Chapter 17 — A City on Trial
The President's Call
The President of Kingsberg, William Alaric, had not slept since the gala. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his tie in the mirror of his office, the reflection of a man fraying at the edges.
Around him, the Presidential Palace buzzed with panic. Secretaries shouted across phones, armored convoys lined the streets, and in the grand chamber beyond, senators and military chiefs filled their seats with pale faces and nervous eyes.
The President stepped to the podium, his voice heavy with exhaustion but sharpened with urgency.
"Kingsberg stands at a precipice," he said, his words echoing through the vaulted chamber. "A phantom has struck the heart of Liberty City. H.I.M has turned his war against criminals into a war against the state itself."
He paused, scanning the assembly. Every senator avoided his gaze.
"This city will not fall to shadows. I am declaring a national emergency. Every agency, every soldier, every blade of this republic is to focus on one directive: capture or kill H.I.M."
The chamber erupted in murmurs. Some shouted agreement, others fear. And in the corner, Mayor Grimson sat rigid, his jaw locked, sweat dripping down his temple.
Because he knew something the others didn't.
H.I.M's vengeance wasn't random. It was personal.
And it was coming for him.
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The Truth Revealed
In a forgotten part of Liberty City, within the ruins of an old subway station, H.I.M stood alone beneath flickering lamps. Before him, a battered dossier lay open on a rusted metal table.
It was one of the files he had stolen from the mayor's archives. Pages yellowed with age, stamped "CLASSIFIED."
And there it was in black ink:
"Operation Blackfall. Authorized by Mayor Leonard Grimson. Target: Subject K——, former operative, deemed liability. Termination approved."
His breath slowed. His eyes scanned the line again. And again.
Grimson hadn't just been complicit. He had signed his death warrant. He had condemned his wife and child by extension.
The city blurred around him. For a long moment, he stood frozen, fingers trembling on the page. Then slowly, his hand clenched into a fist.
"So it was you…"
The shadows in the tunnel stirred, wrapping around him like a second skin. His rage burned cold, not hot. Cold enough to sharpen, to focus, to kill.
Mayor Grimson was no longer a politician. He was the executioner's next name.
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Stellman's Preparation
Elsewhere, Detective Stellman prepared in silence.
His apartment, once cluttered with papers, now looked stripped and ordered. His desk was clean, his notes locked away. On the table rested only one thing: a black case.
He opened it carefully. Inside lay a katana—its steel polished, its hilt worn from years of training. It wasn't regulation. It wasn't sanctioned. But it was his.
Stellman ran his thumb along the blade, eyes narrowing.
"You're not a ghost," he muttered under his breath. "You're a man. And men can bleed."
When he strapped the weapon across his back, he felt the weight not just of steel but of duty.
Gina, leaning against the wall, watched him without speaking. For once, she didn't have sarcasm on her tongue. Only respect, and a trace of worry.
"You're really going to face him?" she asked.
Stellman adjusted his trench coat, the collar high, his movements calm. "If I don't… no one will."
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Collision Course
Liberty City's midnight air was thick with fog. The streets glistened from a recent rain, lamps casting fractured halos across the pavement.
H.I.M moved silently across rooftops, his long coat snapping in the wind. His steps were soundless, his form little more than a moving shadow. Below, armored patrols combed the streets, but none ever looked up.
Every step drew him closer to City Hall—closer to Grimson.
But as he dropped into an abandoned courtyard, his path halted.
At the far end, a figure stood waiting.
Detective John Stellman.
His trench coat flared as he stepped forward. One hand rested near the hilt of his sheathed blade. His eyes, though tired, burned with resolve.
"I figured you'd come this way," Stellman said, his voice steady, carrying in the fog.
H.I.M tilted his head slightly, his mask catching the faint glow of the streetlamp. "Step aside."
"Can't do that."
"This isn't your fight, detective."
Stellman's hand tightened on the hilt. "It became my fight the moment you turned this city into your hunting ground. You want Grimson? You'll have to go through me first."
The fog thickened between them, as if the city itself held its breath.
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The First Clash
In the blink of an eye, Stellman drew. Steel sang through the night as his blade sliced across the air.
But H.I.M was already moving. He slipped sideways, shadows stretching unnaturally, and his counterstrike cracked against Stellman's guard.
Steel clashed with steel. Sparks scattered across the cobblestones.
Stellman's style was disciplined, every strike precise, honed from years of training. H.I.M's movements were fluid, unpredictable, infused with something darker than human reflex.
The courtyard trembled with the fury of their exchange.
"You fight like a man possessed," Stellman growled, pushing back against the weight of H.I.M's assault.
"Maybe I am," H.I.M whispered.
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Between Duty and Revenge
Their blades locked, faces inches apart.
"You think killing Grimson will bring them back?" Stellman snarled, sweat dripping down his brow.
H.I.M's eyes glowed faintly in the darkness. "No. But it will make him pay."
Stellman shoved him back, breathing hard. "Then you're not justice. You're just another monster."
The words hit like a knife. But instead of anger, H.I.M smiled faintly beneath his mask—cold, weary.
"Monsters are all this city understands."
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The Rising Storm
Their battle raged across the courtyard. Walls cracked, benches splintered, lamps shattered under the force of their strikes. Every clash of blade against shadow rang out like a warning bell to the sleeping city.
And overhead, unseen by either, the storm clouds gathered—black, heavy, swollen with lightning.
Because Liberty City wasn't just watching. It was waiting.
Waiting to see whether justice would rise… or whether the shadow of vengeance would consume it all.
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