The sun dipped below the horizon, and Greyflint City began to transform. The dull, gray streets, already bleak in daylight, were swallowed by the encroaching shadows. The flickering streetlights did little to push back the darkness, casting uneven pools of dim light on the cracked pavement. The air felt heavier now, colder, carrying with it an unspoken tension that settled over the city like a shroud.

  Two police officers patrolled the quiet streets, their silhouettes stark against the dim glow of their squad car’s headlights. The older of the two walked with a deliberate, practiced stride, his broad shoulders framed by the weight of his years on the force. His face was hidden behind a full-cover mechanical mask, its dull metallic surface gleaming faintly in the light.

  The younger officer, in stark contrast, walked slightly behind him, his steps less sure. He glanced nervously at the shadows that seemed to shift and stretch around them, his hand hovering near the holster at his hip. This was his first time patrolling Greyflint, and everything he had heard about the city felt painfully true. The poverty was evident in the crumbling buildings, the danger palpable in the silence that seemed to wait around every corner. This wasn’t just a bad part of town—it was a war zone disguised as a city.

  “This place is worse than I imagined,” the rookie said, his voice low but tinged with unease. He scanned the street ahead, his eyes darting between the darkened windows of the dilapidated buildings. “No wonder no one wants to work here.”

  The veteran officer didn’t respond immediately. He continued his measured pace, his head turning slightly as if scanning their surroundings through the sensors in his mask. Finally, he spoke, his voice filtered through the mechanical distortion of the mask’s speaker. “This city chews people up and spits them out. Cops, civilians—it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s a target.”

  The rookie swallowed hard, his hand tightening on the grip of his flashlight. “Why doesn’t anyone do something about it? The heroes, the higher-ups... somebody.”

  The veteran let out a dry chuckle, the sound harsh and humorless. “Because the lives of the rich and wealthy are simply more valuable than the common folk, the hero agency sends all their most powerful heroes over there, while sending the leftovers or rookies on these streets infested with crime.”

  The cop briefly pauses, lamenting the facts in his words as his voice becomes more distant. “And unfortunately, on most occasions they are too under-prepared to survive in this type of environment.”

  The rookie didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. He had heard the rumors, of course—the stories of Greyflint’s lawlessness, of officers disappearing without a trace, of entire precincts abandoning their posts. But standing here now, with the city’s oppressive atmosphere pressing down on him, it all felt far too real.

  As the sun dipped lower, the veteran stopped suddenly, turning to face the rookie. “Alright, that’s it. Time to head back.”

  The rookie frowned, glancing at his watch. “What do you mean? Our shift just started. We’re on graveyard duty, aren’t we?”

  The veteran sighed, shaking his head. “Kid, we’re not staying here after midnight.”

  The rookie’s confusion deepened. “What? That’s not protocol. We’re supposed to patrol until morning.”

  “There’s no protocol for surviving this place, either,” the veteran said sharply. He gestured to the darkening streets around them. “You don’t stay out here after midnight, not if you want to see another sunrise.”

  The rookie hesitated, his brow furrowing. “But... why?”

  The veteran exhaled slowly, as if the question itself exhausted him. “Because this city doesn’t sleep. Once the sun’s down, it belongs to them. The gangs, the thugs, the ones who don’t care if you’ve got a badge or a family waiting at home. They’ll take you, beat you, kill you—and no one will do a damn thing about it.”

  The rookie opened his mouth to protest, but the veteran reached up and removed his mask with a slow, deliberate motion.

  The rookie froze as the veteran’s face came into view. A jagged scar cut across his features, running from his forehead, through his left eye, and down to his jaw. The skin around it was twisted and uneven, a patchwork of healed wounds that told a story of violence and survival. His left eye was completely blind, the socket clouded and lifeless.

  “This,” the veteran said, his voice raw and unfiltered now, “is what happens when you stay out too late in Greyflint. You think I’m exaggerating? You think the stories are just rumors? Take a good look, kid.”

  The rookie swallowed hard, his stomach turning as he forced himself to meet the older man’s gaze. “What happened?”

  “Black Skulls,” the veteran said simply, his tone devoid of emotion. “They dragged me out of my car one night. Took turns with their knives, crowbars, and lighters. I was lucky—if you can call it that. Most of the others didn’t make it out alive.”

  The rookie’s hands tightened into fists, his mind racing. “But you’re still here,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “You’re still fighting.”

  “Because someone has to,” the veteran replied, his gaze hardening. “But I’m not stupid enough to think I can win. My job is to survive, and ensure that all the civilians make it in doors safely while also warning rookies like you not to get themselves killed.”

  He pulled the mask back over his face, his voice once again filtered through the mechanical speaker. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The rookie hesitated, glancing at the darkened streets one last time. The shadows seemed to stretch further now, deeper and more sinister, as if the city itself were alive. With a reluctant nod, he followed the veteran back to the car, the weight of his first patrol in Greyflint settling heavily on his shoulders.

  As they drove away, the rookie couldn’t help but glance at his partner. Behind the mechanical mask, he knew there was a scarred face and a wealth of stories he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. And outside the car, the city loomed, dark and unyielding—a reminder of the dangers they were leaving behind.

  The night wrapped around Greyflint City like a suffocating blanket, the air thick with a quiet menace that seemed to seep from the shadows. Eliza clutched the worn leather bag tightly against her chest, her knuckles white as she and Joshua walked side by side through the darkened streets. The faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional flicker of a streetlamp were the only sounds accompanying their measured footsteps.

  The siblings didn’t speak as they walked, their silence heavy with unspoken tension. Eliza’s sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, her every movement calculated and alert. Joshua walked slightly behind her, his hands buried in his pockets, his expression stoic but his mind racing. The weight of the night pressed down on both of them, a familiar yet unrelenting pressure they had come to endure.

  Greyflint at night was a different beast. The streets, already hostile in the daytime, became something else entirely under the cover of darkness. The broken streetlights cast jagged shadows across the cracked pavement, their dim glow barely illuminating the graffiti-stained walls and abandoned storefronts. The air felt colder here, heavier, as though the city itself were watching, waiting.

  Eliza’s grip on the bag tightened as they approached the alley. Her breath was steady, but Joshua could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightened with each step. She was scared—he knew that—but she carried herself with a quiet strength, a determination that kept her moving forward. Joshua mirrored that resolve, his expression calm even as his chest tightened with unease.

  They reached the alley, its narrow confines stretching into darkness. At the far end, beneath a flickering streetlamp, sat a sleek black car. The vehicle was pristine, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. But it wasn’t the car that drew their attention—it was the men standing beside it.

  There were three of them, their imposing figures framed by the faint glow of the streetlamp. Each one bore the unmistakable marks of the Black Skull gang—their insignia emblazoned on jackets, tattoos, and masks. The tallest of the three had a skull tattoo that covered half his face, the ink curling around his features like something alive. Another wore a leather jacket with the gang’s emblem emblazoned across the back, his eyes cold and unfeeling beneath the shadow of his hood. The third, smaller but no less intimidating, leaned casually against the car, his fingers twitching as if itching for trouble.

  Eliza took a deep breath, steadying herself before stepping forward. Joshua followed close behind, his gaze fixed on the ground as they approached.

  The man with the skull tattoo was the first to notice them. He straightened, his cold eyes narrowing as he took them in. “Well, well,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Look who decided to show up.”

  “We’re here to make the payment,” Eliza said, her voice steady despite the nerves that threatened to break through.

  The man’s gaze dropped to the bag in her hands, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Smart. But the boss isn’t interested in just money anymore. What else you got?”

  Joshua tensed, but Eliza stepped forward, her grip on the bag tightening. “We’re here to see Black Skull,” she said firmly. “We have the money, and we want to hand it to him directly.”

  The men exchanged glances, their smirks fading into something colder, sharper. The man with the tattoo tilted his head, studying her. “You’re pretty bold, asking to see the boss,” he said. “You sure you can handle it?”

  Eliza didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

  The men exchanged another glance before the one leaning against the car shrugged. “Alright,” he said, pushing off the vehicle. “But you know the rules.”

  The man with the tattoo reached into the car and pulled out two black cloth bags. He stepped forward, holding them out with a wicked grin. “Put these on. Can’t have you knowing where you’re going.”

  The bags went over their heads, plunging them into darkness. Joshua felt a rough hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the car. His heart pounded as he stumbled forward, his hand brushing against Eliza’s. She squeezed his fingers briefly, a silent reassurance, before they were separated.

  They climbed into the car, the doors slamming shut with an ominous finality. The air inside was stifling, the silence broken only by the low rumble of the engine as the vehicle started moving. Joshua’s chest tightened, the darkness of the bag over his head amplifying every sound, every vibration. He could hear the faint rustle of Eliza’s movements beside him, her breathing steady but shallow.

  The men in the car spoke in low voices, their words indistinct but their tone unmistakably menacing. Joshua clenched his fists, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He felt small, vulnerable, powerless—a far cry from the quiet determination he had shown earlier. But he refused to let that fear show. He couldn’t. Not in front of her.

  Eliza sat rigidly beside him, her grip on the bag of money unyielding. The fear was there, clawing at her, but she pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of resolve. She had endured worse. She would endure this too—for him.

  As the car weaved through the streets, neither of them spoke. Words felt too dangerous, too fragile in the suffocating tension that surrounded them. Instead, they held onto one unspoken vow: Stay strong. For each other.

  The ride stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Finally, the car slowed, the sound of tires crunching over gravel breaking the silence. The engine cut off, and the doors opened. Rough hands grabbed them, pulling them out of the car with little care. Joshua stumbled as his feet hit the ground, but he quickly found his balance, his breathing shallow as he felt himself being guided forward.

  The air was colder here, sharper, carrying a faint metallic tang that made Joshua’s stomach churn. The hands on his shoulders pushed him forward, each step echoing faintly against a hard surface. He heard the sound of a heavy door creaking open, followed by the low murmur of voices.

  Then, abruptly, the bags were yanked off their heads.

  Joshua blinked against the sudden dim light, his vision adjusting to the scene before him. They were in a massive, abandoned facility, its walls rusted and scarred with graffiti. Exposed beams stretched overhead, and broken windows let in slivers of moonlight. Around them, other people huddled in small groups, their faces pale and anxious, clutching envelopes and bags of money.

  And surrounding them, like predators circling prey, were the Black Skull gang. Dozens of them, their presence suffocating and overwhelming.

  Joshua’s heart pounded as he took in the scene, his gaze darting to Eliza. She met his eyes, her expression calm but taut with tension. They were in the heart of the gang now, and there was no turning back.