The city didn't sleep. Not anymore. Not with what Dre had just done. News of the ambush spread like wildfire across the underground. Elric's men were rattled. Some were retreating, others regrouping. But one thing was clear—the name Dre was no longer just whispered. It was feared. The crates he stole weren't just weapons. They were history. Blackmail. Blood contracts signed in ink and death. Names of politicians, high-ranking security agents, even church leaders who sat in front rows while their shadows funded the hell Dre had crawled out from. And his mother's photo? That image burned hotter than anything else.
Zion slammed a folder shut in the candlelit hideout, the tension in the room cutting deeper than knives. "She wasn't a victim, Dre. She was in it."
"She was a pawn," Dre replied, voice sharp. "They used her. Like they tried to use me."
Kemi spoke up from the corner. "You think Elric knew all along? That your blood was part of the system?"
Dre didn't blink. "He always knew. That's why he hated me so much. I was the broken piece in his perfect game."
Malik paced, his boots hitting the concrete like war drums. "Then what's next? What do we do with this?"
"We burn it," Dre said. "But not in silence. We leak every name, every lie. And we do it publicly."
"You mean war," Zion muttered.
"I mean justice."
The next day wasn't quiet. There were no calm hours. No safe places. Dre and his crew moved from base to base, hideout to safe house, each one dirtier than the last. Elric's men were hunting. Dre could feel it like heat on his skin. Every eye on the street felt like a gun. Every cough in a crowd felt like a signal.
He had no room for doubt now. Not when every second alive felt like a defiance of fate.
They uploaded the documents in batches, leaking names to known activist journalists, to underground web forums, to anyone who could carry a message louder than a bullet. In less than twelve hours, the city cracked. Phones lit up. Radios went quiet. Some big men stopped showing up at their offices. Some were escorted out. Others vanished entirely.
But with exposure came retaliation.
Dre barely made it out of the market street. He was picking up burner phones when the first shot rang out. A silenced pistol. Clean. Deadly. Zion shoved him down just in time, returning fire from a second-story stall. Chaos erupted. People screamed. Glass shattered. Dre rolled under a vendor table and came up with his blade, slashing the ankles of one of the shooters. The man collapsed with a muffled groan, and Dre didn't hesitate. He drove the blade deeper.
Zion dragged him out. "They're not shooting to warn. They're shooting to erase."
Back at the warehouse, Dre stitched up a cut on his own arm while Kemi paced. "We're being hunted now. And it's not just thugs. These are trained. Silent. Fast."
"Elric's calling in the old units," Zion said. "Military dropouts. The ones who never stopped fighting."
"They won't stop," Malik added. "They'll keep coming."
Dre didn't flinch. "Let them. The more they send, the louder the world hears us."
Kemi slammed her hand on the table. "You want a revolution, Dre? People die in revolutions. Are you ready for that?"
He looked up, eyes dark and calm. "People already died. I'm just giving it a reason now."
That night, Dre couldn't sleep. He stood by the shattered window of the top floor hideout, shirt off, bandages across his shoulder, the city still bleeding beneath him. The wind carried sirens. In the distance, something exploded. A warehouse maybe. A warning.
Kemi walked up quietly. Her voice was softer now. "When does it end?"
"When he's gone."
She paused beside him. "And after that?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
The next morning, a message arrived. Not a call. Not a file. A voice note on a burner device, played on loop. It was Elric.
You've done well, little ghost. But it ends where it started. Come home, or I bring it all down with you in it.
Dre froze. He knew what that meant. Home wasn't just a word. It was the building Elric had once trained him in. A fake orphanage on the outskirts of the city. Where boys were turned into killers. Where his name had been erased and replaced with silence.
He turned to the crew. "He's calling me out."
"You can't go alone," Kemi warned.
"I have to."
"You're walking into a death trap."
"Maybe. But if I don't go, he burns everything. People die."
Zion stepped forward. "Then we come with you."
Dre shook his head. "Not this time."
He grabbed his hoodie, pulled it over his head, and walked out without looking back.
The road to the orphanage felt like a dream. Every corner was familiar. Every street whispered memories he didn't want. By the time he reached the gates, it was nearly dusk. The sun bled orange over the city as if it too was dying.
Inside, nothing had changed. Same cracked tiles. Same broken swing. Same smell of rust and regret.
Elric stood in the main hallway, hands behind his back, smile slow and cruel.
"Dre," he said, as if greeting an old friend. "Or should I say, my greatest failure."
Dre didn't smile. "You taught me how to survive. But you never taught me how to obey."
Elric laughed. "You were never meant to obey. You were meant to be feared. And look at you now—little king of the rebels."
"This ends tonight."
Elric tilted his head. "You think you've won because of a few leaks? The city's memory is short. But pain... pain lasts."
Dre moved first.
No more talking.
The fight was fast. Brutal. They weren't just men—they were predators. But Dre was hungrier. Every punch was a memory. Every block a scream. He fought like he had nothing left to lose.
Blood stained the tiles again. But this time, it wasn't his.
Elric went down hard, wheezing.
Dre stood over him. "You made me. Now I'll unmake you."
Elric smiled through blood. "You're still mine."
Dre raised his fist. "Not anymore."
And he ended it.
By the time Dre walked out of the orphanage, the sky had gone dark. But the weight on his chest had lifted.
He didn't just walk away a survivor.
He walked away free.