2025-02-07 00:47:33He turned on his heels and walked out, keeping his pace steady. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
But outside, his hands shook. His mind reeled. They had erased Elizabeth. He waited outside for an hour, pacing near the hospital entrance. His mind raced with possibilities. They had seen him. That much was certain. If he stormed back in, they would stop him before he even got close. No, he had to be careful. He took a deep breath and walked back inside. The air smelled sterile—too clean, as if it were covering something rotten. Walker’s pulse thundered in his ears as he crept through the hallway, his steps calculated, his shoulders hunched to blend into the background. He kept his face down, pretending to study his shoes, but his eyes flicked up now and then, scanning the nurses behind the counter. Their chatter continued, oblivious to him—or so he hoped. He moved with precision, waiting for the perfect moment. The counter was lined with stacks of folders and a glowing monitor. He stole a glance at the screen, but the angle was too sharp to see anything useful. No sudden movements. No missteps. He had to reach the female ward unnoticed. With a deep breath, Walker slid past the counter and into the dimly lit corridor. The air felt heavier with each step, the oppressive silence amplifying the sound of his own breathing. The ward was just ahead—so close, yet it felt like miles away. His fingers curled into fists as he reached for the curtain. He hesitated. Memories of Elizabeth lying there the last time flooded his mind. Her serene face, her faint but steady breathing—it had given him hope. She’s there, he told himself, clinging desperately to the thought. His hand trembled as he pulled the curtain back, the metallic rings scraping softly against the rail. And there, under the sheets, was a figure. Walker froze, his breath catching in his throat. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, almost buckling his knees. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. “She’s here,” he whispered to himself. A smile broke through the tension on his face as his eyes filled with tears. He felt a lump rise in his throat, one of pure joy and gratitude. “Elizabeth...” he whispered, his voice shaky. The figure lay still, the blanket pulled up to the shoulders. The dim lighting made it difficult to see her features, but the shape beneath the sheets seemed familiar. For a moment, everything else faded. His fear, his doubt—it all dissolved into the overwhelming relief of seeing her again. “Lizzy... it’s me,” he murmured, his voice tender. “I’m here.” The figure didn’t move. She didn’t stir or open her eyes to look at him. Walker stepped closer, his joy faltering slightly as confusion crept in. Why isn’t she responding? Maybe she’s just deeply asleep, he reasoned. He bent closer, his fingers trembling as they reached out to touch her shoulder. “Hey, Lizzy... I was so worried about you,” he whispered. “Wake up, darling. It’s me.” The patient didn’t react. His brow furrowed, and his heart sank a little. Something wasn’t right. Walker’s hand lingered on her shoulder, the fabric of the sheet cool beneath his fingers. Slowly, he peeled it back just enough to see her face. What he saw made his blood run cold. It wasn’t Elizabeth. The woman beneath the sheets had sunken cheeks and dull, unfamiliar features. Her hair was shorter and darker, her complexion different. Walker blinked, his mind scrambling to process what he was seeing. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. His hands trembled as he pulled the sheet further down to see more of her. The shape of her body—the broader shoulders, the unfamiliar hands—it wasn’t her. The patient stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked at him in confusion. “Who... who are you?” she asked, her voice weak and groggy. Walker staggered back, his chest heaving as shock and disbelief coursed through him. “I... I’m sorry... I thought...” His voice cracked. He turned away, pressing a hand to his mouth as he fought back tears. His knees felt weak, his mind spinning. Where is she? The walls seemed to close in around him. The realization hit him like a freight train—Elizabeth was gone. Someone had switched her with this woman, and now he had no idea where she was. He clenched his fists, his breathing ragged. A cold dread crawled up his spine as the pieces began to fall into place. They’ve taken her. Walker’s head turned sharply, his eyes darting around the room as if he might spot a clue, a trace of her presence. But there was nothing—no sign of his wife. Only an empty space where she should have been. And now, he realized, they knew he was looking for her. Walker staggered back, his mind in turmoil as the patient’s startled cry shattered the silence. “Who are you? What do you want?” the woman on the bed screamed, clutching the sheets tightly to her chest. The door burst open, and a nurse rushed in, her face contorted in panic. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. Walker turned sharply toward her, his face twisted with fury. “Where is Elizabeth?” he roared, his voice echoing through the ward. “Where is my wife? What have you done with her?” The nurse, flustered, took a step back and shouted, “Call security! Now!” Walker’s desperation boiled over. He lunged forward, grabbing the nurse by her throat. “Tell me where my wife is!” he bellowed, shaking her slightly. “Where have you taken her?” The nurse choked, her hands clawing at his grip as she gasped for air. The commotion drew two burly security guards who stormed into the room, their red shirts tucked into black trousers that accentuated their hulking frames. Their muscles rippled with every movement, their faces cold and merciless. “Let her go!” one of them barked, his voice deep and commanding. Walker’s grip didn’t loosen. His eyes, wild with desperation, darted between the nurse and the guards. “Not until I see my wife!” One of the guards stepped forward and grabbed Walker’s arm, his grip like a vice. The other pried Walker’s fingers from the nurse’s throat. With a sudden, forceful pull, they freed her, sending Walker stumbling backward. “You don’t want to do this,” the guard growled, his tone a mixture of warning and menace. But Walker wasn’t backing down. He lunged at them, fists swinging, his anger blinding him to the futility of his actions. The guards dodged easily, their movements practiced and efficient. “Get him out of here!” the nurse yelled, coughing and rubbing her neck. The guards moved in, grabbing Walker by his arms. He thrashed against their hold, his fury giving him surprising strength. “Where is Elizabeth?” he yelled, his voice cracking with anguish. “Where is she?!” One guard muttered under his breath as they struggled to restrain him. “This guy’s got some fight in him.” “Yeah,” the other grunted. “Too bad he’s no match for us.” Walker twisted violently, managing to free one arm, and swung wildly at the guard on his left. The punch landed, but it was like hitting a brick wall. The guard barely flinched, his lips curling into a smirk. “Big mistake,” he said darkly. With a swift, brutal motion, the guard landed a heavy punch on Walker’s cheekbone. The impact sent him reeling, pain radiating down his jaw. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he staggered, his vision blurring. The second guard didn’t wait. He delivered a blow to Walker’s stomach, doubling him over, then a knee to his face that sent him crashing to the floor. “Stay down, boy,” the first guard growled. But Walker refused. He pushed himself up, his body trembling, his face bloodied and swollen. “Elizabeth...” he muttered, his voice barely audible. The guards exchanged a glance, then one of them delivered a final, devastating punch to his lower jaw. Walker collapsed, his body limp, his head hitting the cold floor with a sickening thud. The guards stood over him, breathing heavily. “That’ll teach him,” one muttered, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Hey, if I see you here again,” the other added, his voice a low, menacing growl, “I’ll crush you with my little finger. Understand?” Walker didn’t respond. Blood pooled beneath him, his body twitching slightly as he fought to stay conscious. The guards left him there, stepping over his battered form without a second glance. As the world spun around him, Walker pressed a trembling hand to the ground, forcing himself upright. His vision swam, and every breath was agony, but he refused to stay down. “Elizabeth...” he whispered hoarsely. “I won’t give up. No one will harm you. I promise...” He stumbled toward the hospital entrance, each step a monumental effort. His body screamed in protest, but his mind was focused on one thing: finding his wife. Out on the main road, Walker paused, his bloodied face turned toward the hospital. His resolve hardened, the pain sharpening his determination. “I’ll come back for you, my love,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “This isn’t over.”
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Latest Chapter
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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