The Redevils' leader walked the empty sidewalk like he owned the street. His leather creaked with every step, the red devil man face on his vest seemed to glow in the streetlight's wash. The alley mouths he passes were black filled with malice, but he kept moving, swagger in his shoulders, a cigarette burning down between his fingers.
He rounded a corner and the cities heat hummed around him. Then the world folded. Rough hands yanked him sideways and a bag slammed over his head so fast his cigarette fell into a puddle and hissed. Booted feet shuffled, his arms were pinned behind him. Panic flared hot and instant.
When the men finally took the bag off, the alley's dim light revealed a man in a suit, not one of the Fangs or Redevils, not one of the usual street types, it was the same guy from the other day. He looked like he'd stepped out of a boardroom that never slept, a tailored jacket, polished shoes, and a calm that felt like a mandate.
"Sorry about that," the man said, voice smooth as poured silk. "Didn't want anyone to accidentally see you stroll in here. Hope you understand the bag situation." He offered a small, almost amused smile.
The leader blinked, rubbing his jaw where a hand had squeezed hard. "That's... a lot of pressure for a bag," he snapped, trying to herd his bravado back into place. "I'm sore from a fight."
"I heard about that fight," the man replied, unbothered. "Heard you got your butts kicked. Outnumbered and all. Shame." He chuckled, then slid closer, voice dropping. "Anyways. Have you thought about the offer? It's still on the table."
The leader swallowed, tension knotting his throat. "I've thought about it," he said slowly. "I'm not sure. Do you remember what you promised me if I did accept, you'd tell me everything you knew about Night Rider."
The man's face creased into a grin. "Of course I do, well for starters he and my son they go way back." He let the name hang.
"My son?" the leader repeated, confusion sharpening into alarm. "Wait do you mean you're Dax Calderon's dad?."
The man shrugged, amusement tucked into every motion. "Yeah. Name's Carlos Calderon." He let the name fall like stone. "Surprising, right? My son's Dax Calderon, he's a big shot around here now huh?" the leader's jaw dropped.
"You're.. Dax's" the leader started, voice cracking.
"So," Carlos said, "You want to know more information about Night Rider, excuse me let me correct myself, history."
The leader leaned in, "History isn't going to help me." His attitude completely changed once he heard the name.
"That's the problem with men like you," Carlos said softly, stepping closer. His tone wasn't raised, but it cut sharper than a blade. "Always chasing leverage, never seeing the board you're playing on."
The leader bristled, but curiosity tethered him in place. "Then tell me. Who is he?"
Carlos tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into something between a smile and a sneer. "Once, before the mask, before the city learned to tremble when a engine growled at midnight, he was nothing. A boy. Fifteen, reckless, with a need for speed. Too much."
The leader leaned in, Carlos' voice wrapped around him like smoke.
"They used to call him Zero."
The name sank into the leader like a stone into water.
"Zero?" he repeated.
Carlos chuckled low. "Because he was nothing. No family that mattered, no crew of his own. Just a boy who thought his races could outrun the world on it's two wheels."
The leader muttered, "Never heard of that name."
"You wouldn't have," Carlos said, turning his gaze onto the leader, freezing him with just a glance. "Zero burned bright but brief. One race too many, one corner too fast, and he crashed. Crashed so hard it should've ended him. But fate is cruel. Instead of killing him, it broke him... and rebuilt him."
The leader shifted, impatience mixing with unease. "So you're saying Night Rider's just some washed up kid who got lucky?"
Carlos' smile widened, and for the first time there was a glint of real teeth. "No I'm saying that Zero died that night. And what rose from his wreck was something else. Something this city wasn't ready for. The boy disappeared. And the mask we know today was born."
The story tasted too much like truth. The way Carlos spoke, too smooth, too certain, made it feel like a memory instead of a rumor.
The leader tried to sneer, but his hand trembled as he lit another cigarette. "Cute story. But you still haven't told me what I can do with it. The Redevils don't need fairy tails."
Carlos took another steep forward, and suddenly the air shifted. Carlos' smile was gone, replaced by eyes like polished stone.
"You misunderstand," he said. "You won't be using this story. You'll be serving it."
The leader blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"
Carlos didn't look at him when he answered. He glanced sideways, to the shadows behind him. Two men emerged, not Redevils, but Carlo's own. Dressed plain, no colors, no faces you'd remember. They walked like wolves among sheep.
The leader stiffened, hand hovering near the knife on his belt. "Who the hell do you think you are-"
Carlos moved faster than a man his age should. His hand caught the leader's wrist twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground. The cigarette dropped, landing on the wet alley floor. Carlos leaned close, whispering words only the leader could hear.
"You though you were the king of scraps," he murmured. "But you've only been guarding my table."
Then one of Carlos' men stepped forward, pressing a pistol to his temple
For a heartbeat, the room even held it's breath.
The shot cracked like thunder.
The leader fell, blood pouring against the walls.
Carlos didn't flinch. He straightened out his suit jacket, calm as if he'd just finished a business meeting.
"Their leader," he said, voice steady, "was weak. Obsessed with leverage. Weak men crave leverage. Strong men shape inevitability."
He let those words drift throughout the room, heavy as chains. Then a man walked out of the shadows, a tall Redevil, broad shouldered man with tattoos snaking up his neck.
"I hope you're ready," Carlos said, Grinning.
The man chuckled, "You don't know how long I've waited for this.
"Good." Carlos said, "the Redevils will serve me and you now. Not as beggars. As soldiers. And when the time comes, this group will prove themselves against Night Rider himself."
A chill swept the room. Everyone dreams of it, catching the legend, breaking him, unmasking him. But under Carlos' gaze, it felt less like a dream and more like a death sentence.
Carlos turned, his shoes clicking softly against the broken pavement. His men followed. At the mouth of the alley, he paused, half-turning back.
"One last thing," he said, his voice carrying like silk over steel. "Do not call him Night Rider in my presence. That name is only a mask. His name is Zero. Remember it."
And with that, he vanished into the city lights, leaving the new leader the the Redevils Mikey staring at the corpse of someone he once called captain, and the weight of the Redevils laid on him now.
The name echoed in his mind, heavy and strange.
Zero.
The boy who died.
The Rider who rose.
The shadow who implemented fear into others.