Rocco, one of the warehouse's lower-tier enforcers, leaned against the grimy exterior wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he chatted with a few of his fellow thugs. Recruited for financing the gang's more questionable ventures, he wasn't exactly proud of his work, but the pay was solid and the adrenaline kept him entertained.
As he exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes caught a movement at the end of the lot. A tall figure was approaching the warehouse, clad in black from head to toe—helmet, gloves, and a leather jacket glinting faintly in the dim light. Rocco squinted, instinctively tensing. Something about the way this person moved didn't feel right.
Without breaking stride, Marcus propelled himself toward the perimeter. In one fluid motion, he leapt over the three-meter-high fence, landing effortlessly on the other side. The gangsters' jaws dropped, their cigarettes almost forgotten.
"What the hell?!" Rocco exclaimed, stepping forward with wide eyes. He raised a hand, trying to assert authority despite his surprise. "Hey man, I don't know who you think you are, but you need to leave—right now!"
The figure slow down, continuing its steady approach.
Rocco stepped directly into its path, trying to block him. "Seriously, if you don't leave right now, I'm going to have to—"
Before he could finish, Marcus delivered a swift kick to Rocco's stomach. The gangster was sent flying, rolling across the concrete until he lay unconscious.
The rest of the crew froze, eyes wide, staring at their fallen comrade. For a brief moment, silence hung in the air—then one of them, desperate, bolted toward Marcus, followed closely by the others.
Marcus surged forward also, closing the distance rapidly. The first attacker lunged at him, but Marcus was quicker. He leapt over the man, flipping gracefully, and landed behind him. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the back of the assailant's jacket and hurled him forward into the group, scattering the others and creating immediate chaos among the gang.
One of them approached from the left. Marcus reacted instantly, delivering a sharp punch to the chest that landed before the attacker could block. Another came at him from the right, brandishing a knife. Marcus sidetepped the blade, slapping the hand holding it, making it drop. Without missing a beat, he drove a punch into the attacker's stomach and, in the same fluid motion, grabbed the fallen knife with his other hand, ready to use it.
Two more figures approached, one wielding a machete and the other a baseball bat. The one with the machete swung at Marcus's head, but he ducked just in time and drove his knife into the attacker's foot. Rising quickly, he turned to face the one with the bat, blocking the swing with his forearm, snatching the bat, and smashing it down onto the attacker's head. As a third figure came at him, Marcus threw the bat at their face, hitting hard enough to knock them out cold.
Instinctively, Marcus raised his free hand, without the knife, and channeled ether into it. Plates formed over his hand just in time, and he caught a bullet that was speeding toward his neck.
Marcus froze for a moment, astonished. He had no idea how he sensed the bullet's trajectory before even hearing the shot. Shaking off the disbelief, he refocused on the fight, his eyes hardening into a cold, unyielding stare aimed at the man with the pistol. The shooter instinctively dropped the gun and raised his hands in surrender. The other gangsters, equally stunned, stepped aside, creating a clear path. In that moment, it became evident to all of them—they couldn't stop him.
Marcus walked forward with a calm, deliberate stride. He entered the warehouse, climbed the narrow staircase, and reached what appeared to be the boss's office. As he approached the doorway, a guard saw him and instinctively tried to raise his pistol.
Before the man could react, Marcus employed a modified version of the ether technique Kara had taught him. He channeled ether through his hand, propelling the guard's knife with deadly precision from behind. The blade flew across the room with surprising force, striking the guard squarely in the chest. The man froze instantly, the impact leaving him stunned and helpless.
Marcus stepped over the stunned guard, moving with fluid precision, and reached the door. With a firm push, he opened it, revealing the room inside. There, standing behind a large desk, was Vincent, caught off guard. His eyes widened slightly, betraying his surprise at the unexpected intrusion
Marcus advanced steadily, shoving the desk aside with a single push, clearing a path. Vincent scrambled to his feet, drawing his pistol and aiming directly at Marcus's face. In response, Marcus raised his transformed hand, pressing it firmly against the barrel. A sharp bang echoed, followed by a puff of smoke curling from the gun, the unexpected resistance stopping the shot before it could fire.
Marcus quickly yanked the pistol from Vincent's grip with one hand, while his other shot out to grab Vincent by the collar. With a swift, forceful motion, he threw him against the nearby wall, leaving him stunned and disoriented.
Marcus stepped closer to Vincent and slowly removed his own helmet. "Do you remember me?" he asked.
Vincent blinked, confusion crossing his face. " Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
He fell silent for a few seconds, then finally murmured, almost in disbelief: "Marcus?"
Marcus gave a cold smile and, calmly, replied:
—You know what? I was going to forgive you. You lent us money, and when we didn't pay, you sent someone to kill me. I thought it was fair. I could have sought revenge for what you did to me in the alley, for the way you ordered me killed, but I let it go. I wanted to finish it, leave the matter behind, forget about you, and start a new life with my family.
Marcus's smile hardened, a flash of anger creeping into his voice:
—But today you screwed up —he said, his tone sharp—. Sending those people to follow me. Can't you just let things go? Are you really that stupid, messing with a Transformer? Don't you see you're at a disadvantage? You should have forgotten. Left the matter behind.
—But no —people like you never forget. Even if we're at peace, even if you're at a disadvantage, you always want more. Always just a little more. You think you can win a bit more without consequences.
After a deep breath, Marcus says:
—You made me understand that I can't let you go. If I let you live right now, you'll come back. Even if I beat you senseless, you'll come back. No matter what I do, you'll come back.
—That if I want to protect my family, I have to get rid of you.
Then Vincent understood what was about to happen. He raised a hand, pleading, "Wait—" But Marcus lifted the barrel of the gun, aimed at his head, and without hesitation fired three times. The plea cut off as the shots rang out.
Marcus looked at Vincent as he was dying, the light slowly fading from his eyes. A heavy silence hung in the air, the weight of what he had done pressing down on him. After a tense moment, Marcus put on his helmet, leapt out the window, and ran back to his motorcycle. Without looking back, he started the engine and sped off toward home.
As he rode home, Marcus kept reflecting on the moment. He knew it was the right thing to do, that it had been necessary—but in that instant, he had lost something important, something he could never get back.
That night, Marcus Greyson killed a person for the first time.