The first explosion was at 10:47 p.m. A metallic boom thrummed through the city's underbelly, striking a recurrence through the sharp splinter of alarms and distant sirens. The predator froze in midsentence, remaining over the top floor of the glass-walled command suite. Every phone on the table flashed at once.
Mara was the first to speak. "Warehouse C is down. No cameras, no feed." Her headset hissed static. "It's not just them—two others just flickered off."
Rico's chair scooted back. "That's a sweep, boss. They're hitting us across the board."
Outside, night was a staccato sequence of bursts of gunfire. The sound resonated between concrete spires—short, clipped crashes answered by bursts of automatic fire. From the balcony, the predator witnessed the orange eruption of flames belching out of the harbor section. Oil tanks flared like torches on black water.
Shut the windows," he instructed quietly. His voice was relaxed, but every syllable had calculation riding in behind them. "Rico, take eight men, take the east entrance. Kellan, prepare the car. Mara, keep the line to the docks open. I want eyes on all feeds that are still live.".
He spun about, and his attention fell on the captive against the wall. White, still, watching. Their eyes met for a brief moment—long enough for the captive to see something he hadn't before: not cruelty, but control refined to survival.
Below, engines roared. The convoy peeled out from the underground garage, tires screeching against wet pavement. Rico's voice barked through the radio: "They're on us—two SUVs, no plates. Moving fast."
The predator's answer was calm. "Lead them into the tunnel. Make them think you're running."
The city turned into a grid of violence.
On the monitors, grainy streams throbbed—masked figures kicking in doors, muzzle glows illuminating white walls. Somewhere else in the city, another of the predator's hideouts flared in a flower of fire. The blast shook the glass of the command center with a low boom.
Mara's hands flew over the keyboards. "They're coordinated. Every hit's within thirty seconds. Whoever planned this has our map.".
"Inside leak," the predator snarled. "Does not matter. We hold until dawn."
Rico's channel cracked. "Tunnel trap sprung. Two hostiles down, one vehicle disabled. We've got one alive."
"Bring him," the command came.
A few minutes after, Kellan pulled the black sedan through the gate. Bullet marks marred the doors, the mirrors obliterated, smoke streaming out of the hood. Two guards dragged a wounded man out and dropped him on the marble floor. Gunpowder burned the air.
The prisoner flinched at the man's gasping breath. The predator stooped next to him, one gloved hand pushing down on the man's chest.
"Who hired you?"
The only reply was a spittle of blood.
Rico's gun went up, but the predator raised a hand. "No noise. He's worth more alive." He leaned forward, voice a whisper of steel. "Inform your boss that this city's already made its voice heard. He's opened a war he can't close."
The prisoner watched as the predator stood, scrubbed his gloves, and turned toward the screens again. Every flick of his eyes mapped the chaos—the streets that were his, now on fire.
Outside, sirens wailed. Helicopter rotors pounded overhead, casting searchlights onto building tops. Far away, a building groaned and collapsed into its own ash. Radio communications melted into a jumble of consecutive reports: retreats, ambushes, reinforcements.
Then silence.
Mara's voice cut through it, hard and low. "They've pulled out. For now."
The predator breathed slowly, the first genuine breath in an hour. "Temporary," he said. "They'll reform."
He looked again at the captive—smoke-glow shining in his eyes. "And now," he said softly, "you finally know what it is to stay with me.".
In the distance, the flames dwindled to embers, yet the night was still cacophonous: sirens, engines, the tinny click of expended shells cooling on concrete. The city stayed awake, respiring and anticipating whatever would happen.