The Silent Strike

Vice City: Unveiled

Miami, Florida

As Duke drove away from the chaos, the truck's engine humming steadily, his mind was a storm of thoughts and emotions. The night sky stretched out above them, vast and indifferent, as if mocking the turmoil within him. He glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Wade slumped in the backseat, clutching his side where the knife had pierced him. Otis was beside him, trying to keep him calm, but Duke's mind was far from calm.

Growing up in Georgia, Duke had always been the rough-and-tumble type. From a young age, he found solace in the outdoors, in the thrill of hunting and shooting. His father had taught him how to handle a gun before he could even ride a bike. "A man needs to know how to protect himself," his father would say, a lesson Duke took to heart. Shooting bottles off fence posts became a favorite pastime, a skill he honed with pride.

The decision to join the military had been a natural progression. He served his country with dedication, embracing the discipline and camaraderie that came with it. The military taught him about precision, about respect for firearms, about the gravity of pulling a trigger. But despite all the training, despite all the times he had come close to the edge, Duke had never actually killed a man.

Tonight had changed that.

As the image of the man's head exploding under the force of the shotgun blast replayed in his mind, Duke felt a strange, disquieting sensation. It was not regret—no, he didn't regret protecting his brother—but there was an unsettling awareness of having crossed a line he could never uncross.

In the military, they had a saying: "Si vis pacem, para bellum"—"If you want peace, prepare for war." It was a mantra Duke had carried with him, a reminder that sometimes violence was necessary to protect what you loved. He even had it tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of the promise he made to himself and his comrades.

As a soldier, he had sworn to defend his country, to stand against threats foreign and domestic. But tonight, in the dim light of the truck's dashboard, that promise took on a new meaning. He hadn't just defended a country; he had defended his family, his brother. And for that, he felt no remorse.

The weight of his upbringing pressed heavily on him. Georgia had been a place of simplicity, where the biggest worries were the harvest and the weather. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of tonight. His father's lessons on strength and protection, the military's teachings on precision and necessity—all of it had culminated in that one moment when he pulled the trigger.

Duke's thoughts drifted to the tattoo on his arm, the one that read "Strength and Honor" beneath a crossed rifle and a sword. It was a symbol of his commitment to protect, a creed he lived by. Tonight, he had upheld that creed in the most brutal way possible.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, the reality of the night settling in. He had taken a life. But he would do it again if it meant keeping Wade safe. There was no room for hesitation in his mind. The world was crumbling around them, and he needed to be strong, to be the protector his father and the military had trained him to be.

The odd sensation he felt wasn't guilt; it was the weight of responsibility. He was no longer just a soldier or a brother; he was a guardian in a world descending into chaos. And as the truck rumbled through the darkened streets of Miami, Duke knew that the lines he had crossed tonight were just the beginning. The promise of "Si vis pacem, para bellum" was no longer just a mantra; it was his reality.

The wind picked up outside the truck as they crawled along Ocean Drive. Palm trees swayed violently, some of the lights flickering on and off, casting eerie shadows across the pavement. Panic and confusion reigned in the streets, people rushing around, trying to make sense of the chaos. The smell of salt and sweat hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant sound of sirens and shouts.