The rain-slicked streets of Valenzuela reflected the dull glow of streetlights. Rookie officer Zaymir Dela Torre tightened his grip on the steering wheel of the police SUV, eyes alert as rain blurred the road ahead. Tonight's mission sounded straightforward on paper: locate a suspected drug pusher, confirm the transaction, and make the arrest. No guarantees beyond that.
"Zaymir," Captain Mart said from the passenger seat, scanning the dark alleys, "we keep this quiet. Observe first. Once we confirm the handoff, we move in. No rushing."
"Understood," Zaymir replied. "We read the situation before we act."
Mart nodded. "Exactly. We don't know how many he's with, or how they'll react. Stay sharp."
The SUV slowed as they neared a narrow alley beside an old warehouse. Rain intensified, drumming against the roof. Both officers fell silent, watching figures move in the shadows.
"See that?" Mart murmured. "Looks like a handoff."
Zaymir's eyes followed the motion packages being exchanged, quick glances over shoulders. Nothing had gone wrong yet, but the tension sat heavy in his chest.
"We move," Mart said quietly.
The Intercept
They exited the vehicle, weapons drawn but lowered.
"Police!" Mart shouted. "Hands where we can see them!"
For a split second, everything froze.
Then chaos broke loose.
One of the men backed away too fast, bumping into another. Someone shouted. Instinct took over—several gang members rushed forward, trying to push past the officers.
Zaymir raised his guard. Fists swung at him, and he blocked, twisted, and countered with precise strikes. Another man swung a metal pipe—he ducked, parried, and forced the man to drop it. Rain-slicked ground made footing uncertain, but Zaymir adjusted constantly, keeping balance while defending himself.
Another gang member charged, tackling him. Zaymir twisted, threw him off, then spun toward another attacker, delivering a sharp strike to the ribs. The gang members were relentless, but Zaymir stayed focused, combining agility, leverage, and calculated punches to control the chaos.
Then he saw the dealer break away and sprint down the alley.
"Captain!" Zaymir shouted. "He's moving!"
Without hesitation, Zaymir broke off and gave chase through the rain-slick streets. Water splashed around their boots as they ran.
Confrontation
The dealer skidded on wet pavement, trying to dodge Zaymir's approach. Zaymir grabbed the man's arm, twisting to slow him down.
"Police—don't move!" he barked.
The dealer struggled violently. Panic flared in his eyes. Suddenly, he yanked a balisong from his pocket, flashing the blade toward Zaymir.
Pain exploded.
The blade slashed Zaymir's forearm, cutting through his sleeve and skin. Blood seeped instantly, burning, but Zaymir gritted his teeth. He wasn't letting go.
The two grappled, struggling to maintain footing on the slick ground. Zaymir blocked, parried, and twisted the dealer's wrist with the handcuffs, trying to control the blade. The dealer lunged, slashed, and attempted to kick Zaymir off—but the rookie anticipated each move, using leverage, balance, and quick adjustments to stay in control.
The fight dragged through the alley, each second stretching like eternity. Zaymir finally found an opening—he used the dealer's momentum, twisted sharply, and sent the balisong clattering to the ground.
With a swift motion, he snapped the handcuffs closed around the dealer's wrists.
The rest of the gang had scattered, unwilling to engage further after seeing their leader subdued.
Breathing hard, Zaymir dragged the dealer back toward the SUV.
"Suspect in custody," he reported over the radio.
Captain Mart hurried over, eyes immediately locking onto Zaymir's bleeding forearm.
"You hit?"
Zaymir nodded slightly. "Forearm. I can still move."
Mart studied him for a second, then gave a firm nod. "Alright. Let's secure him first."
Two Days Later
Inside the Valenzuela Police Station, a local officer approached Captain Mart's team.
"Sir, three agents are on their way. They asked to speak with your team."
Zaymir froze. "Agents? Why?"
The officer gave a small shrug. "It's about the drug pusher you caught two days ago. They requested coordination."
Captain Mart's brow furrowed. "Understood. Let's get ready."
When the agents arrived, they were three in number, sharply dressed, and calm. Captain Mart instructed one of his men to escort Zaymir and the rest of the team to the interrogation room where the dealer was being held.
Inside the room, the dealer sat cuffed to the table, looking smaller than he had on the street. One of the agents addressed him directly.
"We need information," the agent said calmly. "About who you work for."
The dealer remained silent, glaring.
After several minutes, the agent turned to Zaymir and Captain Mart.
"You did good work," he said. "But this arrest barely scratches the surface."
Zaymir frowned.
"There's someone above him," the agent continued. "Someone careful. Protected. Untouchable. And he's been out of our reach for years."
The word hung heavy in the air.
Untouchable.
The agent left without further explanation. Outside, rain tapped steadily against the station windows.
Zaymir stared at the interrogation room door, a quiet realization settling in.
This wasn't the end.
It was the beginning