Vince remained crouched on the rooftop, his binoculars trained on the chaos unfolding far in the distance. The muffled roar of battle carried through the still air like a distant storm. Suddenly, a heavy thud landed beside him, a jarring interruption that rattled the gravel beneath his boots.
Without lowering the binoculars, Vince spoke, his tone calm and unaffected. "Why are you here, Zach Wheeler?"
A sharp intake of breath followed, and Vince caught the movement of someone shifting to his side. "How do you always know?" Zach's voice was tinged with genuine surprise. He hopped back, balancing awkwardly on one leg like a startled cat, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm silent as a shadow! You shouldn't have been able to hear me."
Finally lowering the binoculars, Vince turned to face him, his expression as steady as ever. "It wasn't your footsteps that gave you away." He paused, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow. "The strong odor of your cologne sold you out. I could smell it from across the other end of the city."
Zach froze for a beat, his mouth slightly open, before his hands shot to his chest in dramatic fashion. "You monster! You've hurt my little, innocent, pure, fragile, and oh-so-sensitive heart!" His voice rose in mock agony as he threw his head back, looking skyward as though summoning divine intervention for his wounded pride.
Vince simply stared, unimpressed, waiting for the theatrics to pass.
Abruptly, Zach's entire demeanor shifted. His expression hardened, his posture straightened, and his voice turned cold as ice. "Why didn't you contact me," he asked, his tone sharp and cutting, "when you shook hands with the Black Marlins?"
"Do you know this gang war might even be bigger than the last one?" Zach said, his words tumbling out with growing urgency. "This time, it's not just the harbor that's going to be caught in the crossfire. It could spill over into the city—hell, it could tear the place apart! I think you already know this, but you can't trust Dante. Or Calder, for that matter. Especially Calder." He paused briefly, running a hand through his hair as he inhaled sharply, then added, "Probably, as we're speaking right now, he's sending another team to finish Dante off. That guy never just sits back and lets things happen."
Zach's words came fast and sharp, one after another, his tone laced with both exasperation and warning. He finally stopped to take a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he composed himself.
Vince took a slow step forward, his gaze calm but unreadable, his hands resting behind his back. The motion looked casual, but his fingers brushed against the handle of the gun holstered beneath his jacket. His voice was low, almost a murmur. "Fascinating… who are you really, Zach… to know this much…"
Before he could finish his sentence, a deafening BOOM shattered the air, reverberating through the harbor. The explosion came from far to the west, its forceful sound followed by another thunderous wave of roaring voices—men shouting, metal clashing, chaos building anew.
Vince turned sharply, pulling his binoculars to his eyes in one smooth motion. He adjusted the focus, scanning the scene ahead, his jaw tightening as the details came into view. Through the dust and smoke rising from the blast, he spotted them—thugs bearing the unmistakable tattoo of the Black Marlins on their arms. They were wreaking havoc along the western edge of the harbor, overturning crates and smashing through makeshift barriers with reckless aggression.
The thugs worked quickly, setting up crude barricades from the city's side of the harbor. They used anything they could find—rusted barrels, broken shipping containers, sandbags piled high, and even splintered wooden crates stacked unevenly. Their movements were frantically but purposeful, like ants preparing for war.
"You see that?" Zach said, his voice quieter now as he raised his own binoculars to his eyes. "That sly fox Calder… of course he wasn't just going to sit and watch this unfold. He's got something else up his sleeve."
"Stop yapping," Vince retorted sharply. "Look past the barricade."
Zach squinted, his gaze narrowing as he adjusted his binoculars to focus on the area beyond the Black Marlins' makeshift defenses. At first, the smoky air and the frantic movements of the thugs made it difficult to make out the details. But then he saw it—beyond the barricade, a line of figures moving in formation, absolute and organized.
It was the SWAT team of the BBPD.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, each officer clad in tactical gear suited for urban combat. Their dark uniforms bore the BBPD insignia on their shoulders, and their faces were obscured by helmets equipped with clear visors that gleamed faintly in the harsh sunlight. At the front, a phalanx of officers carried heavy shields, their thick black surfaces reflecting the sunlight. The shields were reinforced for both gunfire and melee combat, and each bore the word POLICE stenciled in bold white letters.
Behind them, more officers moved with weapons raised—shotguns, rifles, and submachine guns cradled firmly in their arms. Their formation was tight and unyielding, advancing with practiced precision that contrasted sharply with the chaotic disarray of the Black Marlins. One officer, slightly ahead of the rest, carried a megaphone strapped to his chest, ready to issue commands when the time came.
The SWAT team didn't engage immediately, their movements slow as they held their ground behind the barricade, waiting for the chaos to present an opening. Their presence alone was a stark reminder of the city's response to the escalating violence—a force designed not just to contain, but to crush.
"Is this your doing?" Zach asked, a flicker of uncertainty lingered in his tone. Vince didn't answer immediately, his gaze still on the SWAT team advancing behind the barricades.
Back at Calder's office, the man sat in his worn leather chair, his elbows resting on the edge of the table as he studied the map spread before him. The dim light of his desk lamp illuminated the creases in his brow, and his fingers traced invisible paths across the paper, plotting moves only he understood.
The static buzz of the radio on his desk interrupted his focus, and he leaned back to pick it up, bringing the receiver to his lips. "What is it?" he asked, his voice clipped and cold.
The reply came through the radio, urgent and laced with fear. "Boss, west team reporting. We were on the way to flank the Iron Fangs, but… we ran into the pigs! What should we do? They've blocked the path. We're sitting ducks out here!"
Calder didn't flinch. He didn't even pause to think. His response was immediate, delivered with the icy precision of a man who already knew every piece on the board. "Hold your position. Do not engage the police. You won't survive it. Keep provoking them, hold their attention."
The voice on the other side faltered for a moment before stammering, "Y-yes, boss."
Calder didn't wait for more. He switched frequencies on the radio, the dial clicking softly under his fingers, until another voice crackled to life. This one was dry and low, with an almost unnerving calmness. "What's your order, boss?"
Calder's lips curled into a slow, calculating smile. His eyes remained fixed on the map as he leaned forward, his voice dripping with quiet satisfaction. "Hooked...."
"...line," Vince said, his voice barely audible over the distant chaos of the harbor. His hands gestured slightly as he explained, as if painting a picture of Calder's strategy in the air. "With the east team of the Marlins holding back the Iron Fangs, Calder would send another team to flank them. He can't take the straight road—too exposed, too narrow. It's a death trap for his men. So, naturally, he has to send them west." Vince paused, his eyes back to the distant barricades, the faint glint of SWAT shields visible even from here. "And, of course, the SWAT team is here for that reason. That was always part of his play. His plan was solid. And now.....sinker"
Zach tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied Vince's expression. "But you said he had to change it. Why?"
Vince smirked slightly, his voice dropping as he continued. "Because I intervened first. When I went to him, I forced his hand. He couldn't stick to his original plan, not with me muddying the waters. He had to adapt."
Zach, his voice filled with growing anticipation, asked, "And the changed plan is?"
Vince exhaled sharply through his nose, then gestured broadly with his arms, spreading them to his sides. "This," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
Before Zach could react, the faint sound of soft thuds filled the air, surrounding them. From the shadows around the rooftop, ten figures clad in black rags from head to toe emerged with the suddenness of phantoms. Their faces were entirely obscured by layers of black bandages, leaving only their piercing eyes visible beneath the moonlight. Each figure moved with a deadly, fluid precision, landing silently as they leaped onto the rooftop, forming a loose circle around Vince and Zach.
The largest figure stepped forward, his movements slow and steady. The leader's presence was commanding, his voice a low, rasping drawl that scraped through the silence like sandpaper. "How did you know?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion but heavy with suspicion.
The tension was palpable. Zach instinctively reached for his belt, his hand brushing against the hilt of a blade hidden beneath his coat, but Vince didn't flinch. His posture remained loose, his hands steady, as he looked the leader dead in the eyes.
"I always know," Vince said.