DEVIL:
I watched him the way a hawk watches a dying rodent, though even a hawk might have more mercy in its heart. Sheriff Hampton was oblivious to me—slumped, pathetic, a husk of a man hiding in this decaying excuse of a house. I lingered in the shadows, savoring every drunken sway of his head, every glazed stare he cast at the screen as if he could drink his sins away.
It had taken a full week to track him to this wasteland on the outskirts of Boston, edging the Rhode Island border.
His vision blurred as he slumped deeper into the battered armchair, whiskey burning his throat with each desperate swig. He wasn't really watching the news; he was staring through it, the anchor's voice just another tormenting noise. The house reeked of spilled alcohol and defeat—a sickly reminder of everything he was losing or had already lost.
He blinked, the words on the screen snapping into focus for a split second:
NEWSFLASH: Sheriff Hampton and millionaire Leo Hudson are on the run after being linked to a human trafficking ring. Survivors, including children, have identified the suspects. Authorities continue their search for the fugitives, urging the public to avoid the suspects, who are considered armed and dangerous.
Even the thought of this vermin trafficking children didn't make me sick anymore; my anger was a blade honed over months, every encounter a fresh edge, bringing me to this moment.
I watched as his fists clenched, rage clawing at him, hot and consuming as he saw his name flash across the screen. His grip tightened on the whiskey bottle, and, with his other hand, he dialed a number.
The voice on the other end snapped immediately, tight with tension. "Why are you calling? I told you to stay off the radar!"
The fool had him on speaker—good for me, bad for him.
"You bastard," Hampton growled, barely holding his fury. "You and Hudson dragged me into this, and now you've left me to rot in this hellhole while you're off in some damn paradise."
"Patience, Hampton," the voice replied, icy and measured. "We don't know where Leo is right now. Just lay low a few days. I'll help you get out once it's safe."
Hampton's voice dropped to a menacing snarl. "You better. Or you'll pay."
He still thought he was untouchable, didn't he? That power, that badge, that wealth he'd flaunted with Hudson had kept him safe—until now. But now he was a paranoid wreck, jumping at shadows in his own hideout, thinking he'd escape this.
I've held myself back for twenty long years. Twenty fucking years since that night, when he chose to become a vile man with filthy desires instead of the cop he should have been—a protector of the innocent. And now is the time for payback.
The call ended, and Hampton slumped back in his chair, fury burning beneath his skin, a faint unease lurking in his gut. He took another swig to bury it, but the empty house around him felt colder than before, the silence pressing down on him.
I was going to be the last shadow he ever saw. And once I was done with him, I'd have to find out just who was on the other end of that call.
Then, a knock echoed at his door.
The sound jolted him, a spark of dread flickering in his eyes as he fumbled to the door, clutching his gun in shaky hands. The moment I knocked, I felt it—the raw, electric pulse of his fear. He opened the door to nothing, a pathetic glimmer of hope in his expression, as though he might convince himself this was all a drunken mirage. But it wasn't. I was real, and I was already inside.
This was a trap. A perfect one, and he was too far gone to see it.
I moved silently behind him, watching his lips mutter, "Shit, I'm too drunk." His gun wavered as he scanned the empty room, trying to dismiss his nerves. Poor Sheriff. Weapon in hand, yet powerless. He didn't stand a chance—not against me.
I wanted to play. To make him question the line between dreams and reality, to draw out his torment. But he wouldn't get that mercy. He didn't deserve it.
He took one last swig, letting the whiskey burn down his throat, convincing himself this was just a hallucination. That was my cue. Moving with a silence he couldn't fathom, I reached into my coat, pulling out the wire and feeling its cold weight for a beat before I closed the distance in a single, swift step.
The wire slipped around his throat before he even sensed me there. His gun fell with a dull thud, out of reach, sealing his fate.
I yanked it tight, cutting off his air. His body jerked, hands clawing frantically at the wire, mouth gaping open like a fish gasping for air. I nearly smiled, watching him thrash, struggling for answers that would never come.
He wanted to fight, but he was nothing more than a bloated, old drunken pig, weighed down by his own rot. It made gripping him all the easier; I was stronger, faster, and utterly relentless.
"W-who..." he choked out, voice barely a rasp. I tightened the wire in response, letting silence answer him. His hand slipped into his pocket, perhaps searching for another weapon, but it didn't matter—I had him locked.
"There is no 'who,'" I whispered, voice cold and close. "Only 'why,' Hampton. But you don't get to ask that anymore." My grip firmed, pulling him closer, ensuring no escape. "To answer you, though—it's justice, long overdue."
I leaned in, my grip iron around his throat, so he would feel the depth of his reckoning. His life flickered, each desperate gasp fading, weakening. There would be no mercy, no plea he could offer that would change his fate. He'd never given his victims a choice; now he knew how it felt.
With a final shudder, his body went limp. I let him drop to the floor with a thud, eyes glazed and staring into nothingness. Justice—cold, final.
I slid his phone from his pocket, the weight of the task settling over me as I looked down at him, this corrupt shell of humanity now lying lifeless in his own filth.
With one last glance around his pitiful hideout, I slipped back into the shadows, leaving him there to rot. His secrets wouldn't save him now. And soon, neither would Hudson or Mr. X. I'd bring down the Falcons by any means necessary, no matter the cost.
Just as I was about to disappear, a siren cut through the silence.
Shit.
"It's a trap!" Rio's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Take a left—you can reach the car!"
As I darted into the shadows, my mind raced, retracing every step to see where I went wrong. Then it hit me. The phone. They'd tracked it.
The whole thing was a setup, orchestrated—likely by the voice on the other end of that call.
I took a closer look and recognized him—it was none other than David and his team. I knew David had a huge crush on my Estrellita, and sometimes, for that alone, I wanted to make him pay. But I held back, only because his father once helped me. Perhaps, just this once, I'll let him consider it repayment.
I ran faster than I'd ever had to. My car was parked nearby, hidden, but there wasn't time to make it back. They wouldn't match my speed, my agility; years of training had made me a ghost, a living shadow. I led them in circles, jumping walls and dodging through narrow alleys, weaving past darkened shops.
"Damn it, Benny, they've nearly got the whole area covered—I don't think..." Rio's voice faded out as the connection faltered.
Cars were after me, bikes too, and cops on foot. Twenty of them, maybe more. "Fuck," I muttered under my breath, my pulse pounding as I pushed myself harder. I tried to reconnect with Rio, with Mark, with anyone back at base, but my earpiece had fallen somewhere in the chaos.
Still, I pressed on. My body moved on instinct, honed and adaptable, carrying me toward an old abandoned building up ahead. If I could make it inside, I'd have a shot at losing them, disappearing completely. I was close, freedom just steps away—until I saw a figure in the doorway.
A familiar figure. A woman.
My Estrellita.
What struck me even more was how different she looked. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair tangled, wild, and in her trembling hand was a gun aimed straight at me.
I frowned, a flood of questions rushing through me. What happened to her? Who hurt her? Why was she crying? And who would I have to kill tonight to bring back her smile?
I wanted to ask, to demand answers, so I kept moving toward her, unable to hold back. But before I could reach her, a gunshot tore through the icy night air. Pain exploded in my chest, just an inch above my heart, so sharp it stole my breath. For a split second, my vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges.
I stopped running, my legs barely holding me up. She stood five steps away, her face a mask of anguish and fury. "E-Estrellita..." I choked, feeling the searing ache in my chest. "Who hurt you?"
But instead of answering, she raised her gun again, this time leveling it at my head.
I didn't move. I felt the police getting closer, but if this was what she needed, if this was her choice, then I'd give it to her. Surrendering, I dropped to my knees, blood spilling down my chest like the tears streaming from her eyes.
I could see her hand trembling, her face twisted with pain. She was fighting herself, and I knew she was being manipulated—forced into this. I swore to myself that if I survived, I'd hunt down the person who did this, who twisted her heart against me. She was mine, and no one had the right to use her like this.
Closing my eyes, accepting whatever fate she would deal me, I opened my arms, ready to receive it. Her hands trembled more, but her finger steadied on the trigger.
Just when I thought this would be the last time I saw her, a car roared into the night, its engine splitting the silence like a crack of thunder. Without opening my eyes, I knew it was my brother.
Then, a deafening explosion rocked the ground around us, flames leaping into the sky. My eyes flew open, and I shouted, "Careful! My Estrellita is here!"
But he didn't hesitate—he gripped my arms and pulled me into the jeep, yanking me away from the flames and finally out of the trap.