Guardian Angels

Chapter 15

The precinct buzzed with an energy distinctly different from the norm as Sam Gray sauntered in, her arrival marked by the telltale signs of another night spent indulging in the city's vibrant nightlife. Her colleagues, by now accustomed to her late entrances and disheveled appearances, offered fleeting glances that mixed disapproval with a hint of curiosity. However, their attention quickly diverted back to the topic that had captured everyone's interest that morning.

"Did you hear about the raid last night?" one officer exclaimed to a group huddled around a desk, their conversation a low murmur of intrigue and speculation.

"Yeah, half a dozen of the Godfather's guys rounded up. But it wasn't SWAT or any of our units. They said... it was just one guy," another replied, his tone a mixture of disbelief and admiration. "Took out their operation and left them for us to find. It's like something out of a comic book."

Sam paused, feigning interest in adjusting her bag. She sipped her coffee, listening as the details unfolded.

"The guys are in custody now, babbling about some masked figure with insane combat skills. Said he came out of nowhere," a third officer chimed in, shaking his head in wonder. "Won't stop talking about the vigilante. But they don't have a name, doesn't know who hit them. Just keeps repeating how he appeared out of nowhere and took them all down."

"The leader's scared stiff, practically out of his mind with fear," added a fourth voice, leaning closer to the others. "Kept rambling about how the vigilante threatened to burn him alive. Said it reminded him of the Taliban or some crazed war story."

The conversation continued, with theories and opinions flying back and forth about the identity and motives of this unknown vigilante. Sam continued her walk to her desk, her expression carefully neutral, but inside, her thoughts were racing. The operation as Alex Mason had been a success, and now, the precinct was abuzz with the very outcome she had hoped to achieve: fear among the criminals and curiosity within the police force. Yet, they were clueless about the identity of the vigilante who had so thoroughly dismantled a segment of the Godfather's operations overnight.

The precinct's atmosphere shifted palpably as one of the cops, scrolling through his phone, stumbled upon a thread that had begun to circulate on social media. "Hey, look at this," he called out, capturing the attention of his colleagues. "There's a whole discussion about last night's vigilante. They're trying to figure out who he is."

Curiosity piqued, the other officers gathered around. Posts and comments scrolled by, each trying to piece together the identity of the vigilante who had single-handedly taken down a segment of the Godfather's operations. The speculation ranged from an off-duty officer taking the law into his own hands to a rival gangster looking to upset the power balance.

"Look, they're already trying to come up with a nickname for him," another officer chuckled, reading aloud some of the suggestions. "'The Night Hawk,' 'The Phantom Avenger,' 'The Lone Enforcer'..."

Before the group could settle on a favorite, the conversation took a sharp turn. A new post appeared, linking to a page that seemed out of place amidst the wild speculation. "Hold on, someone just dropped something from Wikileaks here," the first cop announced, his tone suddenly serious. The room quieted as he read aloud the reposted information—a classified profile, its contents obscured by redactions and smears, yet revealing enough to paint a compelling picture of the man now dubbed as a vigilante.

"This Alexander Mason... says here he was a private contractor, hired for some of the dirtiest jobs in Afghanistan." The cop outlined the story of an individual whose experience matched the skill set displayed by the vigilante. It spoke of a mercenary known for his expertise in urban guerrilla warfare, who had been privately contracted by the US military for operations in Afghanistan.

The profile ended abruptly with the individual being abandoned by the US military during the chaotic withdrawal, left to fend for himself in hostile territory. "And then... nothing. Like he was wiped from existence," the cop reading aloud paused, the implications hanging heavily in the air. The Taliban's infamy hinted at a harrowing end, where Alexander Mason was subjected to their brutal methods, including being burned at the stake.

Silence fell over the group as they absorbed the implications. "This... This is him," one officer whispered, the realization dawning on them. "He's not just some guy playing hero. He's real, with a real grudge against the system that left him behind."

Another officer, connecting the dots with an analytical eye, added, "There's a mention of an unnamed daughter in his profile. Remember the kidnapping case three years ago? The one that took down Captain Gray and involved those children, including illegal immigrants?"

Murmurs of realization spread among the group as the pieces began to fall into place. "If Mason was an illegal immigrant, with no records before that incident, and he had a daughter...," the cop trailed off, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place with an eerie precision. The implication was clear and chilling: Alexander Mason wasn't just a vigilante acting out of a sense of justice; his actions were driven by a deeply personal vendetta.

"It's not just vigilantism. It's a vendetta," another concluded, the weight of the revelation settling over them. The narrative that emerged was one of personal tragedy—a father driven to the edge by the loss of his child in a crime that had shaken the city, now returning to exact retribution on those he held responsible.

"Sounds more like a movie than real life," someone muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

"But if it's true," another officer added, "then this guy... Alexander Mason, he's out for blood. For justice, his own way."

Sam, listening from her desk, allowed herself a small, inward smile. The speculation and the theories spun by her colleagues were playing right into the narrative she had carefully constructed for Alex Mason. The smears in the classified profile, the inferred connections to the kidnapping case—all of it served to solidify Mason's image not as a mere vigilante but as a figure of tragic heroism, propelled by a deeply personal vendetta.

The conclusion reached by her colleagues was precisely what Sam had intended, a validation of Mason's actions in the eyes of those who might otherwise pursue him. As the precinct buzzed with the discussion of Mason's supposed backstory, Sam felt a momentary relief, knowing that the dual life she led was now shielded by a narrative that, while rooted in truth, was tailored to protect both her identities. This was the cover she needed, a story that would keep Alex Mason's real mission—and Sam Gray's involvement in it—safely obscured from prying eyes.