Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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I moved cautiously through the warehouse, the gun held steady in my hand. The place was eerily quiet now, the earlier commotion replaced by a tense stillness. I knew they were still here, the gang members, waiting. I could feel their presence, lurking in the shadows, like predators watching their prey.
The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete, cigarette smoke, and something else; a faint, metallic tang that hinted at blood. My own breath hitched in my throat. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my system, keeping me on my toes and alert.
I rounded a corner and came face to face with two of them, the biggest of the lot. They were built like brick walls, their faces hard and menacing, covered in tattoos that spoke of a violent life. One had a crude drawing of a skull on his neck, the other a snarling wolf on his bicep. They lunged at me, a coordinated attack meant to overwhelm me with brute force.
But I was ready. Years of training kicked in, muscle memory taking over. I'd faced bigger, stronger opponents before.
I dodged their attacks, using their size and momentum against them. A quick jab to the ribs here, a swift kick to the knee there, and they were off balance. The skull-necked guy stumbled, giving me an opening. I capitalized on it, a sharp elbow to the jaw sending him crashing to the concrete floor. The wolf-bicep guy roared in anger and charged, but I sidestepped him, a leg sweep taking him down.
After I'd evaluated that they were injured enough to remain down for a while, I continued looking around, gun tucked into my waistbelt. I didn't want to use it unnecessarily since it would only provoke them more and incite attention. That could endanger Elliott and Vivien, and their safety was my top priority right now.
I turned another corner and walked straight into a wiry, short man with a chain in his arm. The moment I came face to face with him, he swung his chain at my arm, colliding with my skin like lightning with the ground. I groaned in pain, which made him think he'd won, so I took advantage of his moment of weakness to kick him hard in the stomach.
But he didn't relent. The second time around, he came at me with full force, his chain swinging towards my head. So I ducked and used the chain to swing him into a pile of crates. The metal of the chain clanked on the concrete near the base of my feet and I picked it up, figuring that it would come in handy.
I paused for a moment, wondering how many more I'd have to encounter but then it struck me. If Elliott found his way here, then it must mean that someone would have notified him. Then it would be safe to assume that a team would have been dispatched and the authorities would have been notified.
This meant that I had the flexibility to help him and Vivien out. With this, I picked up my pace, darting around the whole warehouse to try and find them.
I ran around aimlessly for a while before I saw a small beam of light and heard faint voices towards the east wing. I followed the voices till I reached a small makeshift office. I was about to go inside when I stopped short in my place, dumbfounded by what I just heard.
