The air at the docks was heavy, a biting chill carried on the breeze rolling off the river. Wade stood tall, his hands resting on his hips, surveying the scene like a general preparing for battle. His men were stationed around the perimeter, their positions hidden in the shadows of shipping containers and towering stacks of crates. Their steady presence gave him the courage to feign nonchalance at the sound of firearms being cocked.
"You've got some guts, Kane," Wade said, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.
Canan Kane stood a few paces away, the duffel bag he'd carried lying at his feet like a silent offering. His shoulders were stiff, his head slightly bowed, his face obscured by the faint shadows cast by the towering floodlights.
Wade's smirk widened as he surveyed the scene. Everything was just as he'd expected—or so he thought. Kane was alone, and behind him, a group of ragtag men emerged from the darkness, their weapons glinting faintly in the moonlight.
"So this is your master plan?" Wade asked, letting out a humorless laugh. "You brought the same group of rejects I gunned down yesterday? You can't be serious."
The men behind Kane moved cautiously, their stances tense. Wade barely spared them a glance. He knew the type—desperate, reckless, and undisciplined. His men had torn through them before, and they'd do it again.
"Pathetic," Wade muttered, shaking his head. His boots crunched against the gravel as he took a step forward, his gaze locking onto Kane.
"Is this really the best you could come up with?" Wade continued, his tone heavy with disappointment. "After everything I taught you? After everything I gave you?"
Wade's voice rose, sharp and commanding, as he gestured toward the docks. "Do you think I got here by rebelling? By throwing tantrums? No, Kane. I got here because I understood the game. I played it better than anyone else. And you—" He jabbed a finger toward Kane, his voice dripping with scorn, "—you could've had it all. But instead, you chose to spit in my face."
Kane shifted slightly, his head lowering further.
Wade's smirk widened. He began pacing, his words flowing freely, carried by the energy of his self-assuredness.
"I started with nothing—no reputation, no allies, just a badge and the guts to do what others wouldn't. My first partner? A real hero type. Thought he could save the city." Wade chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "But he didn't understand how the world works. So, I put him down myself at the drug lord's behest, and they noticed me. They saw a man who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. A man they could trust."
He stopped pacing, turning his piercing gaze back to Kane. "And you think you're going to take me down with these clowns? You think this is how power works?"
Wade's voice took on a cold, cutting edge. "I've worked with people who make them look like amateurs. I've shaken hands with the men and women who run this city. Politicians. Judges. Hell, even a couple of federal agents owe me favors. And you think you're going to waltz in here and take me out with a bunch of goons?"
He laughed, the sound echoing across the docks.
"You'll never understand what it means to hold real power. You're soft, Kane. Impulsive. That's why you'll always lose."
Kane remained silent, his head low, his shoulders trembling slightly.
Wade sneered. "Look at you. A shell of the man I trained. I'm the one who made you. Everything you know, you learned from me. And now you're throwing it all away for what? Justice? Revenge?"
He took another step forward, his hand resting on the grip of his pistol. "This ends tonight, Kane. You made your move, and now it's time to pay the price."
For a moment, Kane didn't react. Then, slowly, his head rose. His shoulders stopped trembling, and the shadowed lines of his face sharpened. Wade saw something in his eyes—a flicker of defiance, a cold, burning fury.
"You always underestimated me, Wade," Kane said quietly, his voice carrying an eerie calm. "That's your biggest weakness. You fail to see the bigger picture beyond your little power bubble"
The smirk slipped from Wade's face. His eyes narrowed as his instincts screamed at him to act.
Before he could draw his weapon, from the shadows, more figures emerged—quick, silent, and armed.
Wade spun around, barking orders. "Hold your positions! Take them down!"
But his men didn't move.
Wade's stomach dropped as he realized they weren't firing. Their weapons were placed on the ground and their arms up in surrender. Instead of a ragtag militia, Wade saw figures in sharp suits and polished boots. Their badges glinted faintly in the moonlight.
Internal Affairs.
The "gangsters" behind Kane stepped forward, their movements precise, their plain clothes disguising well-trained agents.
Wade's breath hitched.
He turned back to Kane, his expression twisted with disbelief. "What the hell is this?"
Kane straightened fully, his posture relaxed, the tension gone from his body. The anguished, broken mask he'd been wearing melted away, replaced by a smirk.
"Dont you just love it when a good plan comes together," Kane said softly.
Wade's mind raced, pieces clicking into place too late.
"You dragged IA into this?" Wade hissed, his voice low and venomous.
Kane tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Why not? You love a good story. I just gave them one they couldn't resist."
Around him, Wade's men were being cuffed one by one. The same steel rings snapped around his own wrists before he could react.
"This is insane," Wade snarled, twisting against the officers restraining him. "You're implicating yourself! You'll go down with me!"
Kane crouched down, leaning in close.
"I also know a thing or two about spinning the narrative," Kane murmured, his tone mocking. "I learned from the best, after all."
Wade's body went rigid. It had never occurred to him that Kane would go this far—to drag them both into the fire just for a chance at revenge.
"You…" Wade started, but the words stuck in his throat.
A sharp crack split the air, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the ground.
Wade slumped forward, his knees striking the concrete before his lifeless form followed. A dark stain bloomed across his forehead, the blood pooling beneath him.
Kane straightened, his face impassive. His gaze flicked toward the source of the shot—a lone figure, their silhouette lingering for a moment before disappearing into the shadows.
The docks fell silent once more, save for the faint rustle of the river's current and the murmured voices of officers processing the scene.
For the first time in days, Kane allowed himself a small, genuine smile. His shadow stretched long across the concrete as he walked away.