Chapter 2 – The Fear in Liberty City
Liberty City had never been silent, not even in its darkest hours. Its heartbeat pulsed in neon lights, in the constant honk of horns, in the shuffle of a million restless feet across cracked sidewalks.
But lately, beneath the noise, there was something else — a hum of terror. A vibration carried not by sound but by whispers. The air itself felt heavier.
Something was hunting the city.
And it was not the police.
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The Massacre in the Tunnel
In the east district, an abandoned subway tunnel had become the lair of the Iron Serpents — a criminal syndicate infamous for trafficking weapons and flesh. Their laughter filled the dark, echoing like hyenas. They passed bottles, rolled dice, knives clinking against the concrete floor.
"Another shipment gone, another pocket fat," their leader, Krayle, boomed. His voice bounced against the cracked tiles. "And the cops? Too busy cleaning up their own filth to touch us!"
The men roared.
But then, the lights above flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then died.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
"Who the hell touched the switch?" one of the Serpents barked, voice shaking.
"Relax, just a power cut—"
The rest of his words were eaten by a scream.
Something moved in the shadows. Something wrong. The darkness bent, writhing like it was alive, crawling across the walls. Men fired blindly, the sound of gunshots deafening in the enclosed space. But the bullets hit nothing—except each other.
Another scream.
Another body hit the ground.
The shadows thickened, swallowing the tunnel. The men could barely see their hands in front of their faces.
Then came the voice.
Low. Broken. Inhuman.
"You sold souls for gold… now your souls are mine."
Krayle stumbled backward, his gun shaking in his grip. "Show yourself, bastard! Show yourself!"
Two glowing eyes appeared in the dark, hovering inches from him. Not human eyes. Eyes burning with grief and rage twisted into something monstrous.
When the city police arrived hours later, all they found were bodies. The Iron Serpents were nothing but corpses, mouths frozen open in silent screams.
And on the blood-stained wall, scrawled with a finger dipped in crimson, was a single word:
H.I.M.
---
Panic in City Hall
The newspapers had stopped calling him a vigilante. Now every headline bore that same name, repeated like a curse.
Mayor Arthur Grimson hadn't slept in three days. His skin looked gray under the office light, sweat glistening on his forehead as he stared out his window at the glittering skyline. He clutched a glass of brandy, though his lips hadn't touched it.
Behind him, Commissioner Edward Scotts stood ramrod straight, his uniform pressed sharp, his face unreadable.
"This has to end," Grimson muttered, his voice cracking. "Four councilmen in a week. A senator's son last night. Do you know what this looks like, Edward? Do you?"
Scotts cleared his throat. "We've increased patrols. Every precinct is running investigations around the clock. But he leaves nothing. No witnesses, no evidence. Some claim he disappears into shadows. Others say bullets don't touch him."
Grimson spun, eyes wild. "Don't feed me ghost stories. I want results. The public is panicking, Edward! If they lose faith in me, in this administration—we're finished."
The commissioner said nothing. He'd seen the bodies. He'd heard the survivors whisper of claws in the dark. Even he, the most skeptical of men, couldn't explain it.
Grimson slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the glass. "I don't care what you have to do. Find him. Kill him."
But both men knew it wouldn't be that easy.
---
The Killer Walks Among Them
That same night, H.I.M. walked through the city like any other man. His hood was pulled low, his steps unhurried. But beneath the fabric, his eyes burned.
He stopped in front of a mirror nailed to the side of a pawn shop. For a moment, he saw not his face, but their faces—his wife and child, lifeless on the floor of their home. He pressed his palm against the glass, nails digging into it until cracks spiderwebbed across the surface.
"You erased me," he whispered to the reflection. "But I will make you remember."
Then he vanished into the night.
---
The Council of Fear
Grimson called an emergency council. His closest allies and corrupted officials gathered in the marble chamber, their voices buzzing like frightened bees.
"We can't hold the districts!"
"He's targeting anyone linked to government contracts!"
"My men are refusing assignments—they think he's the devil!"
The mayor slammed his gavel, silencing them.
"Enough! We will not let a ghost bring this city to its knees. We will fight fire with fire."
The council fell silent when the double doors opened.
A tall figure entered, her black coat sweeping behind her like the wing of a raven. Her steps were measured, her posture unshakable. Her presence alone seemed to still the room.
Gina Marcellus.
Not police. Not council. Something else entirely.
Her name was whispered in foreign wars, in places where governments denied their involvement. A blade in the dark. An eraser of men.
"Commissioner Scotts tells me you've lost control," Gina said, her voice calm, sharp as ice.
Grimson straightened, though his hands still trembled. "We are not dealing with a man, Gina. This thing… it's something else."
A thin smirk ghosted across her lips. "Monsters are my specialty."
She dropped a folder onto the table. Inside were sketches from witnesses—twisted shapes of a man wreathed in shadows, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"I've studied men like him. They all make mistakes eventually. And when he does…" She leaned forward, her voice slicing through the silence. "…I'll put him down."
For the first time that week, Grimson exhaled. "Then it's settled. From this moment forward, Gina—you are the city's sword."
The council nodded. Some in relief. Some in fear.
---
The Hunter and the Hunted
That night, Liberty City held its breath.
The criminals stayed underground. The politicians doubled their guards. For the first time since his reappearance, H.I.M. was being hunted not by frightened men, but by a predator just like him.
Gina stood on a rooftop overlooking the city, wind tugging at her coat. Her blades gleamed under the moonlight.
"Show yourself," she murmured.
Far across the skyline, on another rooftop, a hooded figure watched. His eyes burned with fury.
He whispered to the night, as if speaking to the family he lost:
"They erased me. But I will make them remember… every last one."
And somewhere in the dark below, the game of death began.
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