2025-05-02 15:28:33Inside, the air was thick and musty. The smell of rust clung to everything. He moved quietly through the narrow halls until he found a stash of jewels. Ahead, he watched as henchmen placed a gold bar into a secret compartment.
He ducked behind a stack of crates, heart racing, sweat dripping down his back. The men didn’t leave.
More mafia members entered. One of them stood out—tall, sharp in an expensive suit, a luxury watch glinting on his wrist. He walked like he owned the world. Nearly 6’7”.
Dane’s breath caught.
That had to be him—the Butcher Boss.
The air changed as the boss stepped into the room where the gold bar was hidden. Moments later, a man’s voice screamed:
“Please! Forgive me! I didn’t mean to betray you!”
Bang.
A gunshot rang out. The screaming stopped.
Dane’s mind raced.
I need to get out. Forget the gold. I need to leave. I need to live.
He turned to escape, but now there were more men outside the ship, guarding the exits.
Panic surged through him.
No way out.
He darted across the room, eyes scanning frantically. Then he spotted an empty barrel and dove in, heart thudding against his chest.
He held his breath, praying no one heard him.
Because if they did—he was dead.
As he hid in the barrel, Dane’s heart pounded wildly. Slowly, he lifted the lid to peek outside—but then froze. It seemed like the men had already walked away.
He waited, counting the seconds in his head. Twenty minutes passed.
Finally, he climbed out, glancing around cautiously. Seeing no one nearby, he took a hesitant step forward.
But it was a trap.
The Mafia boss butcher had already figured out someone was hiding.
Dane felt a cold hand touch his back.
Before he could react, a powerful fist slammed into his face, knocking him out.
When he woke up, he was tied to a chair in a dimly lit room that reeked of blood and rot. The air was thick, heavy with something foul. He looked down—no injuries yet.
Suddenly, a voice spoke from the shadows.
“You’re awake, huh? Good. Now it’s time for torture.”
The voice was cold. Unfeeling.
His eyes gleamed with ruthless ambition.
“You’re going to tell me what you were doing on my ship, near my cargo. Are you a spy? Who sent you?” the Mafia boss butcher demanded.
Dane trembled, his whole body shaking with fear. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a stammer.
SMACK!
A heavy slap crashed across his face. His cheek split open, blood trickling down.
He had never been so terrified in his life. The Butchara Mafia—he knew exactly who they were. Everyone did. They were the most feared criminal organization in the country.
“Oh? So you’re not going to talk?” Butcher sneered. “Fine. You’ll experience real pain first.”
He turned to his henchmen.
“Tie him tighter. Flog him.”
The beating began.
The whip lashed against Dane’s skin again and again.
“HELP! SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP ME!” he screamed.
Butcher only laughed.
“You idiot. Who do you think is going to hear you?”
Blood ran down Dane’s back. His vision blurred. His body shook violently.
“Ready to talk now?” butcher asked.
“Yes! Yes! I’ll talk! Please, forgive me! Spare me!” Dane cried.
“Then talk.”
“I… I overheard two men outside the bakery. They said something about gold bars being loaded onto this ship. I—I just thought… if I stole one, I could escape this life. That’s all. That’s the truth. Please, spare me…”
Butcher narrowed his eyes.
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Footage
They rode hard until the city thinned out and concrete gave way to a broad, empty expanse — a forgotten landing strip on the outskirts where weeds pushed through cracked tarmac and the wind had space to carry the smell of oil and old smoke. John had started the morning on his own bike but had hopped onto Dane’s when traffic choked a side street; now the two of them killed their engines and let the silence settle around the place like dust.It was the sort of site that smelled of other people’s secrets: stale cigarettes, spilled beer, a trace of gasoline. A handful of rusting shipping containers leaned like sentries against the horizon. Near one cluster of crates, a small group lounged around a barrel, smoking and passing a bottle. Their easy posture gave nothing away at first glance, but John slowed the bike and scanned faces with the flat attention of a man who’d spent years reading danger like weather.“Stay close,” John said under his breath. He pushed his helmet back and stretched
Dusk
Dane went back to his room and locked the door behind him, the little click sounding far too loud in the quiet of the morning. He moved with a practiced economy born of pain and habit — the injured learn to save energy for what matters. He fished his key from the pocket, pulled on a clean shirt and jeans, then knelt by the bed to retrieve the small canvas bag he kept hidden beneath the mattress.From its depths he drew a pistol, cold and familiar in his hand. He worked the slide with one motion, checking the chamber, then loaded a fresh magazine with steady fingers. The motions were ritual now; each click and snap a reminder that the world could change in an instant. He paused, looked at the stitches along his side, at the bandage wrapped around his jaw, and swallowed. He tacked the magazine home and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants, the weight both comfort and burden.As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the memory hit him — his bike. He’d left it near the Coin Fl
New Partner
The following day broke quietly. Pale light crept in through the blinds, washing over Dane’s battered body as he stirred awake. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his breath shallow. Every muscle ached. Every scar felt like it had its own heartbeat. The events of the night before clung to him like a second skin.He forced himself up, his feet heavy against the cold floor. The mirror above the sink reflected a stranger back at him — his face still swollen, a cut running along his jaw, his nose bent but starting to heal. He let out a low groan and stripped off his shirt, revealing bruises like dark fingerprints along his ribs.In the shower, the steam rose quickly, curling around him. He grabbed a bar of soap, lathering it between his hands until the foam slid down his arms. As it touched the deep purple of his bruises, pain shot through him, sharp and electric.“Ahh—” Dane hissed, pressing a hand to his side. “That’s… that’s a lot of pain.” His voice echoed off the tile
Dawn Briefing
They moved fast after the call ended, like a wrong chord finally resolved. Butcher’s final words — “Send him back in the car. And don’t decide that with the coin” — had landed heavy, and the Coin Flipper’s hands trembled just enough when he touched Dane’s cracked phone and dropped it to the floor. He picked it up, turned it over in his palm, and shoved it back into Dane’s pocket. The crack spidered wider where the screen had taken a beating, but the phone still held a promise: connection.The Coin Flipper sat back down as if settling into an old fear. His face was a slow study. This man Butcher… I know who he is. I know how terrifying he is, Dane imagined him thinking. He remembered something he’d never quite forgiven. But this is not the right time to strike. Should I toss the coin? No. If I do, I cannot take it back. If the coin commands blood, Butcher may come after me. That would be bad. The hesitation changed him; the others in the hall noticed it.“Call the medic,” the Coin Flip
Between Two Devils
Dane’s heart raced. The room felt smaller now, as if the walls were inching closer with every breath. He could see the men’s fingers tightening around their guns. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck, but he forced himself to sit still, his expression neutral. Is this why they’re threatening me? he wondered. I’m not safe here. Not one bit.He reached slowly into his pocket. “The boss said he wanted to chat with…” he began, his voice steady despite the thudding in his chest. “I’ll chat with the CoinFlipper. That’s why he sent me here.”His fingers brushed cold glass. When he pulled the phone out, he blinked—its screen was spider-webbed with cracks, but still functional.“Hey,” CoinFlipper snapped, his coin clinking softly in his palm. “What are you doing bringing out your phone?”“My boss wanted to speak with you,” Dane said. “I’ll speak with you. Do you have any objections?”CoinFlipper tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Is it Butcher?” His lips curled in a thin smile. “If it’s him,
The Switch
The hall’s mood shifted so fast it made Dane’s head swim. One moment it had been all taut menace and quiet like drawn wire; the next, a ripple of laughter rolled through the men and loosened the shoulders that had been carved from stone. Dane blinked, trying to parse the sudden change. He watched faces soften, mouths part for jokes, a fork clink on a plate — the same crowd that had been seconds ago ready to pull triggers now guffawed at something that only they seemed to understand.“Why is this place so weird?” Dane muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone. The gravel in his voice hung in the air like an aftertaste. He watched the Coin Flipper, who stood at the center of it all with the bored look of a ringmaster. The man’s coin spun between his fingers, bright and small and absurdly ordinary for the way it governed people’s lives.The Coin Flipper caught Dane’s confused stare and smiled, a thin, practiced curl. “Simple,” he said, voice low and theatrical so even the
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