Time REWIND~
FLASHBACK-
7 years ago
Max wasn't born into violence, but he was forged by it. His childhood was far from peaceful, though the memories of it came in flashes—moments buried deep under the weight of bloodshed and betrayal.
He grew up in a rundown neighborhood, a place where survival depended more on instinct than education. His father was a ghost—an absent shadow who disappeared after Max was born, leaving only stories of his criminal past. His mother was a fragile woman, broken by life's cruelty, but she loved him fiercely, even if she couldn't protect him from the world outside their small, crumbling apartment.Max was eleven when the first tragedy struck. He had come home from school to find the front door ajar, the cold evening wind blowing into the house like a silent harbinger of doom. The sound of broken glass crunched under his feet as he stepped inside."Mom?"His voice echoed in the emptiness.The house smelled strange—metallic, sharp, like copper. As he made his way through the dimly lit living room, he saw it. His mother, lying still on the floor, her body bathed in red. Blood pooled around her, her face frozen in a mixture of fear and anguish.Max froze, his heart a drumbeat in his ears. For a long moment, he couldn't move. His mother's lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling, unseeing, and for the first time in his life, Max understood what it meant to be truly alone.The police called it a burglary gone wrong, but Max knew better. The streets had whispered about his father, a man with debts and enemies that didn't just disappear. His mother had paid the price for sins she never committed, and no one cared enough to look deeper.That night, Max changed.---The years that followed were a blur of survival and desperation. With no family left and no money, Max was thrust into the world of foster care, a system that barely noticed him. He drifted from one broken home to another, each place worse than the last. The streets became his refuge, and violence became his language.He learned fast—how to fight, how to steal, how to survive. The anger inside him grew, a simmering rage that pushed him deeper into the criminal underworld. By the time he was sixteen, Max had already made a name for himself in the back alleys of the city. He was quick, lethal, and most importantly, he didn't care. That was when he met Markus.Markus was a man who thrived in the shadows, a mentor who saw potential in Max where others saw only a broken boy. He took Max under his wing, teaching him the art of the kill, the precision required to take a life without remorse. Markus wasn't just a criminal—he was a master of manipulation, a puppeteer who pulled the strings of the city's darkest operations."Life isn't about living, Max. It's about control," Markus had told him one night, after their first successful job together. They had just taken down a rival gang leader, a man who had crossed Markus one too many times. Max had pulled the trigger without flinching.The man's body slumped to the ground, his blood spreading like ink on the pavement. Max had stared at it for a long time, feeling nothing. No guilt, no regret—just emptiness. Markus had noticed the look in his eyes and smiled."You're ready," Markus had said, clapping a hand on Max's shoulder. "You're one of us now."And Max was. He had finally found his place, a family of sorts, even if it was built on blood and betrayal. Markus' crew became his world, and the jobs they pulled were more than just business—they were a way for Max to release the darkness that had festered inside him since the day his mother died.But it wasn't just about the money or the thrill of the kill. For Max, it was about control—over his own life, over the people who tried to hurt him, over a world that had taken everything from him.---Then came the massacre.Max was nineteen when it happened. Markus had sent them on what was supposed to be a simple job—eliminate a small-time arms dealer who had refused to pay his dues. It was routine. Easy. But something went wrong.The dealer had known they were coming. He had been ready. Max's crew walked right into an ambush.Gunfire erupted, a symphony of violence that echoed through the abandoned warehouse where the deal was supposed to go down. Max watched as his friends—no, his brothers—were gunned down one by one. Blood splattered the walls, the floor, his hands. The air was thick with the stench of gunpowder and death.He fought back with everything he had, moving through the chaos like a predator in the night. But it was too late. By the time the last bullet was fired, Max was the only one left standing.He had survived. Again. But something inside him had broken that night. It wasn't just the loss of his crew—it was the betrayal. Markus had set them up. The job had been a trap, a way to wipe out anyone who had gotten too close, anyone who knew too much.Max had been used.The realization hit him like a freight train, and the rage that followed was like nothing he had ever felt before. It consumed him, turning him into something darker, something more dangerous than even Markus could have imagined.Max tracked Markus down to his safehouse, a luxury penthouse hidden in plain sight in the heart of the city. He didn't hesitate. The moment Markus opened the door, Max was on him, fists pounding into his former mentor's face, every punch fueled by years of pent-up anger."Why?" Max snarled, his hands tightening around Markus' throat as he pinned him to the floor. "Why did you do it?"Markus gasped for air, his eyes wide with panic. "It was business, Max," he choked out. "Just business."Max's grip tightened, his fingers digging into Markus' flesh. "I trusted you."Markus' face turned red, veins bulging in his forehead. "You're... like me," he wheezed. "You... don't... care..."The words sent a jolt through Max. He froze, staring down at Markus' face—his twisted, smirking face. And in that moment, Max realized Markus was right.He didn't care. Not anymore.With a final twist of his hands, Max ended Markus' life.---Max walked away from that penthouse without looking back, leaving the man who had shaped him dead on the floor. He disappeared into the night, a ghost in the city he once called home.From that moment on, Max became something else—something colder, more ruthless. He wasn't just a killer anymore. He was a force of nature, untethered from the world, free from the burdens of conscience or regret.But deep down, buried under the layers of violence and darkness, there was still a part of Max that longed for something else. Something softer, something real.That part of him had found Yara.And now, she was gone. Taken from him, just like everything else in his life.But this time, Max wasn't going to let it end the same way. Not again. He would find her, no matter the cost. And when he did, the people responsible would pay.Because Max didn't just survive anymore. He destroyed.
