”

“Used to be.”

“What happened?”

Derick looked out the rain-streaked window. “My family’s gone.”

Hale didn’t press. He just nodded slowly. “Sorry to hear that. You got anyone left?”

Derick’s hand went to his jacket. The book felt heavy. “No.”

The woman brought soup and bread. Derick devoured it like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. When he finished, Hale said softly, “If you’re running from something, you picked the wrong city to hide in.”

Derick looked up. “Why?”

“Because Raventon doesn’t forget faces. Especially young ones that look scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

Hale smiled faintly. “Good. Then maybe you’ll survive.”

Later, in the diner’s back room, Hale lit another cigarette and watched the boy through the cracked glass window. The woman leaned against the counter. “You think he’s one of them?” she asked quietly.

“Too young. But the eyes…” Hale exhaled smoke. “Those are eyes that saw something they shouldn’t have.”

“You’re getting soft.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Nah. Just cautious. City’s shifting. Everyone’s running from someone.”

Derick spent the night in the diner storeroom, wrapped in an old blanket. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the gunshot again.

He pulled out the black book. The faint words were still there, hidden under the surface of the page. He whispered to himself, “Find the mark of the serpent.”

He flipped page after page, columns of names, coded numbers, strange symbols. He didn’t understand any of it. But one name kept repeating: V.E.I.L.

He traced it with his finger, whispering, “Veil…”

The door creaked. Hale leaned in. “You still awake?”

Derick hid the book under the blanket. “Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“Didn’t know I was allowed to.”

“You can. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you here.”

Derick’s voice was sharp. “Everyone says that before they do.”

Hale smirked. “Fair point.” He tossed him a small piece of paper. “If you ever need work, go to this address. Warehouse district. Ask for Red. Tell him Hale sent you.”

“What kind of work?”

“The kind that keeps you alive.”

Two years later.

A black car pulled into the alley behind the same diner. The door opened, and a tall teenager stepped out. Leather jacket, sharp eyes, steady movements.

The woman behind the counter almost didn’t recognize him. “You grew.”

Derick, no longer a child, gave a faint smile. “Yeah.”

“Hale said you wouldn’t make it six months.”

“He said that to keep me sharp.”

She studied him. “What’s your name now?”

“Derrick Cole.”

“Nice cover. You keeping your nose clean?”

“Clean enough.” He slipped a folded note across the counter. “Need this delivered.”

She read it, frowned. “You sure about this?”

Derrick’s eyes were cold. “It’s time.”

The note reached a man named Red, deep in the warehouse district. When he opened it, there was only one sentence: “The boy’s back. He’s hunting Veil.”

That night, Derrick returned to the small apartment he rented above a pawnshop. Maps covered his walls, string connecting names, companies, and crime families. In the center of it all: V.E.I.L. Industries.

He picked up the black book from his desk. The pages were now filled with his own handwritten notes. Someone knocked at the door. He reached for the knife on the table. “Who is it?”

“Delivery,” came a female voice.

He opened it slightly, just enough to see her face. She was about his age, sharp eyes, hair tied back in a braid. “I didn’t order anything.”

She smirked. “I know. But you left this behind at the diner.”

She held up a small USB drive. Derrick frowned. “That’s not mine.”

“Sure it is. Found it inside your soup bowl.”

He hesitated, then took it. “Who are you?”

“Maya.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Hale said you’d need help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Then you won’t mind if I see what’s on that drive.”

Before he could respond, she pushed past him and plugged it into his laptop. The screen flickered. Lines of encrypted data scrolled fast.

Then a logo appeared: a serpent coiled around a circle. Derick froze. “The mark…”

Maya glanced at him. “You’ve seen this before?”

He swallowed. “It’s connected to the people who killed my family.”

She looked impressed. “Then congratulations. You just poked the biggest hornet’s nest in Raventon.”

For the first time in years, Derrick felt something close to hope, and fear. The data showed bank transactions, offshore accounts, and three initials repeating: V.E.I.L.

He turned to Maya. “Can you trace this?”

“Maybe. But whoever they are, they know we opened it. See?” She pointed, small blinking text in the corner: Trace active.

Derrick’s pulse spiked. “Shut it down!”

“I’m trying!”

The laptop screen went black. A message appeared: You shouldn’t have looked, Derrick.

Maya’s eyes widened. “They know your name.”

He slammed the laptop shut. “Get out of here.”

“Not without the drive.”

“Now!”

Maya grabbed her jacket, but as she reached the door, someone pounded from the other side. Derrick froze. “How fast can they track a trace?”

“Minutes… not seconds.”

The door splintered. Two men burst in, both armed. Maya ducked. Derrick kicked the table over, sending the laptop crashing. “Hands where I can see them!” one shouted.

Derrick didn’t move. His eyes flicked to the window. Rain pounded outside, three stories down. Maya hissed, “Don’t”

He grabbed her wrist. “Trust me.”

They jumped.

Glass shattered, wind roared, then impact, metal and water as they crashed onto a dumpster lid and rolled to the wet street below. Maya coughed, breathless. “You’re insane!”

“Yeah,” Derrick said, pulling her up. “But we’re alive.”

Bullets struck the pavement behind them. They ran into the maze of alleys, rain washing the blood off their hands.

They didn’t stop until they reached the river docks. The city lights glowed across the water, cold and distant. Maya leaned against a crate, panting. “You planned that?”

“Not exactly.”

She laughed weakly. “You’ve got a death wish.”

Derrick looked down at the book in his hands, the serpent mark now faintly glowing across the cover. “No,” he said softly. “I’ve got a promise.”

She glanced at him. “Who are you, really?”

He looked up, rain dripping down his face. “Someone they should’ve killed properly.”

Somewhere across the city, in a glass tower, a man in a suit watched security footage of the alley jump. He smirked. “The Haines boy’s alive.”

A voice answered from the shadows: “Then the past isn’t buried after all.”