2025-02-07 00:36:15"Hold on, Lizzy. I see it! We’re gonna make it!” Walker’s voice wavered, but he forced confidence into it. His legs trembled beneath Elizabeth’s weight, his breath ragged.
The light ahead belonged to an old hospital—if it could still be called that. The building loomed in the darkness, its walls cracked and worn, windows shattered like forgotten memories. Peeling paint curled from the surface like dead skin. But Walker didn’t care. Help was inside. It had to be. He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing against the rusted barbed wire fence surrounding the hospital. His strength was gone, his arms numb, but he held on—held onto her. “Help! Somebody, please!” he screamed, his voice raw. Silence. Rain dripped from the eaves, the only sound in the empty night. Then— A faint groan. Walker’s heart lurched. He almost dropped Elizabeth in shock. It was the first sound she’d made in over an hour. “Lizzy?” His grip tightened. “Did you hear me? We’re here, baby! Stay with me!” No response. He gritted his teeth, forced his legs to keep moving. Step after agonizing step, he reached the hospital doors. His knees buckled as he lowered Elizabeth onto the cracked concrete, his own body threatening to give out. She was cold. Too cold. “Stay awake, Lizzy,” he whispered, his hands brushing her clammy cheek. “You’re not going anywhere. You hear me?” Summoning the last of his strength, he dragged himself up and banged on the heavy wooden doors. “Open up! Please!” His fists pounded against the rotting wood. “She’s dying!” The sound echoed into the abyss. For a moment, nothing. Then— Shuffling. Slow, deliberate. Walker held his breath. The door creaked open just a sliver. A pair of wary eyes stared out. “What’s going on here?” a gruff voice demanded. Walker didn’t wait. “She’s hurt! Please, help her!” The door opened wider, revealing an elderly man in a white coat. His face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes sharp despite his age. One look at Elizabeth and his expression changed. “Bring her inside. Now!” Walker didn’t hesitate. With a final burst of strength, he lifted Elizabeth into his arms and staggered over the threshold. The moment the doors shut behind him, something in the air shifted. The dim light buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the peeling walls. Walker barely had the strength to take it all in. He collapsed onto a nearby chair, his chest heaving. But then—something caught his eye. Beyond the counter, past the flickering bulbs and stained floors, the treatment rooms were… wrong. Through the glass doors, he saw machines—machines that did not belong here. A CT scanner, sleek and modern, its bright screen displaying an image of a human skull. An ECG machine, blinking softly, reading the heartbeat of someone unseen. A surgical robot, its mechanical arms moving with eerie precision. And a ventilator, humming rhythmically, as if breathing for a patient who wasn’t supposed to be here. Walker’s blood turned cold. How? He turned to the nurse at the counter, his voice tight. “How does this hospital have… that?” He gestured toward the high-tech equipment. The nurse hesitated. Just for a second. Then her smile returned—too quickly. Too forced. “We get donations from… wealthy benefactors,” she said, too rehearsed. Walker’s stomach clenched. “Donations?” he echoed. “For machines worth millions?” She shrugged. Didn’t meet his eyes. “We’re lucky, I guess.” Lucky. Walker glanced back at Elizabeth, lying pale and motionless on the stretcher. Something was wrong here. And they were already inside.
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Meet me at the Cave
Walker stood by the cracked window, his silhouette half swallowed in the shadows of the room. The light outside was still, but his insides churned like a distant storm.“Svet…” he began, voice low but firm, “…I don’t want to involve you in what you don’t fully understand.”Svet leaned forward on the edge of the couch, hands clasped tightly. His expression had shifted from curious to cautious.Walker stepped away, slowly, almost like retreating. His boots made faint creaks on the wooden floor.“I’ve pulled others into this before,” Walker continued, eyes not meeting Svet’s, “and now… they blame me for everything.”His voice cracked slightly on that last word, as if regret was a bruise he hadn’t stopped pressing.He was about to say more—“involving” was halfway out of his mouth—when his phone buzzed in his palm. A sharp vibration.No name. Just a blank number.Walker stared at it for a beat too long.Then he answered.“Hello,” he said, slowly, cautiously.A silence. Then a voice. Famili
"I'll stay till you figure it out"
The clock ticked past midnight.Walker hadn’t moved far from the window. The lights inside were off. Only the pale glow of the fridge lit the room, casting long shadows across the kitchen floor.Outside, the night sat heavy. The air was thick. Quiet.Then headlights cut through the silence — low, cautious beams. A single car.Walker flinched. His fingers curled tighter around the pistol in his hand. Safety off. Just in case.The sedan crept to a stop across the street. Engine idled. No one stepped out immediately.He stood to the side of the window, one eye just barely peeking through the blinds.Svet.It looked like him. Slouched behind the wheel, shoulders hunched like always. His signature gray hoodie up over his buzz-cut head. No sudden movements.Walker watched for another full minute.Nothing. No second car. No shadows moving behind.Still, he waited.Another thirty seconds.Then he crossed the room silently, reached the door, and unlocked it — click. He kept it half-open, letti
Svet Arrives New York
Walker’s burner phone vibrated against the kitchen counter — a deep buzz that rattled the empty glass beside it.He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. His body stiffened, just slightly, like prey sensing a predator from miles away.The screen flashed: Unknown Caller.He hesitated. His thumb hovered. Then, a quiet sigh.He answered."Walker," a voice said — sharp, urgent, trembling at the edges. "Hello? Am I speaking to Walker?"Walker’s heartbeat skipped. The voice was familiar. Too familiar.He cleared his throat, dropped his tone, and added a rasp. “No. Who’s asking?”The line held its breath."You bastards," the voice snapped, fury laced beneath the words. "You kidnapped Walker, didn’t you? I swear to God — I’ll make sure all of you suffer. I’ll make your lives a living hell."Walker said nothing. He let the silence hang, his jaw clenched, eyes locked on the fridge door’s faint reflection.The voice cracked again, this time with disappointment and confusion. “If you're not Walker, then
Clash
Walker wasn’t in a rush. He moved with the ease of someone who’d done this before.The sun was soft against the hospital roof as he stepped out of the black cab across the street, a brown paper bag in one hand and his eyes doing what they always did—scanning.He’d parked two blocks away and walked the rest. Not out of habit—out of necessity.Private hospital. Minimal foot traffic. Neutral colors. A blue logo painted on a cream wall that looked like it hadn’t seen graffiti in twenty years. Classy. Quiet. Too quiet.He adjusted the paper bag in his grip, the warm sandwich scent from the deli still rising out. Not that he planned to eat. He just needed the visit to look normal.That was the game—make things look normal. Even when they weren’t.Before he crossed the street, he slowed. His left eye twitched.There. The guy across the florist van. Pretending to be on a phone call.Another one—bent at a vending machine too long.Something in the air shifted. Not loud. Just a scent. But Walke
Walker is found again
Dax stood still—frozen, like a man watching his own shadow stretch under a dying sun.His breath dragged out longer than usual. A pulse ticked under his jaw. Slowly, he lifted his wrist and glanced at the time—a black-faced Rolex Sea-Dweller, thick-strapped, gifted by Montoya himself during a silent night of blood and loyalty.The hands on the watch ticked without mercy.Time… slipping.Only twenty-two hours remained out of the thirty-six he’d been given. If Walker wasn’t caught before the clock bled out, Dax wouldn’t just lose his rank—he’d lose his head.And the Stone-Faced Man?That man didn’t make empty threats.Already, Dax had dispatched his crew across the boroughs—Brooklyn to Bronx, from the belly of Queens to the upper glass towers of Manhattan. His men were hunting, and their phones stayed hot. Walker or Riven—he didn’t care which one showed up first. One would lead to the other.He slid his tongue across dry lips and tried to swallow, but the air tasted metallic.The gangs
Left To Die
The warehouse reeked of silence.A heavy, moldy silence—thick like spoiled milk left too long in summer heat.In the center of the dim, rust-stained space stood a single metal pole, its base corroded into the cracked concrete floor.Wrapped around it, bound like an offering to some unseen god, was a girl.Anita.Her frame—once lively and laced in neon lights—now slumped. Her wrists bore deep red rings where the thin, silver chains had bitten into her flesh. Her ankles? Worse. Skin peeled in flaky strips. Swollen. Bruised. One foot twitched every few minutes, not from strength—no, that was long gone—but from involuntary nerves fighting hunger’s grip.Her black leather miniskirt was soiled. Her crop top clung to her skin like a second, sweat-drenched hide.She hadn’t eaten in days.Her hair, once slick and shining under the club's violet strobes, now hung in tangled mats, clumped with sweat, dust, and the dried scent of old urine.And the stench...Even rats stayed away.Three days ago,
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