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Home / Urban / LEWIS GORDON: RETURN OF THE FORGOTTEN HEIR / AT GUNPOINT, COURAGE TAKES COMMAND
AT GUNPOINT, COURAGE TAKES COMMAND
Author: Lucky B. Excelsior
last update2025-12-15 23:12:48

Then—the senior officer boldly moved closer.

He stepped forward deliberately, boots crunching over grit and broken metal, rifle raised and steady. The red dot from his sight hovered inches from the man’s forehead—then dipped slightly, centering on the gun pressed to Maria’s head.

Around them, the dock lay in ruin.

Twisted sheets of corrugated metal littered the ground like fallen armor. Crates lay shattered open, their contents spilling into pools of water and oil that reflected the firelight in warped and trembling patterns.

Smoke rose in thick, choking columns, rolling upward from burning debris and drifting between stacked shipping containers that towered over the scene like dark, skeletal walls.

Farther down the dock, flames licked greedily at a collapsed storage unit, casting long, jagged shadows that danced across the concrete.

Beyond that—past the last row of containers—the sea churned black and restless. The damaged ferry sat half-lit in the distance, flames cli
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  • PURSUIT OF JUSTICE AMID CHAOS

    Minutes later, another Tahoe appeared, rolling silently onto Kings Highway, headlights cutting through the smoky orange glow of the burning tires. Two junior officers sat inside, scanning the scene with high-tech devices, their hands steady on advanced weaponry. The senior officer gestured sharply. “Spread out. Eyes everywhere.” Lewis and Maria moved carefully, keeping low behind the first Tahoe, their bodies taut and alert. The handcuffed man was dragged forcefully across the pavement, his knees scraping lightly as two junior officers guided him into the new vehicle. Lewis’s gaze flicked across the road. “Check every angle. He’s not gone yet.” The junior officers swept the area with thermal scanners and motion detectors, devices humming faintly, but nothing registered. Still, their fingers stayed near triggers, eyes scanning the shadows with unbroken intensity. Lewis climbed into the new Tahoe, with Maria right behind him. The handcuffed man was shoved into the b

  • THE TRUTH UNDER FIRE

    The senior officer quickly snapped toward him. “Quiet!” Minutes later the Tahoe rolled away from Newkirk Avenue, tires humming against the asphalt as the flashing red and blue lights faded into the distance behind them. Streetlamps streaked past the windows in long, amber blurs. Inside the vehicle, the air felt compressed—tight with unspoken words, restrained anger, and the faint scent of smoke still clinging to their clothes. Lewis sat rigid, knees spread, elbows resting on his thighs. His jaw was locked so tight it ached. Across from him, the handcuffed man trembled, shoulders hunched inward, eyes darting between faces as though every shadow might betray him. “…Samuel… he—” He repeated. “Quiet!” The senior officer snapped again—his voice cut cleanly through the vehicle, calm and absolute. “No more talking until we reach the precinct.” The man flinched as if struck, lips snapping shut instantly. Lewis’s head turned sharply. “What?” His voice stayed low and contr

  • THE MASTERMIND REVEALED

    His eyes narrowed, body tensed, as the man remained rigid, silence stretching like steel wire between them. Behind him, Maria pressed close, her hand lingering on his shoulder—steadying, grounding him—but he didn’t waver. His chest rose and fell sharply, every breath a controlled storm. The junior officers moved swiftly, their movements precise and professional. One knelt beside the man, snapping handcuffs over his wrists with mechanical efficiency. Another secured the gun at his side, sliding it into a secure pouch. The man’s colleague—shot in the leg—finally collapsed fully. Blood pooled beneath him, mixing with oil and seawater runoff. The officers stepped back, rifles trained outward, ensuring no further movement. Medics swarmed in, working efficiently, murmuring reassurances while dragging the wounded man toward the waiting ambulance. The harsh smell of smoke, charred wood, and burning metal hung thick in the air, stinging Lewis’s nostrils. He stepped closer, fury c

  • AT GUNPOINT, COURAGE TAKES COMMAND

    Then—the senior officer boldly moved closer. He stepped forward deliberately, boots crunching over grit and broken metal, rifle raised and steady. The red dot from his sight hovered inches from the man’s forehead—then dipped slightly, centering on the gun pressed to Maria’s head. Around them, the dock lay in ruin. Twisted sheets of corrugated metal littered the ground like fallen armor. Crates lay shattered open, their contents spilling into pools of water and oil that reflected the firelight in warped and trembling patterns. Smoke rose in thick, choking columns, rolling upward from burning debris and drifting between stacked shipping containers that towered over the scene like dark, skeletal walls. Farther down the dock, flames licked greedily at a collapsed storage unit, casting long, jagged shadows that danced across the concrete. Beyond that—past the last row of containers—the sea churned black and restless. The damaged ferry sat half-lit in the distance, flames cli

  • AT GUNPOINT, TIME STANDS STILL

    Lewis and the officers quickly rounded the corner, their boots slapping against the steel-streaked concrete. Ahead, through the dim amber of dock lights, the three men carrying Maria were already far down the terminal, their movements sharp and practiced, almost inhuman. Lewis’s pulse hammered. How had they gotten this far so fast? “Impossible speed,” muttered the junior officer, ducking instinctively as a stray sheet of corrugated metal rattled in the wind. “They’re professionals,” the senior replied, scanning the lane. “But they’ll run out of cover soon. Keep tight.” Lewis’s heart sank at the sight: Maria held by the largest of the men, her body pressed against his chest, arms pinned. The other two flanked him, firing sporadically toward Lewis and the officers. The wounded man, leg bleeding but relentless, let off sharp, precise bursts, forcing Lewis to dive behind a stack of crates. “Move left! Cover that flank!” The senior officer barked, dropping low, rolling behind

  • FURY IN THE MAZE

    The four officers advanced as a single organism—measured steps, rifles up, shoulders squared. Their optics flickered with layered data: thermal overlays, motion vectors, and depth mapping rendered in faint green lines across their visors. Steel loomed on both sides. A narrow service lane opened where the shadows thickened. “That’s their breaking point,” the senior officer said calmly. “Stack left. Slow.” Boots rolled heel to toe. Barrels cleared corners before bodies followed. One officer dropped to a knee, scanning low gaps beneath the containers. Another swept high, tracking crane arms and catwalks. The faint hum of electronics blended with the distant slap of water against pylons, the port alive even in darkness. “Thermals are messy,” the kneeling officer muttered. “Too much residual heat off the steel.” “Then trust your eyes,” the senior replied. “And your spacing.” Lewis was already ahead of them. He pushed past the edge of their formation, jaw clenched, gun

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