2025-11-17 07:15:56The night smelled of rain and gasoline — thick, uneasy air that clung to the skin like sweat before a storm. Harold stood by the riverfront warehouse, checking his watch beneath the flicker of a dying streetlight. Diego paced behind him, lighting a cigarette he didn’t really want.
“Something feels off,” Harold murmured.
Diego blew out smoke and tried to sound confident. “You always say that before a job.”
“This isn’t a job,” Harold said. “It’s a deal.”
Their mentor, Salgado — an old, scary enforcer from the port district — had arranged a meeting with a supplier from across the water. It was supposed to be the crew’s first real entrance into the big leagues, the kind of trade that could transform Los Reyes del Barrio from a local name into a citywide power. But the details changed too quickly. The place, the time, the people. Harold’s instincts twisted with unease.
Still, Diego was set on it. He wanted respect, and Salgado promised it.
The others waited inside the warehouse — Luis, Cruz, Toro — their nervous chatter echoing off the concrete walls. Crates were stacked high like makeshift towers, casting long shadows under the dim industrial lights. Rain began to fall slow at first, tapping gently against the tin roof.
“Maybe he just got a better offer on location,” Diego said. “You think everyone’s playing chess.”
“Everyone is playing chess,” Harold said quietly. “You just don’t know which board you’re on.”
Diego rolled his eyes. “You worry too much.”
Harold looked at him, steady and serious. “And you don’t worry enough.”
------------
When Salgado arrived, his face wore the calm of a man who had survived too many betrayals to show them anymore.
“Everything’s clean,” he said, waving a gloved hand toward the truck being backed into the loading bay. “Just pick up, hand off the cash, and we’re done. No drama tonight.”
Harold’s gaze lingered on the man’s right hand — a subtle tremor. Sweat beaded along his temple despite the chill.
“How much time we got?” Harold asked.
“Five minutes,” Salgado said. “Cops don’t care about the docks. They’re too busy uptown.”
Harold nodded but didn’t believe him.
Diego clapped their mentor on the shoulder. “We’ll make this smooth. Trust me.”
Salgado forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
---------------
Inside the warehouse, the tension was thick enough to taste. Diesel fumes mixed with wet air, and every echo sounded like a footstep. Harold positioned the crew carefully — two near the entrance, one by the truck, himself near the back exit. He adjusted his radio, whispering check-ins.
“Luis, cover the north door.”
“Got it.”
“Toro, stay near the crates. No movement until my signal.”
“Understood.”
Diego was already speaking to the courier — a slick man in a leather jacket with a gold tooth and the kind of smile that could hide anything. The duffel bag of money sat on a crate between them like an offering.
“So,” Diego said casually, “you sure this is pure?”
“Best in the port,” the courier replied. “But I don’t think you’re the one I should be talking to.”
Diego frowned. “And who should you be talking to, then?”
Before the man could answer, Harold noticed something — a faint red glint dancing on the edge of a crate. It wasn’t a reflection. It was a laser.
His chest went cold.
“Diego,” he whispered into the radio, “get down.”
“What—”
“Get down!”
The first gunshot tore through the night like thunder. Glass shattered, screams followed, and the warehouse erupted in chaos. Police floodlights blasted through the windows, white and blinding.
“Police! Down on the ground!”
Bullets cracked through metal and wood. Luis fell, clutching his shoulder. Toro ducked behind a crate, returning fire. Diego dove for cover, dragging the money bag with him. Harold sprinted toward him, heart pounding, mind racing.
“Ambush!” he yelled. “Salgado sold us out!”
He saw it now — the old man retreating toward a side door, slipping into the light of the patrol cars.
“Bastard!” Diego shouted, raising his gun. Harold yanked his arm down.
“Don’t! You’ll waste time!”
“We can still fight our way out!”
“No,” Harold said, scanning the exits. “We won’t make it. Not all of us.”
----------------
The sound of boots and shouting grew louder. Tear gas hissed through the air.
Harold pulled Diego into the shadows near the back wall, eyes darting across the room. He spotted the propane tanks stacked near the generator. Dangerous. Perfect.
“You’re not thinking—” Diego started.
“I’m always thinking,” Harold said. “That’s the problem.”
He grabbed a metal pipe, wedged it under one of the tanks, and began opening valves. The smell of gas filled the air instantly. Diego’s eyes widened.
“Harold, no—”
“Listen to me,” Harold said, grabbing his brother’s collar. His voice was low, steady, final. “When I say run, you run and don’t look back. You hear me?”
“No! We both go!”
“There’s no both,” Harold snapped. “You’re the face, Diego. You keep the name alive.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
Harold pressed a small black object into his hand — the detonator, crude and wired to the generator. “If I don’t hit it, you do.”
Tears mixed with the sweat on Diego’s face. “Don’t make me—”
“Go!” Harold shouted, pushing him hard toward the exit.
----------------
Then came the storm.
The first explosion wasn’t massive, but it was enough. The propane caught fire, the tanks went off in a chain reaction that tore through the warehouse. The shockwave flung Diego to the ground outside, ears ringing, dust choking his throat.
He turned just in time to see the inferno blooming orange and gold swallowing the night, debris raining down like burning ash. The roof collapsed in a roar that drowned out everything else.
“Harold!” he screamed, voice raw.
There was no answer — only the sound of flames and collapsing steel.
He tried to run back in, but Luis and Cruz grabbed him, dragging him away.
“He’s gone, Diego!” Luis shouted. “He’s gone!”
Diego fought them, thrashing like a wild animal. “No! He can’t be!”
They pulled him down behind a dumpster as police swarmed the docks. Helicopter lights cut through the smoke, sirens wailed, and the air smelled of death and betrayal.
The city watched in silence as the warehouse burned, as if swallowing another nameless secret.
-------------
Hours later, the rain finally came — heavy, relentless, washing away blood and ash. Diego sat on the curb near the river, soaked to the bone, staring at the smoke that still rose from the ruins.
Luis stood beside him, head bowed. “He saved us, man.”
Diego didn’t answer.
In his palm, he still clutched the small black detonator Harold had given him. The red button was slick with rainwater and blood.
He pressed it once, though it was long disconnected, as if hoping for a miracle. Nothing happened.
“Harold…” he whispered. “You said we’d build something that couldn’t burn.”
Lightning cracked in the distance. The river carried pieces of the wreckage downstream — fragments of crates, burned notebooks, and the ashes of a kingdom that had barely begun.
By dawn, the papers called it a gang war gone wrong. No names. No faces. Just smoke and numbers.
But in the alleys, they whispered differently — that Los Reyes del Barrio had been betrayed, that one of the brothers had died saving the other, and that the younger one would rise again with vengeance in his eyes.
And from that night onward, the city began to fear a ghost.
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Chapter 10 - Diego’s Vow
The rain eased at last, but the streets of the south side still glistened with the memory of it - puddles in cracked concrete, oil swirling like bruised rainbows. The smell of smoke lingered in the corners, faint but stubborn, as though the city itself refused to forget what had burned.Diego Flinch walked alone through the old alley near the canal, his hands deep in the pockets of a worn leather jacket that used to belong to Harold. The collar was frayed, the smell faintly of ash and iron. Every step echoed against the wet pavement.He stopped beneath the overpass, where their old tag - Los Reyes del Barrio - still stained the concrete in faded red paint. Someone had drawn a crown over it since. Maybe Luis. Maybe some kid who didn’t even know the story behind the name.Diego stared at it for a long time, jaw tight.“You’d hate this, Harold,” he said quietly. “You’d say the crown’s a target.”The city murmured in response - the sound of passing trains, distant laughter, the hiss of ra
Chapter 9 - The Vanishing
The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. It fell in heavy, gray sheets, turning the back alleys into streams of mud and oil. The city felt quieter now, as though the fire had burned not just a warehouse, but a piece of its own heart.At the edge of Saint Rose Cemetery, under a crooked tree that dripped water like tears, Diego Flinch stood in a soaked black coat, staring at a small wooden box half-buried in the mud. The coffin was too small for truth. It was empty - everyone there knew it.Only four people stood with him: Luis, Cruz, an old priest whose eyes were too tired to ask questions, and Salgado’s replacement from the port, a man named Ramos who smoked through the service. The priest’s voice trembled through the downpour.“From dust we came, and to dust we shall return…”Diego wasn’t listening. His thoughts wandered back to the warehouse, to the blast, to Harold’s voice shouting Go! right before the light swallowed everything. He hadn’t seen any body. He hadn’t found a trace. But
Chapter 8 – The Betrayal
The night smelled of rain and gasoline — thick, uneasy air that clung to the skin like sweat before a storm. Harold stood by the riverfront warehouse, checking his watch beneath the flicker of a dying streetlight. Diego paced behind him, lighting a cigarette he didn’t really want.“Something feels off,” Harold murmured.Diego blew out smoke and tried to sound confident. “You always say that before a job.”“This isn’t a job,” Harold said. “It’s a deal.”Their mentor, Salgado — an old, scary enforcer from the port district — had arranged a meeting with a supplier from across the water. It was supposed to be the crew’s first real entrance into the big leagues, the kind of trade that could transform Los Reyes del Barrio from a local name into a citywide power. But the details changed too quickly. The place, the time, the people. Harold’s instincts twisted with unease.Still, Diego was set on it. He wanted respect, and Salgado promised it.The others waited inside the warehouse — Luis, Cru
Chapter 7 – Rise of the Boy Kings
The city was never quiet, not even at night. It breathed through the cracks of every broken streetlight and hummed under the sound of sirens far away. For Harold and Diego Flinch, that hum became the rhythm of survival.It began small — a series of daring robberies, no one expected from two teenagers. They didn’t hit banks or armored trucks. They hit the people who thought no one would dare — dealers too greedy to share, corrupt cops who skimmed extra from their own, low-level gangsters drunk enough to brag about their cash.Harold planned every move with surgical precision. Diego executed them with fire. Together, they created something the streets hadn’t seen before: discipline.--------One humid night, Diego crouched behind a stack of crates near the old freight yard, his breath fogging in the moonlight. Across from him, Harold knelt with a map spread over a crate, tracing lines with the tip of a pocketknife.“Three guards,” Harold said quietly. “Two by the gate, one in the office
Chapter 6 – Harold’s Notebook
The rain had stopped three nights ago, but the streets still smelled of rust and wet stone. The kind of smell that lingered like memory. Harold walked alone under a thin gray dawn, his hands tucked deep in his coat pockets, his eyes scanning the corners where no one else bothered to look.He moved quietly, as if the city might wake up and ask him what he was doing out so early. He wasn’t heading anywhere, at least that’s what it looked like—but his steps always led him to the same place: the old municipal library at the edge of the industrial district.The building was a ruin of its former self. Windows shattered, ivy crawling over its walls, and a door that never quite closed. It had become a shelter for stray dogs and drifters, but Harold had claimed a corner room upstairs as his sanctuary.When he pushed the door open, dust rose like smoke in the light from a cracked window. The silence was heavy, almost sacred. He liked that. Here, the world didn’t shout. It whispered.He crossed
Chapter 5 – First Blood
The city had a cruel rhythm that didn’t stop for pain. Somewhere in the south blocks, under a flickering streetlamp, Diego Flinch learned that lesson with his face pressed against wet concrete, his ribs cracking under a boot.“Where’s our cut, kid?” growled one of the extortionists—a thick-necked man with yellow teeth and eyes that glittered like broken glass.Diego spat blood, refusing to speak. His defiance made them laugh, a harsh chorus echoing down the empty alley. They beat him until the laughter turned bored, and then they left, kicking over a trash bin as if to punctuate the insult.He lay there for a while, tasting iron and dust, watching the orange glow of a distant window where someone else was safe, warm, and far from this kind of night.When Harold found him, dawn had started to bleed through the clouds.“Jesus, Diego…” Harold knelt, touching his brother’s bruised jaw. “Who did this?”“Doesn’t matter,” Diego muttered, half-conscious. “They just… wanted to remind me we don
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