The morning unfolded beneath a shroud of gray mist, the kind that muffled the usual bustle of the city and pressed against the skin like damp cloth. The drizzle from the night before had left a sheen across the cracked pavements, and every step that landed on the ground carried the faint splash of water against worn leather. Cars rolled by slowly, tires cutting through shallow puddles, their headlights hazy in the fog.
Collins walked briskly, his breath clouding in the chill air, phone vibrating in his pocket with an urgency that made his stomach knot. Each notification was another reminder of the danger clawing closer, another message filled with panic, whispers, warnings. But none of them brought relief. Each buzz only deepened his unease.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
By the time he reached the warehouse, the fog had begun to thin, but the dampness remained heavy, clinging to every brick and broken window like dew on a spider's web. The wide metal doors that usually shut tight were ajar, one hanging crookedly off its hinges. Splinters of wood lay scattered across the concrete floor where the frame had been forced open.
Collins's chest tightened. He sprinted forward, voice cracking with fear as he called out.
"Amara? Mia? Sam? Jax?"
The cavernous space inside offered no answer, only the hollow echo of his words rebounding from empty walls. Somewhere in the shadows, a pipe dripped rhythmically, each drop hitting a metal bucket with a sound far too loud in the silence.
"Amara!" he tried again, louder this time. The silence that followed was worse.
Then a figure stepped out from the shadows. Elias. His expression was grim, jaw set, eyes heavy with the weight of bad news.
"They're gone," Elias said quietly, his voice carrying a finality that sliced through Collins's chest.
Collins froze, his breath hitching. "Gone? What do you mean gone? Where are they?"
"They were taken," Elias replied, his tone steady but edged with frustration. "Last night, while you were away. The authorities raided the warehouse. They found your bandmates and dragged them out. Arrested them."
The words crashed over Collins like cold water. He stumbled back, gripping the nearest support beam for balance. His vision blurred as his thoughts spiraled.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why? They didn't commit any crime. They only played music our music. The Beat isn't"
"They don't care anymore," Elias interrupted, voice low but sharp. "Cause doesn't matter. They want control. The leaks, the underground shows, the influence you've been spreading none of it sits well with them. They've decided you're dangerous, Collins. This is their warning shot. They're not after just the sound anymore. They're after you. And they'll use your friends as leverage."
Collins's pulse thundered in his ears. Rage welled up, raw and blinding, threatening to consume the fear that had gripped him only moments earlier. They had endured raids before, survived close calls, evaded rivals, outplayed informants. But this this was different. This was personal. They hadn't just silenced the music. They had stolen his family.
His hand clenched into fists. His jaw tightened. "They think they can break us by taking them. They think the Beat dies here." He looked Elias in the eye, his voice fierce. "They're wrong."
The warehouse looked like the remains of a battlefield. Posters had been ripped from the walls, some half-torn and dangling as if clinging to survival. Instruments lay overturned, cases smashed open, wires tangled in chaotic heaps. Collins's gaze swept across the wreckage, searching desperately for any clue any hintthat his bandmates had left behind before being taken. But the place told only one story: the authorities had been thorough, deliberate, merciless.
Elias joined him, carrying his laptop under one arm. "I traced their transfer," he said, setting the device on a cracked table. Fingers flew across the keys as he pulled up encrypted feeds and fragments of intercepted reports. "They've been taken to the detention center on the east side. The charges so far are minimal disruption, unlawful gatherings, inciting unrest. But if we don't act fast, they'll dig deeper. They'll interrogate them. Force out names, safe houses, allies."
Collins swallowed hard, the weight of the words pressing on his chest. "Then we don't give them time. We move now." His voice trembled, not with fear, but with conviction.
Elias studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "If you're serious, you'll need a plan. This isn't like sneaking into a club or slipping past patrols. The detention center is fortified. Guards everywhere. Surveillance systems that don't sleep. If we make a mistake"
"Then we don't," Collins snapped, his voice harsh but resolute. He took a step closer, his gaze burning. "I'm not leaving them in there. Not Amara, not Mia, not Sam, not Jax. They're my family. And family doesn't get abandoned. The Beat doesn't wait. Neither do I."
The city was alive, but not with freedom. It breathed like a predator, its alleys and streets turning into eyes that followed every movement. Surveillance cameras rotated silently on poles, their lenses glinting beneath weak sunlight. Uniformed officers stood at intersections, rifles slung across their backs, their eyes scanning faces like hunters seeking prey.
Collins and Elias moved like shadows, navigating through back alleys, darting across empty streets, climbing onto rooftops when patrols drew too near. Every shortcut was a gamble, every turn a risk. Collins's heartbeat thrummed in his ears like a war drum, each step pulling him closer to danger and closer to salvation.
At one point, they crouched behind a crumbling wall as a convoy of armored vehicles rolled past. The hum of engines rattled the ground, headlights sweeping across the street like searching fingers. Collins pressed his back against the wall, fists clenched, forcing himself to breathe evenly.
Elias leaned close, whispering. "Security's tighter than I've ever seen it. They're expecting retaliation. If we slip, they'll pounce."
Collins's jaw tightened. His voice was low, but fierce. "Let them. I don't care how many guards they have, or how many cameras. They took my people. I won't stop until they're free. If I don't fight for them, then everything we've built dies with them. The Beat dies. And if the Beat dies…" He looked toward the detention center in the distance, its walls stark against the skyline. "Then I might as well be silent forever."
Inside the detention center, silence weighed heavier than chains. Fluorescent lights hummed above, casting sickly white light over rows of cells. Officers patrolled in pairs, boots echoing on concrete, their expressions cold and unyielding. The smell of disinfectant mixed with rust and sweat, coating the air with a sterile staleness that clung to the skin.
Amara sat against the wall of her cell, her hands gripping the cold metal bars. Across from her, Mia mirrored her posture, eyes sharp despite exhaustion. Sam sat with his head bowed, fists resting on his knees, while Jax leaned against the bars, tapping a rhythm with his fingers as if to remind himself that silence could never last forever.
Amara whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. "Collins will come. He has to. He won't let them keep us here."
Mia looked at her, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "But what if he can't? What if this is too big, even for him?"
Before Amara could answer, the metallic clang of keys shattered their whispers. Two officers passed, their boots striking in perfect rhythm. The bandmates fell silent, eyes down, but inside, something stubborn burned. The Beat had not died here. It was caged, yes but caged only for the moment.
Night fell like a curtain of shadows as Collins and Elias finally reached the detention center's perimeter. The building loomed, all sharp lines and reinforced concrete, its towers capped with cameras that swept across the grounds like watchful eyes. Guards patrolled in practiced patterns, rifles glinting in the light of mounted floodlamps.
Collins crouched behind an abandoned delivery truck, scanning the scene. "Looks impossible," he murmured. But then he clenched his fists. "Impossible doesn't exist for the Beat."
Elias pointed toward a narrow alley on the east side. "There. Service entrance. The cameras are weaker in that sector. Still risky, but it's the best chance we'll get. I can loop the feed for a few minutes. No longer."
Collins's pulse quickened. He nodded once, determination etched into every line of his face. "Then we use those minutes. Every single one."