Guardian Angels

Chapter 22

In the dim light of a nondescript bar, nestled in one of the quieter corners of Angel City, Alex Mason sat alone, his figure a silent sentinel amid the hum of subdued conversations and the clink of glasses. His helmet rested on the stool beside him, the characteristic straw protruding from his drink—a symbol that had become as much a part of his identity as the tales of his exploits.

His eyes, hidden behind the visor of his helmet, caught the subtle signal of a watcher—a spy of the Godfather planted among the patrons. Alex noted the surveillance with a detached interest, his mind already weaving through the potential outcomes of this encounter. He knew the eyes of the underworld were upon him, tracking his every move, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

With the calculated calm of a predator aware of its hunters, Alex rose, leaving payment for his drink beneath the glass. He stepped into the night, his path leading him intentionally into a deserted alley—a place chosen for what was to come.

Viktor, the hit squad leader handpicked by Lorenzo for this very moment, watched from the shadows, a smirk playing across his lips as he murmured, "The godfather sends his regards." His words, intended as a declaration of impending victory, echoed off the empty walls, unanswered.

In the shadowed confines of the alley, Alex Mason's silhouette was barely distinguishable from the darkness that enveloped it. The night air was thick with tension as the hit squad moved in, their footsteps a muted chorus against the damp cobblestones. But the alley, seemingly deserted, held no trace of the vigilante. Confusion set in, followed quickly by realization—they were the ones ambushed.

Alex was already two steps ahead. He had positioned himself behind a dumpster, creating a natural choke point. The first hitman approached, pistol drawn, scanning the corners with trained eyes. As he passed Alex's hiding spot, Alex lunged, disarming him with a swift, twisting motion. Before the hitman could react, Alex delivered a stunning blow to his temple using the butt of the retrieved gun, sending him slumping to the ground, unconscious.

Another hitman, noticing the sudden movement, aimed his taser at Alex. Alex reacted instinctively, rolling aside as electric darts whizzed past him. He grabbed a discarded pipe from the ground and threw it with precision, striking the hitman's hand. The taser clattered away, and Alex closed the distance, knocking the man out with a sharp elbow strike to the jaw.

As two more squad members converged on him, Alex retreated strategically, leading them into the narrow confines between two buildings. The cramped space hindered their movement, playing to Alex's advantage. He dodged a barrage of silenced gunfire, the bullets chipping the brick walls behind him. Seizing a momentary gap, he swung a heavy chain from the ground, entangling one hitman's legs and pulling him down. The second assailant fired again, but Alex used the fallen man as a shield, pushing forward and disarming him with a brutal knee strike. Then, Alex snatched the taser from the previous hitman's grasp, delivering a charged shock that incapacitated both.

Now, only Viktor remained, his presence imposing as he stepped out of the shadows. The hit squad leader was a seasoned fighter, known for his ruthless efficiency and mastery of knives. He flicked a dagger from his sleeve, spinning it expertly between his fingers. The dance of death began in earnest as Alex faced him, revolver in hand.

Viktor moved swiftly, launching a volley of throwing knives. Alex dodged most but had to block others with whatever was at hand—a trash lid, a piece of broken wood. The clatter of metal rang through the alley as Alex advanced, firing his revolver. Viktor dodged, closing the distance, and with a swift move, knocked the revolver from Alex's hand with a well-aimed dagger.

The fight turned brutal and intimate. Viktor unleashed a flurry of strikes with another dagger, forcing Alex to defend with desperate, improvised moves. They grappled, Viktor's blade slicing through the air, grazing Alex's armor. In a moment of calculated risk, Viktor thrust forward, driving his dagger towards Alex. Alex, his reflexes sharp, dodged the blade, but it was a ruse. Viktor changed direction mid-swing, the dagger slicing through the air and nicking the edge of Alex's armored belly. The sharp pain was a stark reminder of his mortality, the metal biting into skin enough to draw blood.