The Price Of Hatred

Chapter 19 - The Ruins of Saturday

The Ruins of Saturday

​The heavy iron gates of the courtyard clicked shut behind them. James and Code 202 continued down the damp, stone-lined corridor of the armory, their strides perfectly synchronized. Before leaving the compound entirely, they had stripped away their previous tactical gear to don the official high-tier armor of the Pitch operatives, identical to the attire in the image.

​Both men were now draped in commanding, heavy black leather trench coats that fell past their knees, complete with padded, armored shoulders and sharp vertical zippers spanning the chest. Beneath the coats, they wore form-fitting, textured black combat shirts zipped tightly to the throat, paired with matching black tactical trousers reinforced with utility straps, holsters, and heavy-duty knee armor. Their hands were encased in thick, paneled leather gloves, and their footsteps were rendered deadly and silent by heavy-duty black leather combat boots.

​As they reached the underground garage, 202 halted. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, metallic cylindrical device with a single, glowing red button embedded on its crown. He held it out to James.

​“Take this. It is a magnetic crystal resistance dampener,” 202 explained, his voice low and mechanical. “The moment Tidder attempts to use her kinetic distortion or displacement power on you, press this red button. Just press it once, and her anomalies will fail to register against your field.”

​James took the small cylinder, his gloved fingers wrapping around the cold steel. He turned it over, staring at the glowing button. “Okay. Is that all?”

​“No,” 202 said, his expression completely blank behind his dark brow. He walked toward a sleek, unmarked black sedan parked under the dim fluorescent lights. “Now… where will she be?”

​James slipped the device into his tactical vest, his jaw tightening as old, painful memories clawed at the back of his mind. “Only one place. There is a location she always returns to every Saturday. Home.”

​“Then we will go there,” 202 said simply.

​He threw open the driver’s side door and climbed in. James walked to the passenger side, his massive frame shifting the weight of the sedan as he slid inside. Within a moment, the engine hummed to a quiet, lethal purr, and the black car smoothly accelerated out of the complex, climbing into the wet city streets.

​The drive was agonizingly long. Inside the cabin of the sedan, a suffocating silence settled over the two men. Neither spoke for miles, the only sound being the rhythmic thud of the windshield wipers cutting through the pouring rain. James stared blankly at the passing gray blur of the highway, his mind turning over the cryptic warnings Father had given him. He felt like a pawn being pushed across a board, but the fire burning in his gut for Todd’s survival kept him moving.

​Finally, James broke the silence. He didn't look at 202. “I have one question to ask you.”

​“You are free to ask,” 202 replied smoothly, his eyes fixed rigidly on the asphalt ahead, his gloved hands steady on the steering wheel.

​“Can I claim the seat?” James asked, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling vibration. “If I wanted to… could I take the throne of the Pitch?”

​202 didn't flinch. “It is not my job to answer that.”

​“Why?” James snapped, turning his head to glare at the operative's profile.

​“Because I do not know,” 202 said flatly.

​James leaned back into his leather seat, his eyes narrowing. “What if I possessed all five of the stones? If I had that kind of power, I would be able to claim it by force.”

​“Why would you ever want to claim the seat, James?” 202 asked, a rare hint of curiosity breaking through his clinical tone.

​“Because it is filled with everything I’ve ever wanted,” James said, his chest rising as a deep, aching greed for control surfaced in his voice. “The power to stop running. The power to keep everyone away.”

​“The five stones cannot get you to the seat,” 202 countered, his voice sounding ancient, echoing the strict, unyielding doctrine of the syndicate. “Only life does.”

​James frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

​“One must die before another can rise,” 202 said softly.

​James stared at him, the weight of the phrase sinking into his skull like a lead weight. One must die before another can rise. He thought of his mother, he thought of Father, and he thought of the brothers he never knew he had. “One must die before another rises, huh? That’s the absolute truth of your world.”

​“Do you truly believe that throne is filled with everything you ever wanted?” 202 asked.

​Before James could answer, the familiar layout of his old neighborhood materialized through the rain. The pain of his childhood rushed back into his chest, making it hard to breathe. “Keep your eyes on the road,” James commanded sharply, his voice tight with emotion. “Turn right here. We're here.”

​202 smoothly pulled the steering wheel to the right, guiding the sedan into a beautiful, hauntingly silent residential street lined with overgrown hedges and weathered fences. He brought the car to a stop directly in front of a small, faded two-story apartment building. It was the exact structure where James and Tidder had grown up—the place where their innocence had been brutally slaughtered.

​James and 202 stepped out of the vehicle, their heavy boots hitting the wet pavement in unison. They walked up the concrete walkway toward the weathered wooden front door. James reached his gloved hand out, his fingers hovering an inch over the brass doorknob, preparing to force his way in.

​He never got the chance.

​Suddenly, a violent, deafening shockwave of pressurized air blasted outward from inside the apartment. The front door didn't just open—it shattered into a thousand jagged wooden splinters that flew across the yard. The sheer, explosive force of the kinetic strike hit James and 202 squarely in the chest, lifting their heavy bodies completely off their feet.

​They were thrown backward a staggering ten feet through the air. James slammed violently against the side of a parked car on the opposite side of the street, the metal buckling underneath his back with a loud, metallic crunch.

​He tumbled onto the asphalt, groaning heavily as pain flared through his spine. “Haaa… fuck!” James wheezed, shaking his head to clear the static from his vision. He looked over at 202, who had rolled out of a similar impact nearby. “How the hell did she do that from inside the house?”

​202 scrambled to one knee, his black trench coat stained with rainwater and dirt. “She possesses the stone of Everything, James. Now… press the red button on the device I gave you!”

​James frozen, his heart dropping into his stomach. He slapped his hands against the chest pockets of his tactical jacket, finding nothing but empty nylon. “Haaa… fuck. I left it back there in the armory. I thought I wouldn't be needing it against my own sister.”

​202’s head snapped toward him, his eyes widening in rare, genuine shock. “You did what?” He let out a sharp, frustrated breath. “Then you are as good as dead. Just stay behind me and keep your mouth shut. I will hold her as long as I can. You must use that window of time to get the crystal and the key away from her body. Make sure you retrieve the key first!”

​“How does the key even look?” James demanded, forcing himself up onto his feet.

​“You will know a key the moment you see her,” 202 muttered, his stance shifting into a defensive combat guard as his eyes locked onto the shattered entryway of the apartment.

​Through the rising dust and smoke of the ruptured doorway, a figure stepped out onto the porch. It was Tidder.

​She looked terrifyingly elite, draped in the exact outfit from the image 105112.jpg—her tight crop top, sleek high-waisted leather pants, and towering platform combat boots giving her an imposing, almost supernatural presence. Draped over her shoulders was the open motorcycle jacket, and hanging prominently from her neck, glowing with a soft, dangerous violet light, was a heavy silver chain bearing a large crystal shard and a fractured, intricate key template.

​“James… or should I say, brother,” Tidder called out, her voice cutting through the rain with an icy, mocking clarity. “You actually led them straight to me.” She took a slow step down the porch stairs, her platform boots clicking against the wet concrete. “I heard a rumor you were discharged dead from the prison five hours ago.”

​“Well, I'm alive, Tidder,” James said, stepping forward out into the middle of the street. 202 moved with him, the two men advancing five paces until they stood roughly six feet away from her. James looked at her face, his heart aching at how cold she had become. “You’ve changed a lot.”

​Tidder’s eyes narrowed into twin points of venomous hatred. “I am truly sad that you are still breathing.”

​James hardened his expression, burying his grief beneath a layer of stone. “To be honest, I still don't see what makes you so damn special.”

​“Are you sure about that?” Tidder whispered, a dark, dangerous hum vibrating in the air around her.

​“Yes,” James said, his voice straining with a desperate plea he tried to hide. “But I still don't want to hurt you, Tidder. Just give me the crystal stone you're wearing around your neck and the half-key. Just hand them over and come with me quietly.”

​Tidder let out a sharp, bitter laugh, her leather-clad shoulders shaking. “You know, you sound completely pathetic right now. Like a broken radio. It sounds like someone is pulling your strings and controlling your every word.” She tilted her head, her sharp eyes boring into his. “Don’t tell me it’s The Pitch.”

​“You know me better than that, Tidder! Nobody controls me!” James roared, his voice cracking with pure, desperate emotion. “I just need to use that crystal and the key to exchange for Todd’s life! I have less than twenty-seven hours left or they are going to dissolve him in acid!”

​“So you actually care about Todd,” Tidder said, her expression softening into an expression of deep pity. “But I know exactly who phrases things like that. An exchange for something. It’s Roman, isn't it? He wants you to fetch this key and the crystal so he can deliver them directly to Gage.”

​James’s breath caught. “So you already know about Gage?”

​“And I know about Mother,” Tidder added, her voice dropping into a cruel, agonizing whisper. “Oh… what, were you expecting me to say I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark?”

​The betrayal ripped through James’s chest like a blade. Tears of anger welled in his eyes. “How long… how long have you known the truth?”

​“I joined the Pitch when I was nine years old, James. And I found out the truth about our bloodline when I was seventeen,” Tidder shouted over the sound of the rain. “So tell me… do you honestly think a man like Father deserves to keep breathing after what he did to our mother?”

​“He will receive his judgment when the time comes!” James screamed back, his fists trembling violently. “But this… what you’re doing right now, it’s going to make things hard for you.”

​Tidder looked at his defensive stance and shook her head. “You still have that pathetic, blind rage inside you. You’re never going to change, James.”

​“Because I was born with it!” James roared, his vision turning completely red.

​“No! You weren't born with it—you were cursed with it by Dad!” Tidder screamed, her voice cracking with a lifetime of shared trauma. “By the very blood he left splattered across your face the night he died!”