The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the dusty road to Rosewood. Alexander checked his reflection in the cart's polished metal, adjusted the brim of his black hat, and whispered to Logan, "Tonight, we settle more than debts."
Logan, pale with anticipation, didn't respond. He only nodded.
Alexander's plan was simple but dangerous: one last heist, solo, to gather enough funds—but Rosewood's streets were crawling with Black Vultures informants. Disguised as a trader, Alexander steered his cart through the forest path.
Suddenly, five rough men emerged from the shadows, blocking the path. Steel flashed in the lanterns they held.
"Hand over everything, or we'll take it for you!" one growled.
Alexander's hand hovered near his revolver. Calm as a still pond, he replied, "I don't think so."
Before the goons could react, he drew his gun in one fluid motion. BANG! BANG! The first man dropped. BANG! BANG! Two more fell before they even blinked. The last two scrambled, but Alexander's aim was deadly precise. Within seconds, all five lay unmoving in the dust.
He jumped off the cart, looted their belongings, and saw a lone figure fleeing into the woods. "Run while you can," he muttered, his eyes cold and calculating.
That night, the real test began. Alexander and Logan awoke bound and blindfolded, the smell of damp wood and iron filling their nostrils. In the center of the small, suffocating room, Daniel, the Black Vultures' ruthless leader, sat on a cushion chair. Calm. Controlling. Deadly.
"Ah… the clever little fox," Daniel purred, eyes glinting with malice. "You think you can outsmart my men?"
"I'm not here to play games," Alexander said, voice steady.
Daniel's smile widened. "I'm impressed by your audacity. And I have a proposal. Work for me, or your friend dies."
Logan's eyes widened. Alexander's mind raced. His pulse thrummed like war drums.
He asked, "What do you want?"
Daniel laughed and said, "That's the right thing are asking. I want you to destroy the Shadowbrand gang."
Alexander thought for a moment.
Alexander raised his chin, voice cold as steel: "Ok, I'll destroy the gang… on my terms."
Daniel laughed, low and dangerous. "On your terms? You have no idea what you're facing."
Alexander smirked. "I know exactly what I'm facing. And I know what I am capable of."
With that, the bindings were cut. Weapons returned. Alexander mounted his horse with practiced ease.
"Call me… Ethan Brooks," he said, masking his identity.
By dawn, Alexander returned to the Rogers residence to strategize. Marcus, Natalie, and Elena awaited him, each moving with the precision of seasoned outlaws.
"Black Vultures won't see this coming," Marcus said, inspecting the rooftops.
Elena's sniper scope revealed three Vultures spies creeping through the shadows. She took a deep breath, then one by one, each fell silently to her bullet. "Clear," she whispered.
Together, the four donned armored outlaw suits. Alexander adjusted his black hat—his symbol of the hunter he had become. From the farmhouse, they moved out, a storm of vengeance in human form.
Meanwhile, Daniel realized his spies were gone. Panic ignited in him when he heard a distant explosion. Heart racing, he sprinted toward Logan, gun raised—but saw the devastation: a fortified base, reduced to ruin in minutes.
Rage boiled over. He stormed into the open, rifle aimed at Logan—but a sharp crack silenced his weapon. Alexander had shot the rifle clean from his hands.
"You promised to destroy the Shadowbrand gang," Daniel bellowed, fury consuming him.
Alexander's gaze was ice. "I said I'd destroy the gang. I never said which gang."
"You're insane," Daniel snarled.
"Maybe," Alexander admitted, voice calm, controlled. "But it's my terms."
The shot echoed, final and absolute. Daniel slumped. The Black Vultures were no more.
Within weeks, word spread like wildfire: a new force had risen, one that moved faster, struck harder, and vanished like smoke. Some whispered of a messiah of justice; others of a storm that would cleanse the lands.
Alexander rode into the twilight, Logan at his side, weapons ready, hearts beating in sync. They weren't just survivors anymore—they were legends in the making.