The walls of Alcatraz shook under the weight of fury.
Steel doors rattled, alarm sirens wailed, and the prison’s lower blocks were nothing but shadows pierced by the gleam of shanks, chains, and stolen batons.
Marcus adjusted his rifle, inhaling slowly as the sound of hundreds of criminals echoed closer.
Beside him, Aria cracked her whip with a sharp snap, the sound slicing through the chaos like lightning in a storm.
“They’re moving like a tide,” Marcus muttered, his eyes narrowing as shadows swarmed the end of the hallway.
Aria smirked, her voice calm despite the tension.
“Then we’ll be the dam.
Tom didn’t train us to run.”
From the mob of 500 convicts, five men stepped forward, and the entire swarm stopped moving, as though waiting for their signal.
The air grew heavy.
Each of these five radiated the kind of presence only seasoned predators carried.
The first – Marco “Iron Jaw” D’Angelo
A towering Italian-American with a jawline scarred from years of street brawls.
He once ran Chicago’s steel rackets, smuggling weapons through the docks.
Interpol had almost never touched him—until Tom Bruce stormed his warehouse alone.
Tom shattered his empire in a single night, and Marco never forgot the humiliation of being slammed into a police van, coughing blood while Tom looked down at him and said, “You’re not strong.
You’re loud.”
And at his side – Ramón “Silk Knife” Valdez
A Colombian cartel prodigy with a reputation for killing silently with blades.
Ramón’s memory burned with the night Tom busted a deal between his cartel and a European arms syndicate.
He remembered firing his knife at Tom in rage, only to have Tom snatch it midair and pin him to the wall like a child.
That humiliation made him vow to slit open anyone tied to Interpol.
The next one was Viktor “Chains” Morozov
A Russian enforcer who fought with two massive chains wrapped around his arms.
Viktor once ruled Moscow’s underground fight pits, undefeated until Tom entered undercover.
In one fight, Tom fought him barehanded, dodging his chains until breaking his nose with a single strike.
Viktor had screamed like an animal, but Tom just turned his back and walked away.
The insult cut deeper than the pain.
A very angry looking fellow at his side – Leon “Ghost Face” Moretti
A slick, smooth-talking Sicilian with a reputation for vanishing mid-job.
He ran smuggling across the Mediterranean until Tom cornered him in Marseille.
Leon still remembered being dragged out of a sewer pipe by his ankle, Tom looking him dead in the eye and saying, “The world doesn’t need another coward pretending to be a phantom.”
And Kwame “Red Fang” Mensah
A Ghanaian warlord who ruled with brutality, earning his name by biting his enemies in fights.
Interpol had feared his militia for years until Tom led the raid that dismantled them.
Kwame had charged Tom with a machete, only to be knocked unconscious by one elbow strike.
He never forgave the humiliation of being defeated so effortlessly.
The five leaders standing shoulder to shoulder, glaring down Marcus and Aria like wolves ready to shred prey.
“Five leaders… five beasts Interpol never killed, only caged,” Marcus whispered, lowering his gun.
His eyes were half-shut, focusing on sound and smell just as Tom had taught him.
Aria’s whip slithered across the floor like a, sparks flying from the tension in the steel cord.
“And today,” she said with a grin, “we cage them again.”
The gang leaders raised their weapons, and the riot behind them roared like a storm.
The battle began.
The prison erupted in chaos as the five leaders advanced.
Behind them, the army of 500 roared, slamming chains and pipes against the metal bars in savage rhythm.
Tom’s words echoed in his head:
“Close your eyes.
Trust your ears.
The world will speak if you listen.”
He shut his eyes.
The pounding boots, the metallic scrape of weapons, even the sharp intake of breath—he heard them all like instruments in a deadly orchestra.
Beside him, Aria stretched her whip with a snap.
She remembered Tom’s voice too:
“You’re fast, Aria.
Faster than most.
Don’t get close.
Use your speed to strike where they least expect.”
She smiled to herself.
“Got it, Tom.”
Marco “Iron Jaw” rushed first, his massive frame thundering down the corridor.
He swung a bent steel bar like a greatsword, the air splitting with each strike.
Marcus moved on instinct.
Eyes closed, he ducked under the swing, rolling to the side and firing three shots without aiming.
Each bullet clipped Marco’s shoulder, staggering the giant.
“Blind shooting…” Marco snarled, wiping blood.
“That bastard Tom taught you that, didn’t he?”
Marcus voice was calm.
“Taught me enough to take you down.”
Behind them, Viktor “Chains” roared, slinging his iron links like serpents.
They cracked against the walls, gouging stone and sparks.
Aria darted in, her whip snapping around Viktor’s ankle before pulling hard.
But Viktor laughed, swinging her up like prey.
“Little girl with a rope?
I’ll strangle you with your own—”
Her body spun midair, and with impossible speed she coiled her whip around a railing, twisting free.
Landing gracefully, she smirked.
“You’ll have to catch me first.”
Her whip lashed out again, striking his wrist so hard his chain slipped.
Ramón “Silk Knife” glided forward, blades flashing like silver rain.
He darted past Marcus’ line of fire, his knives aimed at the blind marksman’s throat.
But Marcus tilted his head an inch.
He had heard the blades whistle.
His rifle butt smashed into Ramón’s jaw, sending him crashing against the wall.
“You’re fast,” Marcus said quietly.
“But not faster than sound.”
Leon “Ghost Face” tried to flank, slipping through shadows, but Aria’s whip cracked across the floor, cutting him off.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Tom warned me about ghosts.”
The whip lashed again, wrapping around Leon’s leg.
With a yank, she dragged him into the open and slammed him face-first into the concrete.
Kwame “Red Fang” growled, his machete gleaming red from old rust. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
He leapt straight at Marcus, biting down on the rifle barrel with inhuman ferocity.
His teeth scraped sparks off the steel.
Marcus fired point-blank, but Kwame didn’t flinch, the blast only grazing his jaw.
With a guttural roar, Kwame headbutted Kessler, sending him sprawling back.
“Marcus!” Aria shouted.
But before she could move, Viktor’s chain whipped across her back, sending her to the ground.
The five leaders regrouped, circling the two Interpol fighters.
Bloodied and breathing heavy, Marcus steadied his rifle, eyes still closed.
Aria dragged herself up, whip in hand.
Marco sneered.
“You two really think you can stop us?
Five kings of the underworld?”
Aria’s smirk returned, even with blood on her lips.
“No.
Not kings.
Just losers Tom already beat once.”
Marcus lifted his weapon.
“And today… we finish what he started.”
The corridor lit up with fury.
Marcus spun, firing blind but precise shots that pinned Marco and Ramón against the walls.
Aria’s whip danced like lightning, wrapping Viktor’s chains, tangling them until she yanked him crashing into Leon.
Together, they turned the tide—Marcus covering distance with calculated gunfire while Aria struck fast, her whip slashing like a serpent of steel.
One by one, the gang leaders fell.
Marco collapsed under a point-blank strike to the jaw.
Ramón’s knives shattered against the ground.
Viktor’s chains broke under Aira’s relentless strikes.
Leon groaned, bloodied and pinned.
Kwame still roared, charging with feral rage—only to be whipped by Aria’s around the neck and slammed by Marcus’ rifle butt.
The five titans of the underworld lay defeated.
But even as Marcus and Aria stood, panting, the mob of 500 convicts still surged.
Weapons clanged, chants roared.
The two Interpol fighters raised their weapons again, exhaustion clear in their eyes.
“This… isn’t over yet,” Marcus muttered.
Aria gritted her teeth.
“Then let’s keep going.”
The swarm surged closer—until a thunderous BOOM shook the corridor.
From the shadows, the Warden of Alcatraz—Elias Kane —stepped forward, fists like sledgehammers, voice booming like a war drum.
“COME AT ME, YOU BASTARDS!” he roared, slamming a convict into the wall with a single punch.
The mob hesitated.
Aria and Marcus both exhaled in relief, whispering almost together: “Finally.”—
Touya, still wandering the labyrinth of Alcatraz, beating down stray rioters while shouting into the chaos:
“ZERO!
Where are you?!”
The hunt had only just begun.