Mob Attack

Brendon was about to hang up when static filled the line.

"Judith?" His tone sharpened.

From the other end, muffled voices and a commotion broke through. Something was happening.

"Hey, Judith, what the hell is going on?"

A breathless, hurried voice responded, but it was breaking up.

"Umm… Brendon. THIS is worse. (Static) We are att—(static)—"

The call cut off.

Brendon stared at his phone for half a second, then cursed under his breath. Something had gone terribly wrong at the station.

There was no time to walk. He stepped onto the street, hailing a taxi. A yellow cab slowed to a stop.

"Ridgecliff Police Station. Fast."

The driver, a man in his late forties with tired eyes, glanced at Brendon through the mirror. "Something going on?"

Brendon didn't answer, his jaw tightening as he watched the city blur past.

---

Chaos at the Station

It took thirty minutes to reach, and what Brendon saw made his stomach turn.

The police station—his working place—was under siege.

Shattered glass littered the pavement, overturned patrol cars smoking near the entrance. Inside the courtyard, officers were being beaten down by thugs wielding iron bats, pipes, and spiked clubs. Some officers fought back with sidearms, but they were outnumbered.

Brendon's eyes locked onto a familiar face. A thug, broad-shouldered with a snake tattoo curling around his arm—he had been there that night in the underground facility when Drago's men ambushed him.

That same thug raised a spiked club over an officer who was already bloodied on the ground.

Brendon moved.

Fast.

He grabbed the club from behind and yanked it back with enough force that the thug staggered. Before he could react, Brendon twisted his arm, disarming him. The spiked club clattered to the ground.

The thug turned, eyes widening in horror. The last time they had met, Brendon had left him unconscious in a pool of his own blood.

Brendon smirked coldly. "It seems like you haven't learned your lesson, huh?" His grip on the thug's wrist tightened. "Let me reteach it."

The thug wrenched his arm free and bolted, his accomplices following without hesitation.

Brendon turned to the officer on the ground, who clutched his ribs but nodded in gratitude.

"More thugs are inside," he gasped.

Brendon didn't wait. He charged through the broken doors.

---

A Battle in the Halls

Inside was worse.

The front desk was overturned, files scattered and blood smeared across the floor. Officers fought back where they could, using their service weapons, but the attackers had sheer numbers.

Brendon ducked under a wild swing from a metal pipe and slammed his fist into the attacker's ribs. The thug collapsed with a grunt. Another came at him, but Brendon sidestepped, grabbing his wrist and twisting it hard until a bone cracked.

A gunshot echoed. A stray bullet shattered a light fixture above, sending sparks raining down.

Brendon caught sight of Judith, bruised but still standing, pistol raised as she covered another officer. Their eyes met for a split second, but there was no time to talk.

More thugs surged forward.

A metal bat swung toward Brendon's head. He barely dodged in time, countering with a brutal elbow to the attacker's nose. Blood sprayed.

An officer beside him tackled another thug, but a third thug stomped on the officer's leg, a sickening crunch following.

Brendon grabbed a nearby chair and slammed it into the attacker, sending him sprawling.

It was pure chaos.

And then, he heard a scream.

The tech department.

---

The Fight in Tech Department

Brendon sprinted toward the tech department.

The room was in ruins. Monitors shattered, computers smashed beyond repair. Years of evidence—gone.

And in the corner, Sofie was cornered by three men. Their smirks told Brendon exactly what they intended.

His blood ran hot.

Brendon lunged. The first thug turned too late—Brendon's fist connected with his jaw, sending him into a rack of destroyed servers.

The second came at him with a knife. Brendon caught his wrist, twisting it sharply, forcing the blade loose. With a brutal knee to the gut, the man doubled over. Brendon grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the desk.

The third thug, eyes wide, pulled a gun.

Brendon dove behind a broken desk just as the shot fired. The bullet embedded itself into a monitor.

Brendon rolled, grabbing a fallen baton. He threw it. It struck the gunman's hand, making him drop the weapon.

Brendon charged. A solid punch to the ribs. Another to the jaw. The thug crumpled.

Brendon turned to Sofie, who clutched a broken keyboard like a weapon. She looked shaken but unharmed.

"You okay?" Brendon asked, breathing heavily.

She nodded, though her hands trembled.

Then—

A sharp, searing pain.

Brendon staggered as the gunshot rang in his ears. His shoulder burned. He looked down—blood seeping through his shirt.

The thug he thought was down had picked up an unmarked gun.

Brendon fell to one knee, hand pressed against the wound. The thug pointing the gun at him. For a moment he thought he needs to unleash his primal instincts to beat this thug.

Before that more gunfire erupted—but not from the thugs.

Chief Tyson stormed in with a squad of officers, Bronson at his side, their semiautomatic rifles raised. The remaining thugs dropped their weapons as officers swarmed in.

Brendon, his vision blurring, saw the chaos settle. The thugs were arrested. The fight was over.

But all the evidence was gone.

---

South Block Hospital

An hour later, Ridgecliff's South Block Hospital was packed with wounded officers. Some had minor injuries, others, like Brendon, weren't so lucky.

He lay in Ward No. 369, his right arm and shoulder bandaged, IV drip hooked to his arm. The painkillers dulled the worst of it, but the frustration was harder to numb.

All that evidence. Destroyed.

He murmured under his breath, running through the case in his mind, piecing together what remained.

A knock at the door.

Brendon looked up.

Robert stood at the entrance, his hands in his pockets. His usual laid-back demeanor was gone, replaced with something unreadable.

Brendon smirked weakly and rolled his shoulder. "Don't worry. Shoulder's fine."

Robert sighed, stepping in. "Brendon, you got shot."

Brendon shrugged with his uninjured arm. "I've had worse."

Robert shook his head. "You're just unreeeal."

Brendon smirked, but the weight of the night's events lingered.