🩸 Chapter 4 — A Night to Remember
🔥 ACE — THE NIGHT BURNS
The night burned.
Ace dropped the last man to the pavement, flames licking across cracked concrete as the thug's scream cut short. Smoke rose into the air, mixing with the smell of scorched asphalt.
Bodies surrounded him.
Not street trash.
These men wore tailored suits—fabric worth more than most people's yearly income. Gold chains lay heavy against their chests. Watches worth thousands hung uselessly from limp wrists.
On every arm: a mafia armband.
Ace stood at the center of the wreckage, calm, controlled. A single card spun between his fingers, fire curling along its edges like it was alive—obedient.
Red and blue lights flashed at the far end of the street.
Police.
Ace looked up.
Flames exploded behind him as he launched skyward, vanishing into the city just as sirens screamed below.
🌃 ABOVE THE CITY
Ace landed on a skyscraper rooftop, boots scraping concrete. From here, the city stretched endlessly—lights glittering like fallen stars.
The wind howled.
A vibration at his waist.
Ace reached into his belt, unbuttoned a hidden clasp, and pulled out a compact phone.
Daniel Morning-Star.
Ace smirked faintly.
"Daniel," he said. "You need something from me?"
Daniel's voice came through calm—but tired. Unbothered. Like a man who'd seen too much to panic anymore.
"It's been a few days since Emma started coming regularly," Daniel said. "Basic conditioning. Helping her adjust."
Ace leaned back, staring at the skyline.
"Electric-based, right? I figured."
A pause.
"Not electric-based," Daniel corrected. "Pure electricity. Elemental mutation."
Ace's brow furrowed.
"…What level?"
Another pause.
"Level Eleven."
The city felt quieter.
Ace slowly removed his mask, his expression tightening.
"Level… Eleven?"
"For reference," Daniel continued evenly, "your flame and card mutation combined ranks at Level Eight."
Ace exhaled.
"…Is Emma there?"
"Yes," Daniel replied. "We'd like you to come by."
Ace put his mask back on, forcing a relaxed smile.
"I'll help where I can. But that's why you built the school, right?"
Daniel didn't answer immediately.
"Anything else on your end?"
Ace's smile sharpened.
"I've got plans," he said. "My kind of fun."
The call ended.
Daniel lowered the phone—unimpressed, unfazed.
⚡ THE SCHOOL — CONTROL OR COLLAPSE
"Okay, Emma," Mr. Morning-Star said, voice flat but focused. "Remove the wrist regulator."
Emma nodded. "Yeah. We've done this before."
Aya stepped closer, smiling. "You've got this. Just believe."
Emma unclasped the device.
Instantly, electricity crackled around her—thin arcs of lightning dancing across her skin.
Aya and Dr. Morning-Star raised their hands, telekinesis locking around the energy, keeping it from tearing Emma apart.
Nearby, Mr. Zero stood ready.
He was massive—broad shoulders, thick arms exposed beneath simple street clothes. His square face bore a scar slicing across his left eye. Glasses hid his gaze.
He didn't move.
He didn't need to.
"If it goes bad," Mr. Morning-Star said calmly, "Mr. Zero shuts it down."
Emma swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Students watched from behind reinforced glass—whispers, excitement, fear.
Dr. Morning-Star glanced at Aya. "This is training for you too. Control your power. Follow my lead."
"Yes, Mom," Aya replied.
Mr. Zero stepped forward and placed a glass bottle on a metal pole.
"Target practice," he said. "You've done it before. Do it again."
Emma focused.
The wind shifted.
Lightning snapped forward—
Shatter.
The bottle exploded perfectly.
Cheers erupted.
Then—Emma staggered.
Her power surged violently, spiraling out of control.
Mr. Zero lifted his glasses.
His eyes glowed—red layered with cold blue.
The electricity vanished instantly.
Emma collapsed to her knees.
Mr. Morning-Star rushed forward, snapping the wrist device back into place.
"You did amazing," he said.
Emma looked up. "You sure?"
They smiled.
"Let's get you home.
🚗 MANDY — DESPERATION IN SILK
Mandy sat in her car, dressed elegantly—long dress, fitted jacket. Perfect on the outside.
Breaking inside.
"The detectives are closing in," she muttered. "Lady Moon… Emma… school fees…"
She checked the mirror.
"I have to find that girl."
Her son leaned forward from the back seat. "Mom, you okay?"
She forced a smile. "Just stressed about a job opportunity."
"I believe in you," he said softly.
The car stopped.
Goodbyes.
The door closed.
Mandy leaned back, hands gripping her hair.
"Come on," she whispered. "You've got this."
🎲 THE GAMBLING HOUSE — LADY MOON
Roman arrived in a black-and-white suit, smiling like he owned the world.
Inside, the gambling hall glowed—gold lights reflecting off polished tables, glasses clinking, laughter mixing with the sound of money moving hands. Cards slapped down. Dice rolled. Music pulsed low and smooth.
This place didn't sleep.
Everyone knew Roman.
Everyone loved Roman.
"Only Roman goes this hard on a work night," someone laughed from the bar.
Roman drank. Gambled. Won big. Lost bigger. Smiled through all of it.
He looked like a man without worry.
Then his eyes caught something familiar.
Mafia armbands.
Same symbol. Same stitching.
"…Boss isn't happy with Ace," one muttered under his breath.
Roman smirked, lifting his glass.
Can't touch me.
He turned—
And that's when he saw her.
Mandy.
She moved like smoke through the crowd—never stopping, never drawing attention. Fingers brushed jackets. Coins vanished. Bills slipped free.
Clean. Efficient. Professional.
Until the mafia noticed her.
They stepped into her path.
She didn't panic.
She smiled—cold and sharp.
"Don't make me get the boss," she said.
They stiffened.
Then backed off.
Roman watched the entire exchange, interest sharpening in his eyes.
She turned—and her hand brushed his waist.
"Hello, handsome."
He looked down at her, amused. "Is it me—or my money?"
She leaned closer, voice soft. "Why not both?"
Roman replied back with a grin.
"Sorry, miss. I know I'm a catch—but I don't think I got your name."
Mandy smiled, biting her lip slightly.
"My name's Mandy."
Roman looked at her, amused.
"Roman."
As the two continued talking, Mandy lifted her fingers and began drawing a small heart on his chest. She stood very close now, her body nearly pressed against his. Roman's hands rested casually on her hips.
His build is really strong, Mandy thought under her breath. I wouldn't mind feeling his abs before I steal from him.
Her hand slid lower, brushing his stomach.
"You work hard," she said softly.
Roman chuckled.
"I do. But if you want to see more, it'll cost."
Mandy smiled.
"I'm good, love."
She leaned in, whispering into his ear, her face so close it felt like she was about to kiss him.
"If you really wanted me," Mandy murmured, "you'd have to work harder."
She turned her head and kissed his cheek lightly.
Then she stepped away, swaying her hips left to right as she walked.
"Hey," Roman called, following after her.
"I really need to go," Mandy said, trying to move past him.
She took a step—but Roman caught her wrist. Not rough. Just firm.
He pulled her back gently until her body pressed against his.
She stiffened instantly, eyes flashing.
"Let go," she said quietly.
"I will," Roman replied calmly. "But first—
My nickename is "Eagle Eyes."
She froze.
"I'm a detective," he continued. "And you're good. Really good. But not perfect."
Her jaw tightened.
"You pressed two fingers against my chest," Roman said, voice low, precise. "Right here—just enough to pull my attention. You leaned in close to block my peripheral vision. My focus shifted from my blazer pocket to your face."
He stepped slightly to the side, reenacting it.
"Then you kissed my cheek. Not affection—misdirection. In that moment, my body reacted before my mind did. That's when your other hand slipped into my blazer. Clean pull. No resistance."
Silence.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then where's my money?
He looked into her eyes, calm but curious.
"Sorry, baby," Roman said lightly. "This might be weird."
Before she could react, he reached down and pulled the folded bills from between her chest.
Got it.
She's really good, he thought. The timing, the placement… I didn't feel a thing. She hid it where no one would check.
Mandy's expression snapped.
"You creep," she snapped, driving her fist into his stomach.
Roman grunted but barely moved, tightening his core out of instinct.
"Okay—fair," he said, exhaling. "I deserved that."
He lifted the money between his fingers.
"But here's the thing," Roman continued, voice calm again. "You didn't steal from me because you wanted to."
Her jaw clenched.
"You did it because you had to."
Silence hung between them.
"You didn't steal from the loud drunks," Roman added. "You didn't touch the careless players. You targeted men dressed well. Men with money—and power."
Her breathing changed.
"You're not greedy," Roman said. "You're desperate."
She yanked her wrist free and stepped back.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She turned to leave.
Roman reached into his pocket.
"Seven wallets," he said. "And mine."
He pulled out a thick stack of bills—hers.
Her steps stopped.
"I'll give you a thousand," Roman said evenly. "If you tell me why."
She laughed bitterly. "I don't sell stories."
"I know," Roman replied. "That's why I'm buying honesty."
She hesitated.
Then turned.
Fine.
They moved to the upper floor balcony. The city spread beneath them—bright, endless, uncaring.
Mandy leaned against the railing, arms crossed tight like armor.
"My mother was a mutant," she said suddenly. "Born in Walkaka."
Roman didn't interrupt.
"They treated her like trash. No jobs. No respect. When she had me, there were days we didn't eat. She did missions—dangerous ones—just to keep us alive."
Her voice trembled.
"My brother joined the mafia to help us. He got shot. Left to bleed out."
She swallowed.
"My mom died sick. No help. No care."
Roman stayed silent.
"I stole to survive," Mandy continued. "Food. Clothes. Money. It worked—until I stole from the wrong people."
She turned, eyes sharp with pain.
"The old boss punished me by forcing me to marry one of his men. I had a child with him. That man… treated me like property."
Her hands clenched.
"I stayed alive for my son. That's it."
She took a shaky breath.
"When the new boss took over, he let me go. Forced the divorce. Promised my ex would never touch me again."
She looked at Roman.
"My son goes to Saint Juda High. Seventy thousand a month."
Roman exhaled quietly. "The most expensive school in the city."
"He won't be like them," she said fiercely. "Not his father. Not his uncle. Not me."
Silence stretched.
Roman pulled out the money—and placed five thousand into her hand.
"All of my winnings tonight," he said.
Her fingers trembled.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because," Roman said softly, "you're not a criminal. You're a survivor."
She turned away, wiping her eyes.
"Thank you."
Roman walked off, shaking his head.
"All my profit gone," he muttered. "Worth it.
🌙 THE RIDE HOME 🌙
(Morning-Star Vehicle – Late Night)
The city blurred past the windows as the car moved smoothly through quiet streets.
Emma sat in the back seat beside Aya, their shoulders nearly touching. The adrenaline from training had finally faded, replaced by that warm, tired calm that came after surviving something intense.
Aya kicked her feet lightly.
"I still can't believe you hit the bottle dead center."
Emma smiled, small but proud.
"I thought I was going to explode."
"You almost did," Aya laughed. "But you didn't. That's the point."
From the front seat, Mr Morning-Star drove with one hand on the wheel, posture relaxed. His eyes looked heavy—not bored, not careless—just tired. The kind of tired that came from years of responsibility, not lack of sleep.
Dr Morning-Star turned slightly in her seat, checking Emma through the rearview mirror.
"You held control longer tonight," she said calmly. "That matters more than power."
Emma nodded.
"I felt it trying to pull away from me."
Mr Morning-Star spoke without looking back.
"It always will."
No drama. No fear in his voice. Just fact.
Aya leaned closer to Emma.
"We've got that science project due next week, by the way."
Emma groaned. "You didn't have to remind me."
They laughed—quiet, genuine.
Dr Morning-Star smiled faintly.
Moments like this mattered.
🚗 GOODNIGHT, EMMA 🚗
The car slowed to a stop outside a modest house—warm lights glowing through the windows.
"We're here," Mr Morning-Star said.
Emma unbuckled, pausing.
"Thank you. For tonight. For everything."
Dr Morning-Star nodded.
"You did well. Get rest."
Aya opened her door, then leaned in and hugged Emma tightly.
"Text me when you're inside," she said. "And tomorrow—we're getting snacks."
Emma laughed. "Deal."
She stepped out into the night air, the car pulling away once she reached the door.
Inside, her grandparents greeted her warmly. Food waited in the kitchen. Normalcy wrapped around her like a blanket.
Later, in her room—
Emma lay on her bed, phone glowing softly as messages flew back and forth between her and Aya. School talk. Dumb jokes. Plans for the weekend.
She smiled to herself.
I'm not alone anymore.
Outside—
The city didn't care.
🕳️
(Mafia Base – Night)
The building didn't exist on any map.
From the outside, it looked abandoned—concrete cracked, windows boarded, a dead factory swallowed by darkness. No lights. No signs. No movement.
But beneath it—
Life.
Noise echoed through the underground space. Cigarette smoke clung thick to the air. Pool balls cracked. Laughter died fast when the wrong eyes turned.
This was where the city's worst came to breathe.
Men played cards with hands that had strangled others. Drinks were poured by fingers missing knuckles. Blood had soaked into the floor so long ago it had become part of the stone.
This wasn't a hideout.
It was a graveyard that hadn't finished working yet.
🐀 MR RAT SPEAKS 🐀
At the center table stood Mr Rat.
Short. Sharp. Clean-shaven. Narrow eyes that never stopped moving. A black-and-white suit clung tight to his frame, topped with a tilted mafia hat that shadowed his face.
His nickname wasn't a joke.
Rats survived. Rats remembered. Rats bit when you weren't looking.
He leaned on the pool table, cue resting on his shoulder.
"Eighty thousand," he said, laughing under his breath.
"For one girl."
Around him stood his two shadows.
🐂 MR OX 🐂
Mr Ox didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
He was massive—bigger than most men had a right to be. Muscles layered like armor, long hair tied back, scars climbing his arms like trophies.
He was known for one thing:
Standing behind high-ranking mafia members
and making sure they never died alone.
When Ox moved, rooms made space.
💎 MR Clearn 💎
Then there was Mr Clearn.
Tall. Clean. Dressed like money. Rings heavy with gold. Chains resting against his chest like medals.
His hands were spotless.
That's what made him terrifying.
Mr Clearn had killed more men than anyone in the room.
Over a thousand.
And unlike the others—
He enjoyed the silence after.
🎱 QUESTIONING THE BOSS 🎱
Mr Rat chalked his cue slowly.
"I'm just saying," he continued, voice casual, careless.
"Why spend eighty K on Lady Moon?"
A few nearby men stiffened.
"That money could buy a whole crew," Rat said.
"Send us. Send Ox. Send Clearn. What can one woman do that we can't?"
Laughter followed.
Too much laughter.
Then—
Silence.
The pool ball stopped rolling.
The air changed.
Mr Rat's smile faded.
👁️ THE BOSS 👁️
A shadow stood behind them.
No footsteps.
No warning.
Just presence.
Darkness wrapped around the figure like a cloak. No face. No eyes. No shape beyond a hand resting lightly on Mr Rat's shoulder.
Mr Rat froze.
Mr Ox straightened instantly, eyes down.
Mr Clearn stepped back—slow, respectful.
Sweat broke across Rat's neck.
"S–sorry, boss," Rat said quickly.
"We were just talking. No disrespect."
The hand tightened.
The boss spoke.
Calm. Low. Almost bored.
"You don't like my choice."
No one answered.
The boss leaned closer—his voice close enough to Rat's ear to feel like a blade.
"Then race her."
Rat swallowed.
"If Lady Moon gets the girl," the boss continued,
"we play golf."
A pause.
"If you get the girl,"
"you get eighty thousand."
Rat nodded fast. "Y–yes, sir."
The hand lifted.
One last sentence.
"If you fail—"
"you and I will still play golf."
Everyone understood what that meant.
🩸 THE HUNT BEGINS 🩸
The shadow stepped back, melting into darkness.
Only then did the room breathe again.
Men moved fast now. Phones came out. Orders were whispered. Weapons checked.
Mr Rat wiped his face, forcing a smile that
didn't reach his eyes.
"Alright," he muttered.
"Let's hunt."
Somewhere in the city—
Emma slept.
And the night prepared to be remembered
Chapter 4 end