ANGELFIRE : Born In Chaos

02

Moonlight cast a silvery glow over the old pier, its timeworn planks creaking under the weight of Tristan's vigilant stance. He was alone, save for the distant lull of waves crashing against the shore and the occasional call of a night bird. Wearing a pair of denim jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, he stood in the darkness with sharp and searching eyes. He was waiting for the informant who held a crucial piece to the puzzle that had turned his life into a maze of hidden truths and deceit.

The clock on his wrist vibrated against his skin, marking midnight, when the sound of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of Jasko Bane, mid-twenties. The young man wore dark track pants with a dark hooded sweatshirt, his face drawn with lines of urgency. Tristan's pulse quickened, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"Tristan, it's Parker," Jasko panted out, his voice barely above a whisper, "He's gone—missing." He removed his hood, exposing his thick, dark hair perfectly styled for his face. A small amount of stubble adorned his chin.

A frown tugged at Tristan's brows; Parker Stevens was more than just a name. He was a friend from days long past, a connection to simpler times. "What does this have to do with Deacon?" Tristan asked, struggling to keep his tone even.

"Before he vanished, Parker told me... men from BioTech approached him." Jasko's eyes darted around the deserted pier, fear etching deeper grooves into his weathered face. "Parker never gets upset about things, but he was freaked about their visit."

BioTech—the very word was like acid on Tristan's tongue, a reminder of the shadow cast by his father's empire. Deacon Hartley's reach was far, and his methods, though shrouded in corporate doublespeak, were known to be unscrupulous. Tristan felt the familiar twist in his gut, the clash between blood ties and the oath he swore to uphold the law.

"Stay out of sight, Jasko. I'll look into it," Tristan said, his resolve hardening.

Jasko smiled, looking at Tristan with nostalgia for their younger days before the complications and turmoil of adulthood. "Let's keep in touch."

With the meeting concluded and his mind ablaze with questions, Tristan melded back into the shadows of the city. The metropolis was alive, its streets pulsating with the heartbeat of the night. People spilled from the doorways of neon-lit bars, laughter mingling with the roar of traffic. But beneath the revelry lay an undercurrent of danger—a scent on the wind that only those with a certain kind of instinct could detect.

——

The next day, Tristan moved with precision, his lean frame slipping through crowds with the ease of one accustomed to the dance of the urban jungle. He swept his gaze over each passing face, each alleyway shrouded in mystery.

The rhythm of the city was a song he knew by heart, one that spoke of life in all its chaotic beauty and whispered of the secrets that lurked in the silent spaces between beats. Here, within the concrete veins of the metropolis, Tristan sought the truth, always vigilant, always ready to serve as the line that separated order from chaos.

With every step, he forged on, driven by the fire of justice that burned within him. It was a path fraught with peril, but for Tristan Hartley, there was no other way to live.

Tristan's stride slowed as a small, quivering voice broke through the hum of the city. "Mommy?" The word, barely above a whisper, pulled at his heartstrings. He turned, spotting a tiny figure dwarfed by the towering buildings—a child, no more than four, with tear-streaked cheeks and wide, scared eyes.

"Hey there, buddy," Tristan said, dropping to one knee to level with the child. "You lost?"

The boy nodded, lower lip trembling. Tristan offered a reassuring smile, noting the superhero emblem on the kid's shirt. "Which one's your favorite?" he asked, pointing to the symbol.