The station was quieter than usual. The hum of fluorescent lights above, the shuffle of papers, the tap of keys, it was strange calm before the chaos Eli had slowly gotten used to. He sat at his desk, tapping his pen nervously against a half-finished form. He wanted to be out there, doing something, not just scribbling words on sheets. But he also wanted to prove he could handle the grunt work without complaining.
"Hey, Eli."
He looked up. A tired officer leaned on his desk, files stacked in high arms. "Think you can finish a few reports for me? I've been at it all day, and I need some sleep."
Eli hesitated only a second before nodding. "Yeah, sure. I'll cover it."
The man's face lit with relief. "Thanks, kid. I owe you one." He left the files with a heavy thunk and walked out the exit.
Eli sighed. More work. He stacked the papers neatly, then stood. His head was pounding from staring at forms too long, and he needed a break. He made his way down the hall toward the bathroom.
When he came out a few minutes later, adjusting his sleeves, something caught his eye. The door to the files room, was slightly ajar, a silver light spilling out.
Frowning, Eli stepped closer. That room was supposed to be locked unless someone signed in.
He pushed the door wider and saw a shadowed figure at one of the cabinets, rifling through folders.
"Who's there," Eli called cautiously.
The figure froze, shoulders tensing. Slowly, he turned, it.. was Officer Rourke.
Eli blinked in surprise. "What are you doing in here?"
Rourke slid a folder back into place, clearing his throat. "Just looking through some rebel files."
"Which ones?" Eli asked, curiosity sparking.
Rourke's eyes narrowed briefly, like he was measuring Eli. Then he said, "The Ram Riders."
"The Ram Riders?" Eli repeated, stepping closer. "Who are they?"
Rourke let out a short laugh, though it didn't sound amused. "You ask too many questions, kid, Come with me."
He shut the file drawer with a firm click and motioned for Eli to follow. Hesitant, Eli trailed him into a side room where a large map of the city was pinned to the wall. Colored pins dotted across the rebel side, connected by faint markings.
Rourke picked up a red pin from the tray. "Here," he said, pressing it into the southern district. "Redevil territory. Always been about brute force and numbers."
Another pin, the one blue. He placed it closer the the eastern sprawl. "Ram Riders. They're the third largest crew. Messy, and unorganized. Not as famous as the Night Riders group, but don't underestimate them."
Finally, he pressed a black pin near the center of the southern zone. "An this... this is the Fangs Frontier. Or, as most people call them, the Fangs. Night Riders crew. Simple name. Fitting. They cut deep and vanish before you can catch your breath,"
Eli leaned in, studying the map. Rourke had marked the border, a clear divide between the 'protected' northern side and the chaos of the south. The pins looked like war waiting to happen.
"Night Rider is planning something," Rourke said suddenly,. "I don't know what yet, but it's coming."
"But so are we," Eli said quickly, remembering the talk in the station earlier that week. "We've got those new vehicles coming in next week."
Rourke nodded once, but his expression didn't change. "True. But in the end, it won't come down to tech. It's skill. And nobody in this city can beat him. Our only chance isn't chasing him, it's playing a mind game. I wouldn't be surprised if Night Rider already has guys inside this station. It'd explain the missing files."
Eli's brows shot up. "I heard about that."
Rourke replied, "I don't think it's the Fangs who's invaded us."
Eli looked at him weirdly, "Who then?"
Rourke tapped the map near the Ram Riders' pin. "Because it wasn't them. The Ram Riders probably stole those files to frame us, to make it look like a cops was guilty. While our attention stays locked on the Fangs, the Riders can move quietly. Their goal is the same as The Fangs, break us. Just... from the inside out."
Eli frowned, a chill running down his spine. "But how do you know so much about them?"
For a split second, Rourke didn't answer. His jaw tightened, eyes unreadable, like he was calculating whether to speak. Then he forced a thin smile.
"Experience."
Eli nodded slowly, but suspicion gnawed at him. That hesitation.. that look. Could Rourke be lying? Could he really be-
No. That would be insane. But it could explain how he knew so much.
"Well," Eli said carefully, "I should get back to those reports. Wouldn't want to drown in them."
Rourke smirked faintly and turned back to the map. "Good idea."
Eli left the room quickly, his thoughts a storm. What if he's not a cap? What if he's one of them?
As he sat back at his desk, he grabbed his phone and texted the only person he thought he could trust right now.
10:48 pm
Eli: Just saw Rourke digging through files. He knows a lot about the rebels. Too much. What if he's a traitor?
Kai: I'm not dealing with this right now.
Eli: Please bro, I'm freaking out.
Kai: I mean it would explain a lot, he's always been weird. I honestly believe you, either he's innocent or the best actor alive. Like Oscar level.
Eli snorted despite the tension in the room. "An Oscar huh? Right." He shook his head, smiling briefly before pushing the thought aside and diving into the mountain of reports.
Across the city, heavy boots pounded pavement
Zane led the charge, his broad frame lit by the flickering street lamps as nearly two dozen rebels followed. Their target loomed ahead, an abandoned warehouse, rust eating at its walls, faint light spilling through shattered windows.
Switch was inside.
"Kick it down," Zane ordered. Two rebels slammed the doors open with a metallic bang.
Inside, Redevils crowded the floor, bats, pipes, and knives gleaming in their hands. Their leader, stood with a sneer too wide for his face, stepped forward.
"Hand her over," Zane growled.
The Redevils leader laughed, a harsh bark. "Hand her over? Give us out money first. Then maybe we'll do you the favor."
Zane spat on the ground. "Yeah, I'm not giving you anything."
"Then she's ours now." The leader leaned close, voice dropping venom.
That was the last straw. Zane's fist snapped forward, cracking across the leaders jaw with a sickening crunch.
Chaos erupted.
Rebels and Redevils collided, fists flying, weapons swinging. A pipe slammed into a rebel's shoulder, and he staggered back before tackling his attacker to the ground. Glass shattered as someone was thrown against a window. Switch's muffled cry echoed from the back room, spurring Zane on.
Zane and the leader went blow for blow in the center of the action. The man swung a chain, nearly catching Zane's face, but Zane ducked low and countered with a brutal uppercut. Blood sprayed from the leaders nose, but he only laughed, swinging wildly again.
Around them, the fangs fought like wolves, knives flashing, boots slamming into ribs, every move fueled by loyalty. Zane felt pain bloom across his cheek as the leader's punch connected, but he roared and shoved forward, tackling him through a pile of crates.
The brawl raged for minutes that felt like hours. Then finally, Zane pinned the leader down, his own face bloody, his knuckles raw. One last punch dropped the man flat, dazed and struggling to rise.
The Redevils broke. One by one, they fell or fled, and the Fangs stood victorious, battered but standing.
Zane wiped the blood from his nose and barked, "Get her out!"
A rebel broke the back door open, and Switch stumbled into the light, Rope marks on her wrists, her face pale but defiant.
Zane walked her out, keeping one arm steady around her.
"You need to stop acting so tough," he muttered.
Switch smirked, her voice cocky even through the cracks. "please. That guy couldn't land a hit. I've seen scarier dogs."
But Zane's eyes softened. "It's okay to be scared. You can drop the act. We've known each other too long for that."
Her smirk wavered. Her eyes brimmed before she dropped her head, voice breaking. Zane pulled her close, silent, letting her tears soak into his shirt
Back at the station, Eli rubbed his eyes as he finished his last report. His phone buzzed, dispatch calling.
"Warehouse on 43rd fight. Move."
Adrenaline surged. Eli grabbed his keys and ran to his cruiser. The city lights blurred past as he swerved through traffic, sirens wailing somewhere behind him.
By the time he reached the warehouse, the fight was over. The fangs were already mounting their bikes, engines snarling as they sped into the night. Some cops gave chase, but most rushed inside.
Rebels littered the floor, groaning, bloody, half-conscious. The Redevils leader was gone, vanished into the shadows. The rest were dragged up in handcuffs, shoved into cars.
Eli stood in the doorway, catching his breath, staring at the carnage.
Somewhere out there, the Fangs were already disappearing back into their turf with switch safely with them.
And the war in the streets had only just begun.