Beneath the Surface

Part 28

The garage smelled like paint and gasoline, thick with energy and the low thrum of a beat coming from a speaker in the corner. The walls were half-covered in their signature style—graffiti that wasn’t just art, but resistance. Truth masked in color and rebellion.

Yok leaned against a crate, arms crossed, his jacket still smelling faintly of Longtai's shampoo from the earlier ride. But now his expression had shifted—less soft, more focused.

Across from him, Black paced like a caged wolf, the edge of frustration sharp in every step.

“This one’s big,” Black said, throwing down a folder with photos. “The bastard’s a well-connected politician, hiding behind charity fronts. But he’s been trafficking girls out through his ‘rehab homes’—using government funds to clean his image.”

Sean leaned in over Gram’s shoulder, his usual laid-back vibe replaced with cold calculation. “We’ve got footage. Witnesses too scared to talk, but their eyes said enough.”

“And we tag him how?” Gram asked, arms stained with paint but eyes alert.

Black turned to Yok. “We need your art. You’re the one who leaves a mark they can’t ignore.”

Yok looked at the photos, then back at Black. “Where?”

Black grinned, the kind that was half war-cry, half madness. “His building. His clean, polished, marble façade. I want your masterpiece smeared across it.”

“Or…” Sean chimed in, leaning back. “We do something bigger. Graffiti’s good, but people forget. What if we made a video? Show them what we see. The truth. Then let the art lead them into it.”

Yok’s jaw tensed. He looked at the folder again, then at his half-finished sketches lying beside a spray can. “You want me to paint a target. And then light a fuse.”

Black nodded. “Exactly.”

But Yok’s thoughts were already running elsewhere. The words echoed in his head. Phupha’s voice. His stare. His threat.

If Phupha ever found out…
If Longtai ever got pulled into the crossfire…

Yok swallowed down the burn of doubt. He’d always played the edge. But now that he had something—someone—to lose, the danger felt different.

“Guys,” he said slowly, “if we get caught—this won’t be a slap on the wrist. Military ties run deep. Surveillance, intelligence. If we step on the wrong toe, we’re not just pissing off cops—we’re waking up devils.”

Black raised a brow. “You scared?”

“No,” Yok said, gaze firm. “I’m aware.”

Sean glanced between them. “So what do we do?”

Yok picked up a can and turned it in his hand. “We do it smart. We do it fast. And we leave no trace they can follow back.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but in his heart, one face burned clearer than all the rest—Longtai, standing in the middle of the road, smiling soft and innocent before stepping back into his apartment.

He couldn’t let that world touch him.

★☆

The city was quiet in that eerie, stretched-out kind of way—where the streets slept but the sins still simmered underneath. Streetlights flickered as four shadowed figures pulled up on bikes and an old beat-up van, its windows tinted and back loaded with gear.

Yok tugged the bandana over his mouth, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation beneath the hood of his oversized jacket. His boots hit the pavement first. Confident. Controlled chaos. This was his element.