The cruiser's engine rumbled steadily as Canan Kane guided it along the cracked roads leading out of the city. The pale glow of streetlights flickered on the windshield, casting faint streaks across the dashboard. Behind him, in the trunk, sat a duffel bag stuffed with narcotics.
To an outsider, it might seem like he was hauling an ordinary load, but Canan knew better. This wasn't just another drop—none of them ever were. Every job carried its risks, and every risk tightened the noose around his neck.
He tightened his grip on the wheel. Drops like this had become routine—a sick ritual in his life—but tonight, unease prickled at the edges of his awareness.
The cityscape gave way to the industrial outskirts, where towering stacks of rusted scrap loomed in the moonlight. Canan's thoughts wandered as he drove, his mind drifting to the strange event earlier that day—the blinding flash of light that had thrown him into a surreal haze.
For a fleeting moment, it had felt like his body had been ripped away, leaving only his mind adrift in the void. He'd seen something—a creature of shadow and light, wings unfurling as if to envelop him. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone, and he'd slammed back into his body, his heart racing, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
Whatever it was, it wasn't natural.
He gritted his teeth and forced the memory away. Between the drugs in his trunk and the men waiting for him at the drop, he had more immediate problems to solve.
"This city doesn't care if you're losing it," he muttered to himself. "It'll chew you up either way."
The junkyard appeared up ahead, a labyrinth of twisted metal and decaying machinery. He slowed the cruiser, the headlights sweeping across the gate. The place was still, almost too still, and his pulse quickened.
Something wasn't right.
Canan eased the car to a stop just before the entrance. For a moment, he simply sat there, his gaze scanning the shadows beyond the gate. A low thrum of discomfort crept up his spine, spreading through his chest.
The silence pressed against his senses like a warning.
Switching off the headlights, he let the car idle as he leaned forward slightly. From this angle, he couldn't see much beyond the piles of junked cars, but the quiet unsettled him.
Instinct took over. He shifted the car into reverse and backed away, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention. He parked out of sight and stepped out, keeping low as he climbed a nearby embankment.
From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the yard.
What he saw made his stomach twist.
Three unmarked sedans were parked inside, their engines off. Men moved in the shadows, their outlines faint but unmistakable. Rifles glinted under the dim glow of a flashlight.
This wasn't a drop.
The truth clicked into place as Canan studied the scene below.
Wade's paranoia must have finally gotten the better of him. This wasn't just about tying up loose ends—it was about sending a message. A corrupt cop killed in the middle of a dirty deal. The story would write itself. Wade would clean up the mess, tighten his grip on the operation, and eliminate a potential threat in one move.
Canan crouched lower, his breath steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins. As he watched, memories of Wade's manipulative influence surged unbidden, intertwining with the present moment.
It hadn't always been like this. Canan had joined the force with bright-eyed ambition, eager to bring justice to a city teetering on the edge of chaos. He'd believed in the power of the badge, in the weight of the law to protect and serve. But the cracks in his idealism began to show early on.
At first, it was the small things. A bribe dismissed as "just how things work around here." A blind eye turned to minor infractions because "there are bigger fish to fry." Wade had been there, always with a pat on the back and a gruff word of encouragement.
"This city'll eat you alive if you don't learn to play the game, kid."
Canan had wanted to believe Wade was looking out for him. The older officer had been a mentor, a guide through the labyrinthine streets of corruption. But as the years wore on, Canan began to see the truth. Wade wasn't protecting him. He was grooming him.
The disillusionment had been slow, like a rot spreading through his soul. Every compromise, every line crossed, chipped away at the man he'd once been. And Wade had always been there to justify it, to remind him that survival came at a cost.
"You think you're better than this, Kane? Better than me? Don't kid yourself. You're in it now, just like the rest of us."
Over time, Canan stopped fighting. It wasn't that he agreed with Wade or even accepted the life he'd been dragged into. It was that he no longer saw a way out. The city had a way of grinding people down until they became part of the very machinery they once sought to dismantle.
But Wade had made one mistake. He'd underestimated how deeply Canan's resentment had taken root. The years of manipulation, the constant erosion of his morals, had left Canan hollow—but in that emptiness, a new drive had taken shape. He no longer cared about justice or ideals. What fueled him now was simple: revenge.
Wade had turned him into this, a shadow of the man he'd once been. And Canan intended to return the favor.
Back in the present, Canan slipped down the embankment, his boots barely making a sound. He moved quickly but with precision, returning to the cruiser.
He opened the driver's door and reached for the burner phone stashed in the center console. His fingers moved deftly across the keypad, composing a message.
Big shipment going down at the Northpoint Junkyard tonight.Unmarked cars. Gear. Looks like Christmas came early.
The message sent, Canan leaned back in the seat and let the burner phone fall onto the passenger side. He stared out into the darkness, his jaw tightening as he considered his next move.
He reached for the glove compartment and retrieved a pack of gum. Sliding a stick between his teeth, he chewed methodically, his gaze distant. Despite his outward calm, his chest felt tight with a mix of determination and dread. This was a calculated risk—a gamble that could cost him everything or give him the slim chance he needed to break free.
The faint hum of engines reached his ears, distant but growing louder.
He adjusted the rearview mirror, catching the faint glow of headlights approaching from the opposite direction. A corner of his mouth twitched, though the expression didn't reach his eyes.
The trap was about to snap shut.
By the time the first gunshot rang out, Canan would be gone, blending back into the city like a ghost. Wade and his crew would never see it coming.
And tomorrow, when the dust settled, they'd have far bigger problems than him.