Fog rolled thick across the water. It swallowed the lights. Made everything gray and shapeless.
Twelve men were tied to a metal pole near the loading area. Zip-tied. Hands behind their backs. They'd been sitting there for a while now.
Most of them were quiet, trying to process what had just happened. Their shipment was stolen. Their trucks are gone. They were left behind like garbage.
"Someone will come for us," one of them said. His voice was shaky. Trying to sound confident. "Jasper will send people."
"When?" another man asked. "We don't even have our phones. How's he gonna know where we are?"
"He'll know. He always knows."
They sat in silence after that. Cold. Uncomfortable. But alive.
Then one of them heard something.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming from the shadows between the shipping containers.
"Hey!" the man called out. "Hey, we need help over here!"
The footsteps stopped.
Then continued. Closer now.
A figure emerged from the fog. Tall. Dressed in all black. Face hidden in shadow.
"Thank god," one of Jasper's men said. "Can you untie us? Those guys who robbed us just left us here..."
The figure stepped into the light from a nearby street lamp.
The man's words died in his throat.
Something was wrong. This person was not supposed to be here. What were they here for?
It was certain though. This person wasn't here to help them.
The figure walked closer. Their footsteps made no sound. In their hand was a gun. The barrel caught the light.
"Wait," one of the men said. His voice went high with fear. "Wait, please..."
The figure raised the gun. Pointed it at the first man's leg.
And fired.
The shot echoed across the empty docks. The man screamed. Blood bloomed dark on his pants where the bullet tore through his thigh.
Before the scream could fully die, the figure moved to the second man.
Another shot. The man's leg. He jerked against his restraints. Cried out in pain.
"No! No no no!" The third man started begging. "Please! Please don't!"
The figure didn't respond. Didn't speak. Just moved methodically down the line.
Shot after shot. Each man's leg. Then moving back to the first man.
The gun raised again. Aimed at his arm this time.
Fired.
The man's shoulder exploded in red. He slumped forward, held up only by the zip-ties around his wrists.
The figure continued. Arm shots now. One by one. Working through all twelve men with cold precision.
Blood pooled on the concrete. Screams filled the air. Some men had passed out from pain. Others were sobbing. Begging. But the figure never stopped.
Never hesitated.
After the arms came the chest shots.
The first man had already passed out. The bullet entered his chest. His body jerked once. Then went still.
The second man was still conscious. Still crying. "I have information!" he gasped. "I can tell you! I can…."
The bullet cut off his words. His head fell forward.
One by one, the figure executed them. Each shot to the chest was deliberate, final.
By the time they reached the tenth man, the screaming had stopped. Some were already dead. Others were barely conscious. Just waiting.
The figure finished the last three quickly. Efficiently.
When it was done, twelve bodies slumped against the metal pole. Blood everywhere. The smell of it thick in the fog mixed with gunpowder.
The figure stood there. Gun still in hand. Looking down at their work.
Then they holstered the gun and pulled out a knife. Small. Sharp.
They walked to the metal pole. Above the bodies. And carved something into the metal, slowly. Making sure each letter was clear.
**SCOURGE**
When they finished, the figure stepped back, looked at the scene one more time.
A message. Clear and brutal.
Then they turned and walked back into the fog. Back toward where the trucks had been parked. Back to where the others were waiting.
The knife disappeared into their jacket. Their footsteps made no sound.
By the time the dock workers arrived in the morning, the figure would be long gone.
All that would remain was the message carved into the metal.
And twelve bodies left behind as a warning.
This wasn't a robbery.
This was the Scourge.
********
Marcus's phone buzzed at six in the morning with a message from an unknown number. Just a pin location and three words: *Check your email.*
Marcus opened his laptop immediately. The email was there. No sender name. Just an attachment.
A file labeled "Logan Jensen - Recent Activity."
His contact. The person he'd hired two weeks ago to help dig into his uncle's disappearance. Someone who was good with computers. Very good. They'd only ever talked on the phone once. A voice modifier made them sound robotic. Anonymous, but effective.
Marcus had printed the file and brought it with him to the office. Now it sat in his desk drawer. Waiting.
But first, he had something else to deal with.
At eight o'clock, Marcus's phone rang. His father.
"Marcus. My office. Now."
The line went dead.
Marcus took the elevator to the executive floor. His stomach felt tight. His father rarely called him in like this.
Sam sat at his usual desk outside Owen's office. He looked up when Marcus approached.
"He's waiting for you," Sam said. His face gave nothing away.
Marcus knocked once and opened the door.
Owen Jensen sat behind his massive desk. Papers spread out in front of him. He looked up. His face was tired. Older than Marcus remembered.
"Sit," Owen said.
Marcus sat in one of the leather chairs facing the desk.
"How's work?" Owen asked.
"Fine. The spring campaign is on schedule."
"Good." Owen shuffled some papers. "And you're settling in? The team respects you?"
"I think so."
"Think or know?"
"Know."
Owen nodded. He set down his pen and looked directly at Marcus. "I've been hearing things. About you asking questions. Digging around in files that don't concern you."
Marcus's chest tightened. "I'm looking for Uncle Logan."
"Marcus." Owen's voice was flat. Hard. "Are you still wasting time investigating unnecessary things?"
"Unnecessary? He's your brother. He's been missing for three months!"
"He's not missing. He's traveling. I told you this already."
"Without his phone? Without using his credit cards? Without contacting anyone?" Marcus leaned forward. "That's not traveling. That's disappearing."
"What your uncle chooses to do with his life is his business. Not yours." Owen picked up his pen again. Started writing something. "You're here to work. To learn the company. To prepare to lead it someday. Not to chase some conspiracy theories."
"It's not a conspiracy theory. Something's wrong…"
"Enough." Owen didn't raise his voice. But the word cut through the air like a blade. "I'm telling you to stop. Focus on your job. Your uncle can take care of himself."
Marcus sat back. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair. "You don't care. Do you?"
Owen looked up. His eyes were cold. "What I care about is this company, and you jeopardizing your position here because you can't let things go."
"He's family."
"And you're the heir. Act like it." Owen went back to his papers. "This conversation is over. Get back to work."
Marcus stood. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. "I'm not going to stop looking for him."
"Then be smart about it. Don't let it interfere with your work here." Owen didn't look up. "Close the door on your way out."
Marcus walked out. His hands shook with anger.
Sam looked up as Marcus passed but said nothing.
Marcus took the elevator back down. Went to his office. Closed the door.
He pulled the file from his drawer. Spread the papers across his desk.
Bank statements. Phone records. Security camera footage from various locations. His contact had been busy.
Marcus scanned through everything. Looking for patterns. For clues.
Then he found it.
A security camera image. Grainy. Black and white. But clear enough.
Logan. Standing outside a building in the industrial district, looking into his phone. The timestamp said two and a half months ago. Two weeks before he disappeared completely.
Marcus zoomed in on the image on his computer. The building behind Logan looked old. Maybe abandoned. Warehouses and factories surrounded it.
He pulled up a map. Found the location. It was near the docks. An area Marcus had never been to. An area that looked rough even from satellite view. Dark streets. Empty buildings. Not the kind of place his uncle would normally go.
So why was he there?
His phone buzzed. A text from the unknown number.
*That's the last confirmed sighting. After this, nothing. The area is dangerous. Not somewhere you should go alone.*
Marcus stared at the message. His contact was right. He couldn't just drive down there by himself. Especially at night. Especially not knowing what he was walking into.
But at least now he had something. A location. A direction.
*Thank you. Keep looking.*
*Will do.*
Marcus sat back in his chair. He looked at the security image again, his uncle standing in front of that building. What were you doing there? he thought. Why would you go to a place like that?
He glanced at the time. It's almost noon. He had meetings all afternoon.
And tonight... Tonight he wanted to have dinner with Ryan.
Marcus pulled out his phone. Opened his messages. There's an unread message from Ryan asking what time they should meet for the date.
He replied.
*Marcus: 7? I can pick you up after your shift.*
*Ryan: Okay. See you then.*
Marcus put his phone down. Looked at the image one more time before closing the file and putting i
t back in the drawer.
He'd figure out what Logan was doing in the industrial district. But tonight, he needed something normal. Something that made him feel less like he was drowning in questions with no answers.
Tonight, he needed Ryan.