The rain returned like memory—heavy, unrelenting, and cold. Dre stood under the shelter of a rusted bus stop, hoodie down for once, letting the water run off his buzzcut as if trying to cleanse him of the sins piling up inside him. The city around him pulsed with noise: car horns, rain hammering rooftops, and distant yelling that belonged to no one and everyone. It was street music, the sound of survival.
But Dre wasn't out for survival tonight.
He was out for Razor.
A message had come in from an unlisted number earlier: "Razor will be at the old Kross Bridge tonight. He's expecting trouble."
Dre knew what it meant. Razor was baiting him. But Dre also knew something Razor didn't: he wasn't coming alone.
---
Three blocks away, Elric paced in a phone-lit alleyway, talking in low tones. "He's moving tonight. Kross Bridge. Yeah, I know it's a setup… I just want to see how he handles it."
He clicked the call off and turned around. Zara was already waiting behind him.
"You're using him like bait," she said.
"And you're using me to get to him," Elric replied, stuffing his hands in his jacket. "We're all playing games, Zara. Don't act like you're clean."
---
Kross Bridge was broken in every way. Concrete eroded. Graffiti everywhere. Fires burned in barrel drums lit by shadows in hoods. Dre stepped through the perimeter like a ghost, every step calculated. Razor wasn't alone. At least six of his men circled the bridge, armed with pipes, machetes, and a hunger to prove something.
"You showed up," Razor said, stepping out from behind a burnt-out truck.
Dre didn't smile. "Let's finish what you started."
Razor chuckled. "Nah. See, you ain't understanding. This ain't about your brother anymore. This is about power. You been stepping into business that don't belong to you. That cop? Your little info-leaks? The street don't forget."
Dre stepped closer. "And I don't forgive."
Razor snapped his fingers.
The men moved.
Dre reacted.
A flash. A kick. One down. A twist of the wrist, a knife stolen, and another collapsed with a scream. Dre wasn't just fighting—he was executing a plan. Every move timed, every opening punished. He didn't have superpowers. He had strategy.
And then came Razor.
The fight was vicious. Raw. No rules. Fists against ribs, elbows to the jaw. Razor was stronger, but Dre was smarter, faster, and angrier. Memories of his brother's blood on the street gave him fuel. He took hit after hit, but never stopped moving.
Razor grabbed a chain from the ground, swung it.
Dre ducked, rolled, came up with a crowbar.
Clang. Clash. The two traded steel and blood until Dre finally landed a brutal strike to Razor's knee.
Crack.
Razor dropped.
Dre stood over him, chest heaving.
"This is what justice looks like."
Police sirens echoed in the distance. Dre turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Razor screaming in pain, the chain coiled around his legs like karma.
---
Zara watched everything through a hidden phone camera, streaming it live to a private drive.
"You saw what you needed to see?" Elric asked beside her.
Zara nodded. "He's more dangerous than I thought. But maybe... he's exactly what this city needs."
Elric didn't answer. He just kept watching the screen as Dre disappeared.