Chapter 1: The Awakening

Amandla's world returned in pieces. First, the dull hum of machines, their rhythmic beeping piercing through the fog in her mind. Then, the sterile scent of antiseptic, sharp and unfamiliar. The weight of a blanket pressed against her skin, but beneath it, she felt... nothing.

Pain followed next. A dull, aching throb in her skull, radiating down her spine. It was the kind of pain that told her she had survived something she wasn't supposed to.

She opened her eyes. The room was stark white, clinical, devoid of warmth. Her fingers twitched against the sheets as she tried to move. A sharp sting flared across her ribs, stealing her breath. The effort alone sent nausea twisting through her stomach.

Where am I?

Memories clawed at the edges of her consciousness, fleeting and fragmented. Flashing lights. The sound of metal shrieking. Screams—hers? Someone else's? Then... nothing.

The door creaked open. A woman entered, her expression composed, her movements too smooth, too controlled. A nurse.

"Miss Zulu," she said gently, stopping beside the bed. "You're awake."

Amandla's throat felt raw when she tried to speak. No words came. The nurse hesitated before continuing.

"You've been in an accident. A car crash. You've been unconscious for several days."

Car crash. The words echoed in her mind, hollow and meaningless.

The nurse's gaze softened, but there was a careful distance in her voice. "Your parents... they didn't survive."

Amandla blinked. The sentence should have felt like a bullet, like an unbearable weight crushing her chest. But instead, it was empty.

Parents.

She should see their faces, recall their voices, their laughter. But her mind was a blank slate. The more she tried to grasp at memories, the more they slipped through her fingers like smoke.

"I... I don't remember them," she murmured.

The nurse reached for her hand, but Amandla flinched away.

It wasn't grief that held her still—it was the absence of it.

She should be sobbing. Screaming. But there was only a hollow ache, a missing piece she couldn't retrieve.

The nurse sighed. "I'll give you some time."

She left, and Amandla stared at the ceiling, lost in the void of what she had lost and what she couldn't recall.

Then, later that night, the door opened again.

This time, it wasn't the nurse.

A man stepped inside, his presence filling the room before he even spoke. He was tall, dressed in a dark, tailored suit that clung to him like armor. His face was sharp, unreadable, his eyes like chips of onyx.

He wasn't a doctor.

He wasn't family.

But he knew who she was.

"Miss Zulu," he said, his voice calm, deliberate. "I'm Vito. You don't know me, but I've been looking after you."

Amandla's pulse quickened. Every instinct in her body told her that this man didn't deal in kindness. His type never did.

"You've lost everything," Vito continued, stepping closer. "But that doesn't mean you're powerless."

She swallowed hard. His words weren't comforting—they were calculated. He wasn't offering sympathy. He was offering something else.

A choice.

"Your parents were important people, Amandla," Vito said. "And now, you're the only one left. You have two options: fade into nothing, or step into the world they were a part of. A world of power."

The word sent a shiver down her spine.

Power.

"I can give you everything," he said. "Answers. Strength. Revenge."

Revenge. She didn't know who had taken her parents. Didn't even know if she had loved them. But something inside her stirred at the word.

She clenched her fists.

She had nothing. No past. No home. No family.

But this man—this stranger—was offering her something.

And when you have nothing, even the devil's hand looks like salvation.

Amandla lifted her chin, meeting his gaze.

"I'll trust you," she said, her voice steadier than she expected.

Vito smiled. It was the kind of smile that meant the game had just begun.

"Good," he said. "Then let's begin."