The Eye of the Storm
POV: First Person (Silas)
Setting: Morning, Dorm Room, Belmont, Detroit
The news played on low volume, casting blue-tinted flickers against the dorm wall. A polished, manicured anchorwoman tried to keep her voice neutral, but even she sounded skeptical.
"...while city officials remain divided, many Detroiters have begun referring to the masked vigilante as 'Sentinel' — an anonymous figure shrouded in mystery. Some call him a menace; others, a necessary evil."
I shifted on the couch, wincing. My ribs were still sore from the Baruch fight, and my right knuckle had swollen twice its size — hadn't even noticed that during the brawl. I leaned back, half-listening as they cut to a live segment.
A split-screen appeared — one side the anchor, the other Commissioner Briggs himself.
"We cannot allow masked individuals to take the law into their own hands," Briggs barked. "Detroit doesn't need vigilantes. What it needs is structure, law, and order — not costumed brutes creating chaos under the guise of heroism."
"Choke on it, Briggs," I muttered, massaging my temple.
The anchor shot back, smiling politely. "Yet public sentiment seems...split. Why don't we hear what the streets have to say?"
The screen switched again — this time to a reporter standing on Grand Avenue, mic in hand, asking passersby.
"That Sentinel guy? Man, he's a freakin' legend. I saw him take out three dudes in ski masks trying to rob a corner store — didn't even break a sweat."
"Honestly, cops weren't doing anything. But then this guy shows up, and now all the gangbangers are running scared. Say what you want, but he's doing something."
"We got Spidey in New York. Why can't we have Sentinel here?"
I let the ghost of a grin form on my lips.
"Guess I'm not as invisible as I thought."
Just then, Devon barged in, sunglasses still on despite it being cloudy outside. A brown paper bag was in one hand; the other held two steaming coffee cups.
He stopped when he saw the news, then shook his head. "Man, you really watching the hate channel this early?"
"It's on by default."
He tossed me a cup. "You're all over the city, and still can't get your coffee right."
I caught it with my good hand. "I prefer death by cheap caffeine."
Devon sat beside me, scanning the screen as Briggs continued his tirade. "They really hate you. Which means you're doing something right."
I sipped slowly. "Starting to feel less like a person. More like a weapon someone else fired and forgot to retrieve."
Devon gave me a long look. "Whatever you're gearing up for... just don't forget who you are when it's done."
Scene 2: Power Games
POV: Third Person
Setting: Late Afternoon, Detroit Police Precinct
Sergeant Whitlock stood ramrod straight outside the captain's office, jaw tight. When the door opened, she stepped in without flinching.
Captain Larkin didn't offer a seat.
"The Commissioner's breathing down my neck," he said, slamming a folder onto the desk. "Wants all eyes on this cult nonsense. Said there's talk of Homeland getting involved."
Whitlock arched a brow. "Let me guess. You want me off the case."
Larkin hesitated. "No. I want results before he benches us both."
She nodded once, cold and calm. "Then I'll get them."
As she turned to leave, her eyes drifted to her personal locker down the hall. Inside, nestled beneath innocuous folders and spare jackets, was the original USB stick Silas had handed her — and its identical twin. The second drive was already prepped to be handed over.
She clenched her fists, then walked out.
Scene 3: Baptized in Blood
POV: Third Person
Setting: Unknown Location, Hidden Cult Chapel
Blood.
Thick. Red. Steaming.
Father Grimm sat waist-deep in a Roman-style in-ground bath carved into black stone — except this one wasn't filled with water. It churned with blood.
Not metaphor. Not illusion.
Real. Human. Blood.
Steam curled from the surface, wafting around torches mounted in a circular chamber. In the center, carved into the floor, was a perfect circle etched with a slit-shaped eye.
The mark of the Blind God.
Across the room, Templar Selica — tall, bald, eyes like dying embers — stood with her hands folded behind her back.
"The other two are gone," she said, voice a whisper that carried like thunder. "Baruch and Gideon. Their factions... dismantled."
Grimm rose slowly, blood sliding down his skin like syrup. He grabbed a black towel and wiped himself with reverence.
"They served. They fell."
"What now?" Selica asked.
Grimm's eyes burned as he stepped toward her.
"Now... we gather the rest. Every drop of blood left in our veins, every knife in our hands. The boy thinks he is shadow — but I am darkness unmade. I will bury him beneath the gaze of our god."
He extended a hand.
Selica took it, and they walked together toward a chamber pulsing with soft, crimson light.
Scene 4: "Ready When You Are"
POV: First Person (Silas)
Setting: Rooftop, Belmont, Midnight
Detroit slept beneath me — all steel bones and whispering neon.
I knelt on a rooftop edge, mask retracted, visor off. Just me and the wind.
My phone buzzed.
Text from Devon:
"Yo. Just saw Knox. Dude said to tell you shit's heating up. Cult's going berserk — says they're going all in soon. He told me to stay inside. I'm tellin' you so you don't get caught off guard. Stay sharp, bro."
I typed back:
"Appreciate you. Lock your doors. And stay off rooftops."
I pocketed the phone, then reached for the burner. A new number — same old ritual.
Text to Whitlock:
"Got word. They're planning something big. Might go down in the next few days. Be ready. I'll call when it's time."
I stared across the city.
Smoke curled from a building two blocks away. Sirens wailed in the distance. But the streets... felt quiet.
Too quiet.
I stood slowly, the wind tugging at my coat.
My shadows swirled, whispering.
And then I whispered back:
"Time to kill a god."