A high-pitched whine screams through Jake's ears.
People swarm the vehicles, fumbling with locks and doors, engines igniting like thunder as they try to escape the chaos.
Still rattled from the fight, he watches the world drift by in slow motion—faces smearing together, colors bleeding into one another. Voices tangle and twist, wrapping around Jake like a fog, each sound warped by the piercing ringing.
One voice cuts through the haze—Tyler yells from a open car door.
"Jaaake…"
The words come slow and thick, as if each is being pushed through water.
"Movee… youur… ass…"
For a long moment, Tyler hesitates—his gaze locked on Jake's motionless body.
After a pause, he yells to the driver, "Get us out of here!"
Tires scream against the pavement as the car races away, leaving Jake behind.
Trapped in shock, he's unable to make sense of what's happening. The body atop him, limp and lifeless, starts to press down like a dead weight on his chest.
Slowly, Jake begins to come to his senses. He groans, trembling beneath the weight as he strains to lift the boy just enough to catch a breath.
The sight grips him—a bullet wound torn clean through the chest of the boy he just fought.
"Oh god…" Jake sobs, struggling to catch his breath.
Blood spurts out violently from the wound, soaking Jake's shirt and running down his arms in viscous, dark streams.
"Why did he…" The sentence dies on his lips.
He looks up at the boy's face—eyes still open but empty, the light behind them long gone.
Jake's stomach twists as the warmth of the blood sinks deeper into his skin. His grip falters, and he lets go, the body dropping hard against him—heavy in a way only death can make it.
Beneath the weight, he lies frozen, eyes fixed on the pale sky. Slowly, they surrender to exhaustion, and the world fades into darkness.
Hours pass in silence, as the world slips quietly into night…
Suddenly, the dark is shattered by flashes of red and blue.
The world returns to Jake in fragments—a distant siren drawing closer, the weight of the body atop him settling in again, and the warmth gone cold.
He hears the crunch of tires meeting gravel, doors swing open quickly. Footsteps close in as Jake blinks, eyes struggling to clear the blur.
"What the hell?" a voice mutters. "Jake, is that you?!"
"Talk to me, son. Are you okay?" the voice pleads.
Jake slowly lifts his head and sees a figure standing over him—it's Marcus.
Marcus lifts the corpse off him. Jake groans, coughing as the weight finally eases off his chest.
Out of the corner of his eye, he quickly notices someone behind Marcus—someone he doesn't recognize: a poised woman with platinum blonde hair and sleek, thin-rimmed glasses.
"What the hell happened here?" Marcus asks, his voice tense.
Unable to find the words, Jake sits there, still trying to make sense of it all.
Frustrated, Marcus turns back to the woman. "God damn it! That punk gave us shit intel—sent us on a damn duck hunt on the other side of town!"
She lets out a laugh, shaking her head in frustration.
"Honestly, it was a smart play—draw the feds away, do your thing, then bounce. We should've seen this coming," she sighs. "I told you not to underestimate them. They might be young, but if they can get the Brotherhood's attention, we can't afford to make mistakes. We should've snagged Tyler when we had the chance."
"Tyler… he—" Jake's voice cuts off the woman's lecture.
Tears well in his eyes. "He shot him… He was on me, punching, and then Tyler—he just… it happened so fast. I couldn't…"
His words catch in his throat as the memory swallows him.
Marcus pulls Jake into a firm hug. Jake continues to cry, his shoulders shaking against Marcus's chest.
"Samantha, we need to keep this under wraps for now. Call NYPD and tell them Westside is covered for the night. We'll send them a report in the morning. I'm taking the car back to the gym. Wait for the response team to get here and brief them. Meet me there when you're finished."
"You got it, boss," the sarcasm fading as she lets out a heavy sigh.
Marcus guides Jake to the SUV and helps him in before pulling away from the scene.
The vehicle slips quietly out of the alley. Samantha stays rooted, eyes fixed on the taillights as they disappear.
"Yes, let's leave the woman all alone… in an alley… in the middle of the night…" she mutters sarcastically to herself.
Inside the car, the heavy silence finally breaks as Marcus turns to Jake.
"Listen, everything's going to be okay, but you need to tell me what the hell you were doing out there."
Jake remains silent, refusing to answer.
"Why are you hanging around those guys? Is this some rebellious teen thing?" he pleads, trying to get a response.
Jake sits there quietly, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window.
"You could've been killed! What if I hadn't shown up and someone else found you? You could've been facing murder charges, for Christ's sake!" Marcus's voice rises.
Jake finally snaps.
"You think I run with those guys for fun? Spare me your fatherly lecture. My mom's passed out on that damn couch every day, high out of her mind."
He wipes his tears away in frustration. "My dad just leaves—gone for some 'important reason' that no one knows a single thing about. Not even his closest friend. And ever since, it's been my responsibility to hold everything together. You'd think he could've at least called. Or written. Something… anything."
Marcus, struggling for words, manages to let out, "Jake… I… I'm sure your father had his reasons. But I know your dad wouldn't have left unless it was important."
Jake mutters under his breath, "I mean, what could have been more important than being my dad?"
"I wish I had the answers for you. I really do. You could've come to me if you needed help. I've always been in your corner."
"I don't need your help, Marcus. I've been doing just fine on my own."
"You call that just fine?!" he erupts, then takes a breath, softening his tone. "Listen, I know you're trying to be strong like your old man. But even he needed help sometimes. It takes strength to trust someone to have your back. Your father knew that well."
Jake shakes his head with a scoff. "Yeah, whatever."
Marcus lets out a dry chuckle. "You're definitely your father's son. That kind of stubbornness is genetic."
The laughter stops, and his voice grows serious. "I know today probably convinced you enough, but I need your word that you won't run with those punks anymore."
Jake responds sarcastically, "Wasn't planning on it anytime soon."
"I'm serious, Jake. This isn't a game. You can't just think about yourself—you put everyone around you at risk when you get caught up with a crowd like that."
"I got it…" he says, eager to end the conversation.
They sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts for the remainder of the drive.
They pull up to the gym and head straight to Marcus's office.
Jake recounted every detail of the incident, explaining to Marcus that it started as his initiation into the gang and, at first, was just a fight between him and the other boy.
"Then I blacked out… and that's when you showed up. Wait—why were you even there in the first place?" Jake asks, narrowing his eyes.
With his back still turned, Marcus pulls a few folders from the shelf as he says, "Look, there are things I can't explain right now, but I promise you'll know everything soon enough. Now come on—let me give you a ride home. It's getting late."
"Don't bother. You've already done enough. I can walk—it's just down the block," he says, politely declining.
"Don't be ridiculous—it's been a long day. Seriously, just let me take you…" he says. But by the time he turns around, Jake is already out the door, it clicking shut behind him.
"That kid really is something else…" he mutters to himself, turning back around to his cabinet.
Suddenly, the door swings back open.
"Changed your min—oh, it's you."
Samantha makes her way through the door.
"Don't look so disappointed, jeez," she grumbles.
He shrugs her off with a sigh.
"Soo, did you learn anything interesting?"
Marcus thinks aloud, "I just don't know why the Brotherhood would be interested in a bunch of small-time street rats."
"If only we had someone on the inside, someone they already trust, to help us figure that out," she says with a sly grin.
"Are you out of your mind?! He's just a boy!" Marcus explodes.
"Yeah, one who just got a seat at the table. Come on, admit it—you've got to be thinking it," she insists.
"Samantha, you're out of line. The kid is basically family," he replies sternly.
"Oh really? And I'm not? How long have we been working together? How many death traps have you sent me into?" she snaps, clearly upset.
"That's enough!" Marcus yells, taking a steadying breath before adding calmly, "We'll find another way in."
Thick with tension, Samantha storms out of the room. "You know where to find me," she adds as she leaves.
A few blocks away…
Streetlights flicker above as Jake makes his way down the sidewalk, hands buried in his pockets. He rounds the corner, his house coming into view—but something feels off.
A dark car sits idling across the street, engine humming low.
He slows for a moment, eyeing the car, then shakes it off and keeps moving toward the house.
Then, without warning, the headlights snap on, flooding the street with blinding white light. Jake squints, caught off guard.
The car creeps forward, pulling up alongside him.
The passenger window sinks with a soft hiss exposing a silver pistol—its polished barrel glinting under the streetlight.
"Get in," the voice orders, the barrel aimed steady at Jake's head.
With a slow, reluctant breath, Jake gets inside the vehicle. A deep, steady hum fills the air as the car glides off into the night.