Chapter 8: Harden Not Your Heart

Cal sat on the edge of a building, the cold February wind biting against his face as he looked down at the glowing lights of Times Square. All leads from the warehouse went nowhere. The computer tower was too damaged to salvage anything, and he'd spent the time since trying to find any other leads on the streets.

Tonight was an especially late outing, but the city never slept. Movie posters and trailers lit up the giant screens, one in particular catching his attention: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones. A pang hit him. He'd seen the original Star Wars with his parents, back when life was simpler.

The thought of them now made him grit his teeth. He hated the idea of their last moments, engulfed in flames. He shoved the memory away, pushing himself to his feet. There was no time for that. Not tonight.

—

Cal moved through the backstreets of the city, his senses sharp as he scanned for his next target. Over the last few weeks, he'd perfected his approach. No more running in fists-first. Tonight, it was about gathering intel. The syndicate had been lying low after the warehouse incident, but Cal was determined to find out where they were regrouping.

He spotted a lone drug dealer, twitchy and nervously glancing around. Cal's eyes locked onto him, and before the man could react, Cal had him pinned against the wall in an alley.

"Where's the syndicate moving their operations?" Cal growled.

"I-I don't know, man! I got no idea what you're talkin' about!" the dealer stammered, panic filling his voice.

Cal's grip tightened. "You better think harder."

The dealer whimpered, "They've been hiding since a big raid! That's all I know!"

Cal, unimpressed, shoved the man down and moved on. Hours passed as he interrogated thugs and low-level criminals, none giving him the answers he needed. His patience thinned with each dead end.

---

Just after midnight, Cal cornered another thug, a stocky man trying to sell off stolen goods. Cal wasted no time, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the pavement. The thug tried to scramble away, but Cal's boot pinned him down.

"Talk," Cal demanded, his voice cold. "Where's the syndicate setting up next?"

The thug spat at Cal's boot, trying to act tough. "Screw you, man. You don't scare me."

Cal didn't hesitate. He grabbed the thug by the back of his shirt, throwing him hard onto the ground before stepping toward a large dumpster in the alley. Without a word, he gripped the metal edges and lifted it clean off the ground, holding it over his head as though he was about to drop it on the thug. The man's eyes widened in terror.

"Okay, okay!" the thug cried out. "They're moving into an abandoned hotel! The Hamilton, over in Hell's Kitchen, West 47th, off 10th Avenue!"

Cal stared at him for a long moment, then set the dumpster down with a heavy thud. "You better not be lying," he said, his voice low.

The thug scrambled back, nodding furiously. "I swear! That's what they've been saying."

Satisfied, Cal turned and disappeared into the shadows, the thug still trembling on the ground.

---

He found himself watching the Hamilton Hotel from afar. It was a decrepit, crumbling building, long since abandoned, its once-grand structure now reduced to broken windows and graffiti-covered walls. From his hidden vantage point, Cal observed armed men entering and exiting, hauling crates and weapons inside. It looked like they were setting up for something big.

This had to be it—the syndicate's new base. He watched for a while longer, noting the flow of people and supplies. The thought of charging in now crossed his mind, but he needed to be smart. He'd learned from past mistakes.

With his suspicions confirmed, Cal slipped back into the night, heading for his apartment. Tomorrow, he'd move in for real.