Gun smoke drifted over the pavement like an unforgiving reminder — that on this block, any moment could be your last.
But on 59th Street, that didn't stop a thing. The hustle never slept, and neither did the streets. Sirens came and went like background noise, bullets rang out like an alarm bell that never stopped ringing — but to everyone on this block, that was just the norm.
Dealers passed product in coded motion, and lookouts posted on corners barely blinked. This was home to the notorious 59th Street gang — crime central, a no-fly zone, governed by Derrick and enforced by his right hand, Malakie.
And whenever the hood got too rowdy, too loud, or forgot that there were rules — something always came to remind them who really ran it.
The matte black G-Wagon rolled up in the heart of the hood, windows tinted pitch-dark so you couldn't see inside — but everybody already knew who it belonged to.
There was only one guy on the block with enough pull to get one of those… Malakie.
He eased it to the curb, tapped the button with his finger, and the engine cut — dead.
For a moment, the whole block went still. Dealers paused, lookouts froze, even the dice games went quiet.
Then the window rolled down.
Malakie gave them the nod.
And just like that… the block snapped back to life.
"Man, those 60th Street punks never saw us coming," Ian said, smirking. "That's what they get for thinking any of those clowns could step on our block."
Malakie chuckled darkly. "They got the message loud and clear when the bodies hit the floor."
They fist-bumped, a silent seal of last night's bloodshed. But just as the laughter faded, Ian's eyes narrowed.
"Yo… who's that on our block?" Ian muttered, already reaching for the piece tucked into his D&G's. He pointed towards a small teenage boy standing at the far end of the corner. "That one of those 60th Street cats tryna play blood?"
Malakie turned his head slowly. His eyes landed on the boy. "Tch… that's Daniel, man. Don't pay that little kid no mind," he muttered. "I told him not to turn up here unannounced."
Before Ian could say another word, Malakie pushed open the G-Wagon door and stormed across the street.
Daniel looked up, face lighting up like he was meeting his idol. "Malakie, my guy!" he grinned, holding his hand out to dap him up.
Malakie looked him up and down, leaving Daniel's hand hanging.
"Did I do something wrong?" Daniel asked nervously before pulling his hand back.
"Yeah. Being here."
Malakie stepped in closer. "I told you not to pull up unannounced. These streets ain't safe, and not everyone around here knows your face. You think this a game? This ain't no Twitch stream or movie set — this is real life. People get killed out here daily, and I can't police the block when I'm not here."
Daniel held his ground.
"Don't worry about my dad. He doesn't know I'm here. He's been in meetings all day — hasn't even clocked I left."
Malakie stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"If your dad finds out you're here? Cops come down on all of us. Operations shut down. That's money and time we can't afford to lose. You feel me?"
Daniel nodded slowly. "I hear you."
Malakie squinted.
"Wait… how you even here right now? School not too long ago finished. The math ain't mathing."
"I got suspended," Daniel muttered under his breath.
"You got what?" Malakie barked.
Daniel immediately took a few steps back, his excitement quickly replaced by fear.
"Relax, little homie. I ain't gonna put my paws on you. But what did you get suspended for?" asked Malakie.
"Remember that dude who kept messing with me?"
"Yeah…"
"Well, I came upside his head and he ran to the principal and… here we are."
"You did what?" Malakie's tone changed again, scrunching his face in disbelief.
"You said for me to stand my ground," Daniel replied quickly.
"I said don't let people mess with you. I didn't say beat the snot outta someone and get suspended, man. You bring unwanted attention to yourself, then pull up here? That's the kinda shit that gets everyone heat."
Daniel nodded. "I'll keep my head down. I'll be smart."
Malakie turned and whistled loud and sharp. The block responded instantly. Gang members left from their corners, stepping in close.
Malakie didn't waste time.
"Listen up. The boss has work lined up for tonight. Ten o'clock sharp, no excuses. If you're not here, you're out. That clear?"
"Bet," said one.
"Say less," another replied.
The crew scattered back to their posts.
Daniel stepped in again.
"Malakie… I don't know if I can make it tonight. With my suspension and all, my dad's gonna be watching me."
Malakie cut him off swiftly.
"You're either in or you're out. I vouched for you when nobody wanted to. Don't make me look stupid, little homie."
Daniel exhaled and nodded. "Aight. I'll be there."
He glanced down at his phone. 3:35 PM.
"Crap," he muttered, turning on his heel. "I gotta go — before my dad notices I'm gone."
Then he was off, sprinting down the block
****
Gabriel stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His nervous energy was emitting from every corner of his body as he tried his best to stay calm. His eyes were locked on the opposing team, but his mind was drifting—far from the field, deep into the storm of doubt and fear building up inside him.
He'd transformed, and he didn't even know it or what triggered it. The race was one thing, but this? This was full-contact. Bodies flying, hits landing, eyes watching from every direction. And if he lost control—if he transformed again out here in front of everyone? That was game over.
Sweat trickled down the side of his head, and his heart started pounding like a drum in a thunderstorm. He looked up at the sky, watching the clouds drift by—peaceful and still, the complete opposite of the storm raging inside him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out.
Then, almost like a prayer, the words came to him.
God... I know you say everything happens for a reason. But I gotta question this one. A dragonfly? Powers? Really? I'm not special. I'm just a regular kid from New York like everybody else. So if you picked me for a reason, I think you chose wrong. And if you wanna take these powers back... I'm not gonna fight you on it. Yours sincerely, Gabriel.
He opened his eyes again, but the pressure didn't fade.
His thoughts spiraled fast, a runaway train he couldn't slow down. Worst-case scenarios flipped through his mind like a highlight reel gone wrong. Him losing control mid-play. Someone getting hurt. Everyone watching. Everyone judging. The weight of it pressed down on him, tight in his chest.
It felt like he was walking a tightrope with no net below. One slip and it was over.
And no matter which way he looked, eyes were on him.
But the ones that cut the deepest? David's.
David was locked in on him. Not blinking. Not budging. That pressure? It wasn't just tension—it was target practice. David had his sights set on Gabriel, and he wasn't letting up. Like a heat-seeking missile, there was only one outcome: a collision course.
He wasn't just here to play ball. He was a walking question mark. A secret waiting to explode.
And then he saw her.
Jai-Lee. On the sidelines, arms folded, smiling like the sun broke through the clouds just for him. Her energy hit different—genuine, grounding, real. She gave him a thumbs-up, eyes gleaming with belief. And in that moment, everything inside Gabriel shifted.
She believed in him. And maybe... just maybe... he could believe in himself too.
Gabriel straightened up, took one more breath, and locked in.
Coach Kirk stepped into the middle of the field, coin in hand, with Harry on one side and Marcus on the other.
"What you got, Marcus?" he asked.
"I call heads," Marcus replied.
"Well then, that means you've got tails, Harry."
Coach Kirk flipped the coin high into the air. It spun fast, catching the sunlight as it flipped end over end before landing cleanly on the grass.
"Tails it is," Coach Kirk announced. "So, offense or defense?"
Harry didn't waste a second. "We'll start with the ball."
As the teams began to line up, Harry grabbed David's helmet, pulled him aside, and placed his own hand over his mouth, making sure no one could read his lips or hear what he was about to say. His voice was calm but menacing.
"Time to show me what you got. I'm handing you the ball. The team's blocking for you. You're going head-to-head with Gabriel. Run through him. Don't hold back. You hear me?"
David's jaw clenched. "Got it."
Harry nodded and clapped him on the shoulder, then turned back toward the field.
He called out, "3, 23! 3, 23!"
The play was in motion.
Harry received the snap clean and immediately handed it off. David clutched the ball tight against his chest and exploded forward like a bullet out the chamber. He tore through the defense, sidestepping one block, powering through another.
His eyes locked on one person.
Gabriel.
Everything else faded. The crowd. The noise. The world.
Just him, the ball, and the collision that was about to change everything.
The ref stood calmly at the center of the field, hands on his hips, eyes following the play as it began to unfold. He wasn't shouting or blowing his whistle — just watching, letting the moment build.
David exploded forward, pushing through the line, eyes locked on one target. That chip on his shoulder driving every step — this wasn't about just making a play. This was about proving something.
Gabriel's heart began to thunder in his chest, his entire body stiffening as the moment approached. Every sense sharpened. And then, like the universe itself paused to see what he'd do… everything slowed.
Time dragged. The crowd's cheers became a distant echo. The players on the field moved like they were underwater. Gabriel could hear everything — the soft crunch of cleats digging into the turf, the gentle whisper of the wind through the grass, and David's footsteps, heavy and fast, like drums of war approaching.
Gabriel's eyes locked on David's. And in that moment, he didn't feel panic. He felt something else. Control.
With a smooth, precise motion, he stepped into position and tackled him clean.
But when time snapped back to full speed — David's body flew.
He crashed into the ground with a heavy thud, rolling once before stopping on his back. The impact silenced the field. Players froze. The sidelines gasped. Even the coach stopped mid-step.
Gabriel stood over him, frozen himself, trying to process what just happened.
Jai-Lee, who had been watching from the sideline, lowered her hands from her face, stunned. She didn't expect that. No one did.
The energy of the entire game shifted. Gabriel's tackle didn't just stop the play — it flipped the script.
Gabriel rubbed the back of his helmet, realising what he had done.
"My bad. You good?" said Gabriel, offering David a hand.
David looked at Gabriel's hand in disgust before slapping it away. Someone he had once seen as weak had just put him down in front of everyone. The sting of embarrassment scorched hotter than the hit itself. He wasn't just angry — he was humiliated.
He rose to his feet, brushing himself off.
"Beginner's luck," he muttered, avoiding Gabriel's eyes.
He had underestimated Gabriel — and paid the price.
"But don't worry, Gabriel," he added, his voice full of rage and spite. "I won't make the same mistake twice."