It is midnight on the quiet streets of O-Block, Chicago. The summer breeze moves gently through the night, brushing against empty sidewalks and flickering streetlights. Everything feels calm, but Von Royner knows better.
He waits in the shadows, standing behind a broken fence across the street from Louis' Barbershop. His hoodie is pulled low over his face, and his hand grips the cold handle of a pistol tucked into his jacket. He doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe too loudly. He watches.
The man he's been hunting, Leon Kray, is walking toward the shop, completely unaware. Von's heart beats harder with each step Leon takes. This is the man who gave the order to kill his father. A sniper bullet from a rooftop. No warning. No chance. All because the CIA learned about the DNA running through his father's blood, the same blood Von now carries.
"He's going to pay for what he did to my dad… for everything he put my family through," Von whispers. "I just need to move before he reaches that door."
Leon stops in front of the barbershop, checking his phone. The glow lights up his face.
Now.
Von slips through the gate, staying low. His sneakers barely make a sound on the cracked pavement. He crosses the street fast, quiet like a shadow. Every second feels like a minute. One mistake, and it's over.
He's almost there, ten feet away. He pulls out the pistol slowly, takes aim, and breathes in.
Then, out of nowhere, a car door slams nearby.
Leon turns.
Their eyes meet.
For a split second, time freezes. The streetlight casts a dim glow over both of them. Von with his pistol raised, and Leon, stunned, holding his phone mid-text. Then everything happens at once.
Leon dives to the side, reaching for something under his coat.
Von fires.
Bang!
The bullet tears through Leon's jacket, grazing his shoulder. He yells out in pain but keeps moving, stumbling toward the barbershop door.
Von sprints forward, closing the distance.
Bang! Bang!
Two more shots ring out—one hits the doorframe, the other smashes through the glass. Alarms scream into the night.
Leon crashes through the front door, knocking over a barber chair as he falls inside. Blood stains his sleeve, but he's still moving.
Von kicks the door open and steps in, gun raised, eyes scanning.
Leon is on the floor behind the counter, breathing hard, holding a small pistol in his shaking hand.
"You don't have to do this!" he yells.
Von's face is stone cold.
"You already did it. Ten years ago. My father, James Royner. Remember him?"
Leon freezes. His mouth opens like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.
Sirens wail in the distance. Someone must have called the cops. Time is running out.
Von walks closer, his footsteps slow and steady.
"You worked for them. You pulled the trigger, or you gave the order. Doesn't matter. My dad's dead. My family was torn apart. You don't walk away from that."
Leon lifts his pistol, desperate.
Von doesn't flinch.
Bang.
Leon slumps back, the gun slipping from his fingers.
The sirens are louder now. Red and blue lights flash through the broken windows.
Von stands over the body, chest rising and falling. He lowers the gun.
He doesn't smile. He doesn't speak.
He just turns and walks out into the night.
Von stood over Leon's body, heart pounding, breath sharp in the silence that followed the final shot. Sirens wailed closer now, their scream bouncing off the alley walls and shattered windows. He moved quickly.
From his pocket, Von pulled a small folded note and placed it on Leon's chest, weighed down by the bloodied pistol.
The message was simple, written in firm, angry letters:
"You guys are going to pay for what you did to my father."
With one last look, Von turned and vanished out the back door just as flashing red and blue lights lit up the front of the barbershop.
The world thought Von Royner was dead.
Two years ago, after the CIA assassinated his father, they firebombed their home to erase the entire bloodline. What they didn't know was that Von had survived, badly burned, barely breathing, but alive. His mother, Tiana, had already helped him escape that night, just minutes before the strike.
She had known something was coming. James Royner, her husband, had told her everything after a police bodycam video was leaked to the dark web.
In it, James was seen killing two cops in self-defense, officers who were sent to provoke him, trap him, and make him a victim of state-sponsored brutality.
James had a gift, an ability that made him unstoppable in combat. He could see the first ten seconds of an enemy's next move before they made it. That gift had passed to Von.
And now, Von was back from the dead, with that same power, and a need for justice that burned hotter than the fire they tried to kill him with.
His eyes lit up, glowing crimson with rage, a sight only seen once before, the day he watched his closest friend, Tracy, die at the hands of their enemies.
It happened in broad daylight, a brutal ambush carried out by the BDK (Black Disciple Killers),A rival gang with a thirst for blood. Von had never forgotten that moment. Tracy's scream. The gunfire. The silence that followed.
Von belonged to the BD, the Black Disciples. A brotherhood forged in struggle and survival. And among them, Von wasn't just another soldier. He was a weapon. A legend in the making. And now, with his eyes burning red once more, he was ready to make someone pay.
As Von disappeared into the Chicago night, he whispered under his breath:
"They thought killing us would end it. But now, it begins."