Rise of the Street King

Chapter 63 — Aftershock

The city woke with a taste of blood in its mouth.

By morning, every street corner hummed with whispers of the Vulture’s death. Vendors spoke of it behind lowered voices, kids reenacted it with sticks for guns, and drunks at the roadside bars swore they saw Jayden Cole pull the trigger with a smile.

In the slums, where fear had always worn a badge, the killing was more than news it was legend.

“Jayden gave us freedom,” an old woman told her neighbor, pounding yam in her clay bowl.

“Or he just gave us more death,” the neighbor muttered.

The voices carried, split between awe and terror. Some cheered his name, painting it on walls in rough white chalk. Others spat at the ground, muttering that he had cursed them all.

But in the precinct, the mood was different...

At Police Headquarters, the lieutenant’s uniform lay folded on a desk, his badge shining cold under the fluorescent light. His superior officers gathered in grim silence, the smoke from their cigarettes coiling like ghosts.

“This is beyond a gang killing,” one captain growled. “This is open war on the police.”

Another leaned back, eyes sharp. “Not war. A message. And the city heard it loud.”

A third slammed his fist on the desk. “Then we answer! Flood the slums, raid every corner, burn their nests to ash. Let them choke on their hero.”

But not all agreed. A younger officer spoke quietly, uneasily. “What if… what if this Jayden Cole has more backing than we think? The way he moved—it wasn’t reckless. It was… calculated. Almost like he knew the Council would watch.”

The room fell still. Internal Affairs had already sniffed out the rumor: someone high above was watching Jayden, perhaps even protecting him. Files began to circulate, half-redacted, naming names, pointing at shadows.

The machine had started moving. And Jayden’s name was on every page...

In the warehouse, Jayden sat alone on a cracked wooden chair. His crew celebrated outside, drinking cheap gin, the Burned Boy leading chants of “Jayden Cole! Jayden Cole!”

But inside, Jayden stared at the wall, silent. His gun lay on the table in front of him, the barrel still smelling faintly of cordite.

He remembered the Vulture’s eyes in that last moment shock, rage, and a glimmer of fear. Then nothing.

And now the world was louder because of it.

Malikah entered, arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe. “You should be out there. They worship you now.”

Jayden didn’t look up. “Worship won’t save them when the police come crashing down.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You did what had to be done. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

He finally raised his gaze to hers. “Did I? Or did I just paint a target on every back in this block?”

Malikah stepped closer, voice firm. “You killed a parasite. People cheered. That matters. They needed someone to break the fear.”

Jayden wanted to believe her. But another image haunted him two children, standing in a doorway, clutching their mother’s dress as officers told her the news.

He had never met them, never seen their faces, but the thought of them pierced deeper than any bullet...

Later that night, Jayden wandered the slums alone. No guards, no Malikah, no crew. Just him and the narrow alleys where the air stank of smoke and fried oil.

He stopped outside a crumbling apartment block. The lights inside flickered. He could hear the muffled sobs of a woman, the sharp wail of children. He didn’t need to ask whose family lived there.

He stood in the shadows, fists clenched, unable to move closer. His chest tightened with every cry that broke through the thin walls.

The Burned Boy appeared at his side, face half-lit by a streetlamp. “You’re watching them,” he said quietly.

Jayden didn’t answer.

The boy smirked, a bitter edge in it. “He deserved worse. You gave him too clean a death. His family crying now? That’s nothing compared to what he made us live through.”

Jayden finally spoke, voice low, rough. “Maybe. But those kids… they’ll grow up with my name as their nightmare.”

The Burned Boy shrugged. “So what? Every king has enemies. You taught us that.” He looked up at Jayden with something close to hunger. “Don’t go soft now. You’re bigger than one family’s tears.”

Jayden stared at him, unsettled. The boy was right in a way but the eagerness in his tone chilled him. Was this what he was creating? Not just loyalty, but monsters who worshipped blood more than justice?

He said nothing. Just turned and walked away, leaving the cries echoing in his ears...

By dawn, the police had begun their crackdown. Patrol vans stormed the slums, boots pounding down alleys, rifles pointed at every doorway. Men were dragged from beds, beaten in front of their families. Women screamed as houses were turned upside down, belongings tossed into the street.

Jayden’s name was spat with every blow.

“They want him? Then let them come for him,” Malikah hissed, watching from a rooftop as the chaos spread.

Jayden stood beside her, jaw clenched. He saw the fear return to faces, the same fear he thought he had broken. Only now it wore a different mask uniforms, helmets, rifles.

This wasn’t freedom. This was fire spreading faster than he could stamp it out.

“Every move we make,” he muttered, “they answer louder. If we strike again, they’ll turn the whole city against us.”

Malikah looked at him, eyes fierce. “And if we don’t, they’ll crush us anyway. The only choice you have, Jayden, is whether you die standing or kneeling.”

Her words stung, because he knew she was right...

Days passed, the city boiling. Posters of the fallen lieutenant were plastered across precinct walls, calling him a martyr. Journalists spun tales of a monster named Jayden Cole, a criminal terrorizing “honest officers.”

But in the shadows, the story was different. People whispered that Jayden had done what no one else dared. Vendors who had once hidden their money now sent quiet tributes. The gambling front grew busier, more coins clinking into Jayden’s coffers.

Fear and admiration, wound together.

Jayden walked the line between them, feeling it tighten with every step...

Then, one evening, Malikah burst into the warehouse, her face sharp.

“You need to see this.”

She led him to a balcony overlooking the main street. Down below, Amara stood in the glow of a flickering streetlight. She wasn’t alone.

A man in a dark suit faced her, polished shoes glinting even in the grime of the slums. He carried himself like someone who didn’t belong here too calm, too clean, too deliberate.

Amara’s posture was tense, her voice low but urgent as she spoke to him. The man only nodded slowly, slipping something into her hand. A folded envelope.

Jayden’s pulse quickened.

“Who the hell is he?” Malikah whispered.

Jayden’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. The way Amara glanced around, the way she tucked the envelope deep into her coat it wasn’t chance.

It was conspiracy.

The suited man turned and melted into the night, leaving Amara standing alone under the flickering light.

Jayden’s chest tightened. The woman who had once saved his life was now speaking with strangers in the dark.

The aftershock wasn’t over. It had only begun...

From the balcony, Jayden watches Amara slip the envelope away. The suited man vanishes into the alleys. For the first time since pulling the trigger, Jayden feels not power, but unease creeping into his bones.