Chapter 2: The Burn

The following evening, Trevor Blade sat in his car, parked along the neon-lit streets of Times Square. The hustle and bustle of the city offered perfect camouflage for the storm raging inside him. He stared out at the crowd, scanning the faceless masses, searching for one particular group. His fingers itched for action as he tapped the steering wheel, his breath steady, controlled.

Finally, he spotted what he was looking for—a familiar bandana, the signature mark of the "Ghouls." Lighting a cigarette, Blade grabbed his green army jacket from the passenger seat, pulling it over his shoulders to help conceal his identity. He stepped out of the car and followed the gang member down a dark alleyway, careful not to draw attention.

The skinny white boy he was tailing had no idea he was being hunted. Blade moved with cold precision. The moment they were far enough from the crowds, he drew his gun and slammed it into the back of the thug's head. The gang member crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Without a word, Blade dragged the limp body deeper into the shadows.

The Ghoul awoke with a searing pain in his cheek. The burn of a cigarette being pressed to his skin jolted him back to consciousness. His eyes snapped open, and he realized he was cuffed to a pipe, both arms suspended above his head in the basement of an abandoned building. The room was dimly lit, damp, and smelled of decay. The sight of Blade standing in the shadows made his blood run cold.

“Wha—what happened? Where am I?” the thug stammered, his voice shaking.

Blade stepped forward, his eyes locked on the terrified gang member. “Where are they?”

The thug blinked, confused. “What?”

“Your friends,” Blade said calmly, but his voice was deadly. “The two assholes you were with the other night. Where are they now?”

“I don’t know!” the Ghoul said, panic rising in his voice.

“They killed someone last night,” Blade growled. “Left one for dead. Tell me where they are.”

“I swear, man, I don’t know!” the thug pleaded, his eyes darting around the room, searching for any chance of escape.

Blade backed into the shadows without a word. The thug’s breathing quickened as he tried to figure out what Blade was doing. Suddenly, the deafening roar of a chainsaw echoed through the room. Blade stepped back into the light, the saw revving in his hands. He slowly brought it closer to the thug, pressing it against his arm just enough to slice the skin.

“Ah! Oh shit! What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you crazy?” the thug screamed, writhing in his restraints.

Blade’s eyes narrowed. “Crazy? I’m not crazy. I’m mad. Do you hear me? Mad. I will tear you apart, limb by limb, and make sure you’re awake for every second of it.” He brought the saw closer, the tip grazing the thug’s flesh. “Now, save us both the trouble and tell me where they are. Now.”

The thug, sweating and shaking, finally broke. “Fine! Fine! They’re on 8th Street! We got a clubhouse there. It’s on the second floor! You’ll know it when you see it, I swear!”

Blade stared at him for a long moment, weighing the truth of his words. He finally set down the chainsaw.

“If you’re lying, I’ll be back.”

The thug, breathing hard, whimpered. “You’re not just going to leave me like this, are you?”

Blade didn’t blink. “If you want out so badly, use the saw.” Without another word, he walked out of the basement, leaving the gang member to contemplate the horror of his situation.

Blade arrived at 8th Street not long after. The second floor of a decrepit building echoed with loud music and laughter, a beacon for the debauchery within. Blade parked his car down the block, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. Inside was the tool of choice for tonight—a military rifle from his old war days.

The laughter and muffled shouts from inside gave him pause. For a moment, he wondered if he had found the wrong place. But then, he heard it—the laughter of one of the Ghouls from two nights before. Blade’s heart pounded with cold, lethal intent.

He slipped through a broken window, his steps silent, and made his way up the stairs. The music grew louder, the carefree sounds of animals who thought themselves untouchable.

Blade kicked open the door to the room, his rifle already raised. The chaos hit him immediately—two of the Ghouls, the same ones from that night, along with a third man, were assaulting a pair of women, forcing their clothes off.

“Fucking animals,” Blade spat, fury lacing every word. “Get out of here, ladies.”

The women scrambled out, screaming in terror, but the Ghouls froze, wide-eyed. One of them, the third man, made a move toward Blade. He was dead before his body hit the floor, a bullet lodged in his chest. The music cut out with the gunfire, leaving the room deathly silent.

The skinny Ghoul from that night fell back onto the couch, trembling. The hulking one glared at Blade, as if sizing him up for a fight. Before he could act, Blade pulled out a sidearm and shot him in the kneecap. The brute howled in pain, clutching his leg as he collapsed to the floor.

The skinny Ghoul’s voice was shaky as he spoke. “Hey, man! What are you doing? Is this about the other night? No harm, no foul, right? We didn’t hurt you!”

Blade’s expression hardened. “You didn’t hurt me?”

“Nah, man!” the Ghoul stammered, his desperation rising. “We just killed some bitch and that nig—”

That was all it took. Blade swung his rifle, knocking the Ghoul out cold with the butt of the gun. The room fell silent once again, save for the groans of the man on the floor.

Blade’s mind raced, his rage threatening to consume him. He cuffed the two men down, securing them in place. He walked back down the stairs to retrieve a canister of gasoline, dousing the room with fuel. The stench filled the air as he took one last look at his wife’s killers. They were still unconscious, unaware of the hell about to unfold.

He struck a match.

As the flames roared to life, the Ghouls woke up, screaming in terror as the fire engulfed them. Their voices echoed through the building as Blade calmly walked down the stairs, never once looking back. He didn’t care to watch them burn. He reached his car, shut the door behind him, and stared at the inferno now consuming the building.

Blade reached for a cigarette, lighting it with a shaky hand. In the reflection of the rearview mirror, he saw his face—still streaked with the dried blood of Laura and John. For the first time since the attack, he allowed himself a single tear. The fire’s glow reflected in his eyes as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, then drove off into the night.

Chapter 3: Ghosts of the Past

The next day, a car pulled up to the smoldering ruins of the building. Firefighters were still on the scene, working to extinguish the last remnants of the blaze. Cops bustled in and out of the structure, with one young rookie running behind his car to throw up, overwhelmed by the gruesome sight inside.

A seasoned detective named Dalton stepped out of the car, slipping a green windbreaker over his sweater before grabbing his badge. The scent of smoke and charred wood filled the air as he surveyed the scene, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What the hell happened here? I didn’t get called over all this way for an arson case, did I?” he muttered, looking for a familiar face. “O’Malley! Hey O’Malley, quit puking over there and tell me what we’re looking at!”

Officer O’Malley, still catching his breath, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Uh, sorry sir. It’s just that… I’ve never seen anything like this. We have two, possibly three bodies up there. They’re charred, so it’s hard to tell so far. It was deliberate. They were chained up.”

Dalton’s expression darkened. “Reminds me of the shit I saw in ‘Nam. They used napalm, kid, and lots of it. They didn’t want to miss. It wasn’t pretty, to say the least. Between ‘Nam and Korea, I think I’ve had my fill of it. But these gangbanger psychos obviously haven’t.”

O’Malley hesitated, his eyes darting back to the building. “It wasn’t the Ghouls that did it, sir. It happened to them. The Ghouls are the bodies inside.”

“Isn’t this a Ghoul clubhouse?” Dalton asked, noting the remnants of their graffiti on the walls. “Even through all the damage, I can see their tags.”

“It is.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of fellas, huh?” Dalton mused, shaking his head. “Last thing we need is another psycho in the ghetto.”

Two Months Later

Trevor Blade sat in Chief Roma’s office, twirling a cigarette between his fingers as he stared ahead at the man smoothing his mustache and rubbing his balding gray head.

“I’m worried about you, Blade. That’s the only reason I think you need to take more time off,” Roma said, his voice heavy with concern.

“Chief, I appreciate it, really I do, but I have to get back out there,” Blade replied, his tone resolute.

“Your wife just died. Your partner has been in a coma ever since. You think anyone expects you back so soon? Most people would have quit. They would have moved out of this hellhole!”

“Are you going to let me get back to work or not? What did the shrink say? Did he clear me?” Blade pressed.

Chief Roma sighed, reluctantly reaching for the file. “What did the shrink say? You want to know? Here’s the file. On second thought, let me read that for you.” He opened it, scanning the words aloud. “Trevor Blade, born 1954. Half Irish and half Cherokee?”

“That’s right,” Blade confirmed, bracing for the impending analysis.

“Hell of a combination, kid. Very combustible. Let’s see… blah blah blah… oh, here it is. Officer Blade appears to be of sound mind and capable to return to work. However, his cold attitude, numb to the trauma that has just taken place, does leave me with some concern. Also, while I cannot prove it, I do believe Officer Blade has taken to substance abuse to ease his suffering.”

“That’s just a lot of bullshit speculation. Get to the part where it says if I’m good to go or not,” Blade shot back.

Roma threw up his hands. “It says you’re good to go, dammit! Is that what you want to hear? Take your badge!”

Blade leaned forward, taking the badge Roma tossed his way. “It’s about time. Wait a second. This isn’t my badge. This is a detective’s badge.”

“It is, isn’t it? You put in for promotion right before all this happened. You were going to be approved for it. Congratulations, I guess.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the force trying to placate me for letting those guys walk free and then kill my wife, would it?” Blade asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Officially, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Roma replied, his tone unyielding. “Unofficially, let’s just say you deserve it either way. You’re a good cop.”

“Debatable,” Blade said under his breath. “Still, thanks for the shiny new badge.”

“You’ll be a plainclothes officer now, working—”

“The 2nd Street area?” Blade interjected, a glimmer of hope igniting in his chest.

“Not a chance.”

“Worth a shot,” Blade shrugged.

“I don’t want you going anywhere near there,” Roma said firmly. “Besides, apparently, that problem of yours isn’t even a problem anymore. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Only what you told me,” Blade replied, his expression unreadable.

“Uh-huh. Well, go on, ‘Detective,’ and get the hell out of here. One more thing, though. You do see the ‘No Smoking’ sign on my desk, right?”

“Absolutely.” Blade took a puff of his cigarette. “I’d be a shit cop if I didn’t.”

Roma chuckled despite himself.

As Blade left the precinct, several officers congratulated him on his promotion, but he was more focused on checking in on John. He made his way to the hospital, where he was surprised to see not only his younger sister, Kelly, sitting beside John, but also that John had his eyes open.

“He’s awake?” Blade exclaimed, rushing forward. “Kelly, why are you crying?”

“Trevor, he’s paralyzed!” Kelly said, her voice thick with emotion. “He can’t move! He can’t even breathe on his own!”

The doctors explained to Blade that the damage from the attack, combined with the brain injury from the coma, had left John a prisoner in his own body. He could blink but nothing else. Kelly sobbed in Trevor’s arms for some time before finally calming down enough to speak. It had been a long time since Trevor had talked to Kelly. The normally spunky and optimistic “little brat” had grown up.

“So, you come and see John often?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

“As often as they’ll let me,” Trevor replied, forcing a smile. “I’m glad to see you here. I’m sure he missed you. In fact, I know he did. He’d tell all the same old stories before this happened.”

“I should’ve never left New York,” Kelly said, her voice soft.

“No, that was the best decision you could’ve made. It’s really falling apart. John was happy you got out of here and went to college. Made better decisions than we did.”

“Oh, stop! You’re both heroes in my book,” Kelly said, a faint smile breaking through her tears.

“Tell that to everybody who threw trash at us when we got off the plane from ‘Nam. He took that better than I did,” Blade said, shaking his head.

“People didn’t understand at the time. A lot do now. You know, I actually did come back into town a couple of months ago. I was there, at Laura’s funeral.”

“You were? Why didn’t you say anything?” Trevor asked, his heart heavy.

“You looked like the last thing you wanted was to see anyone or talk to anyone,” she admitted. “When you went up to that podium to say something and just stood there, I realized I didn’t want to make it any worse for you. I would’ve reminded you of John at the worst possible time.”

“It’s possible,” Blade agreed, a sadness creeping into his voice. “But we’re family, and I’ll always make time for you, even at my lowest. Alright? I’ll look out for you.”

“You always did like to stand up for me. I remember when my prom date came by drunk and tried to forcefully get me in the car. You didn’t like that one bit. You taught him some manners, and John ended up driving me and a very repentant date.”

“Yeah, and then I threw his car keys in the sewer,” Blade replied, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips.

“You did? I did not know that!” Kelly laughed, her mood lifting. “He was searching, hungover mind you, for hours the next day. That is great! He was a real jerk.”

“You always deserved better,” Blade said sincerely.

“Thanks. Well, I want to stick around longer, but I’ve got to go.”

“You going to miss your flight? I’ll drive you.”

“No, actually, I sort of moved back to New York to be closer to John,” Kelly said, a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Temporarily, I hope. I still mean what I said. This place is a nightmare now. Still, it’ll be nice having you around.”

“Yeah, it’s just for a while. I already got a job. I have to get there now.”

“Well, the offer still stands then. I’d be happy to drive you there,” Trevor said, his tone warm.

“I’d like that.”

“Would you meet me downstairs? I’d like a moment alone with John, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll see you down there.”

The two shared a smile, but as Kelly left the room, Blade’s expression fell. He turned to John, who was awake again, a tear streaming down his cheek.

“John, I found the guys that did this to you. The ones that murdered my Laura. I’ve taken care of it.”

Trevor sat next to John, gently placing his hand on his arm. “Do you understand? Blink if you do.”

John blinked slowly, his eyes full of anguish but understanding.

“Two months ago, I tracked them down, and I killed them. I gave them everything they deserved. It was strange. It was like we were at war again. It didn’t matter if it was right or wrong. I just did it. Don’t worry about Kelly. I’ll keep an eye on her. I’ll go get the nurse to check on you, and I’ll see you again soon, alright? Just hang in there until—just—I don’t know, but just hold on. Please.”

Blade left the room, his heart heavy. He had wanted to feel a sense of closure after delivering the news, a sense of justice served. Instead, he felt hollow, as if the weight of his actions had stripped him of any remaining humanity. He stepped into the hallway, ready to confront whatever darkness lay ahead, but still haunted by the ghosts of his past.

Chapter 4: A Reckoning

In a dark parking garage, the manic and twitchy Ghoul who had managed to escape his cuffs two months ago made his way to a nearby limousine. He hesitated before opening the door, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to see the ghost of Trevor Blade pursuing him. Inside the car sat an older Italian gentleman, impeccably dressed, and a steely-eyed enforcer who radiated danger. The older man offered the Ghoul a beer.

“Jitz, would you relax? You look like you’re hitting the white stuff a little too hard,” Mr. Montelli said, his voice calm yet authoritative.

“Relax? After what happened to me? It was insane, man! That crazy fuck cuffed me up and actually wanted me to saw off my arm to escape! I had to break my fucking wrist instead! It still hurts, man. It hurts all the time!” Jitz exclaimed, his eyes wide with anxiety.

“And we’ve got the medicine, right?” Mr. Montelli replied, leaning back with a cool demeanor. “Business is good, and you’re not getting high on your own supply, right?”

“Yes—yes, sir. I’ve been good. I sell everything you give me.”

“Everything?” Montelli raised an eyebrow.

“Most of it,” Jitz admitted sheepishly.

“Kid, that’s why I like you. You’re honest. If you didn’t make me money on the streets, I’d have my friend here skin you alive. But as long as the cash is flowing in, I don’t care if you take a little on the side. All I care about is the money. That’s why they call me Mo. Whenever I get money, I always want ‘Mo’.”

Jitz chuckled nervously.

“Seriously though, if you ever shortchange me, even once, I will have you killed,” Montelli warned, his expression darkening.

Jitz gulped, his throat dry.

“I don’t like having to come down here, to this shit hole part of town, but I wanted to make this clear to you and all the other Ghouls. You keep a low profile. You’re making headlines, and I don’t like that. I’m trying to legitimize my business. I have a State Senator in my pocket, and it’s only a matter of time before I’m running this whole place. If you want a seat at the table, you and the boys better play nice. You sell the shit, and make me my money. That’s all you do. You understand? Do not get out of line on this, or—”

“I’m a dead man?” Jitz interrupted, his voice quivering.

“Look at this. What a smart kid. He hasn’t killed off all his smarts yet with this junk,” Montelli said, an edge of humor in his voice. “Now get out of here.”

Jitz bolted from the limo, his heart racing as Montelli rifled through photographs from the crime scene two months earlier.

“Do you think it’s a mistake letting that little prick live?” Montelli asked, glancing over at his enforcer. “He gave up his friends so easily. What do you think, Nicky?”

“I don’t think, sir. I kill,” Nicky replied flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Absolutely. Damn right. You even got the eyes of a psycho killer. That’s why I keep you around with me. Look at these pictures. Would you do something like that?”

“I would,” Nicky answered without hesitation.

“I believe you. Keep that in mind. Remember it. If that shit steps out of line again, I want you to do worse. He said one guy did all of this, though. I’d really like to meet this guy.”

After dropping Kelly Newton off at her job at the diner, Trevor Blade took off down 42nd Street, a grimy and neon-soaked street filled with strip clubs, porn theaters, and all kinds of disgusting debauchery. He opened his glove box, reached beside his gun, and pulled out a small white bag of powder. He quickly poured it onto his arm and snorted it as the red light turned green.

The blur of the high washed over him, and the numbness set in as Detective Blade drove past a group of prostitutes on the corner. He pocketed his badge and pulled up to them.

“Hey, my man, you want a little something-something? I’m down with a little swirl if you are,” a black prostitute said, grinning.

“Appreciate your dedication to racial harmony, but you look a little too young for me. How old are you?” Blade replied, eyeing her with amusement.

“That’s for me to know and only me,” she quipped, a smirk on her lips.

“Alright then, how about your friend over there?” Blade pointed at a timid blonde who stood shyly behind a streetlight, glancing nervously in their direction.

“Candy? She’s old enough, sure, but she ain’t got the experience like I got, big daddy,” the black prostitute said, winking.

“Let’s say I want less experience then,” Blade said, leaning back casually.

“Shit, it’s your money, man. Hey, Candy, you’re up!” the black prostitute called out.

The timid blonde stepped forward, her high heels clicking nervously against the pavement.

“Y-you want me to get in?” Candy stammered.

“Yeah, you’ll do. Get in,” Blade commanded.

Candy hesitated but eventually climbed into the car. “O-oh yeah? Alright then. I know a place around the corner.”

“Sounds good to me,” Blade replied, the adrenaline from the high mixing with a sense of purpose.

They drove to a dingy hotel, frequented by prostitutes for this very thing. The guy at the desk knew who she was by looking at her and gave Detective Blade a wink as he slipped him the key for twenty bucks.

Inside the room, Blade looked out the window, taking in the neon-lit city before glancing back at Candy, who was beginning to undress behind him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly.

“What?” Candy replied, pausing mid-motion.

“Not tonight. Just—just take it easy tonight,” he said, his tone softer than intended.

“I don’t understand your game here. This a kink or something, man?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I just wanted some company. Someone to talk to,” he replied, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You pay me to fuck, remember?” Candy pressed.

“I said not tonight. It’s no game. Just sit on the bed. Please?”

“Please? The hell is wrong with you, man? You’re—you’re not kidding, are you?” she asked, confused.

“Just sit down,” Blade insisted.

Candy hesitated, then complied. “No offense, but you have a gun on you.”

“You noticed that, huh?” Blade replied, a wry smile creeping onto his face.

“Out in the lobby, when I took a feel at what you’re packing. Lets me know if I’ve got trouble coming my way,” she said, leaning back against the bed.

“You followed me in here anyway,” Blade said, crossing his arms.

“You don’t seem like the type,” she said, her voice softer now.

“The type?” Blade questioned.

“Not the usual monsters I have to deal with,” she said, meeting his gaze.

“Well, you’re right about that. I’m a different kind of monster altogether,” Blade admitted.

He sat at the foot of the bed, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him.

“In the war, I had to do a lot of killing. I could justify it to myself. I was doing it for God and country. I was doing it for freedom. Those people were happy to see us. They treated us like saviors. We didn’t know who they were before then. Let’s be real, most people still have no idea about them. Just some country on the other side of the world. It became our duty to protect them, and we let them down,” Blade confessed, his voice distant.

Candy’s expression shifted, understanding washing over her. “A war vet, huh? You got that look about you. That long gaze, like you’ve seen a lot of shit.”

“It might have been worth it if we got the job done. We paid a price in blood and never got what we paid for. The bad guys won. They win here too. All over the place, you see it. The evil in men, on full display. And the people? They need heroes. They need people who will do something about it. We try to live with morals and with codes, but it’s just getting worse out there. I’m tired. Really tired,” Blade admitted, his voice breaking.

“Something happen to you, man?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“It’s always happening, constantly, and all at once. I thought doing something about it would help, and for a while it did, but then it came back. I think I figured it out. I think it’s because I stopped? I don’t know, I just—I—”

“Shhh. Just take it easy, man. Take it easy,” Candy soothed, noticing the turmoil in his eyes.

She reached out, bringing Blade’s head down to her lap. Within minutes of running her fingers through his hair, he was asleep, exhaustion washing over him.

Candy looked over at the gun set on the table and the wallet beside it. Her instincts told her to take the money and run, but instead, she lay back and fell asleep beside him.

The next morning, Blade bolted up in bed. He looked around, disoriented, and saw his wallet and gun where he’d placed them. The radio played softly, a morning news report droning on in the background. He stretched, then turned sharply when he heard the bathroom door open.

Candy emerged, a towel wrapped around her wet hair, and Blade instinctively apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Good morning,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips. “How’d you sleep?”

“First time I’ve slept the whole night in months,” Blade admitted, rubbing his eyes.

“I guess that’s true for both of us. About time I be going, though,” she said, brushing past him.

As Candy moved, Blade noticed the scars on her chest—fresh burn marks, angry and red.

“Whoa. Hang on a second,” he said, concern etched on his face.

“I didn’t take your money, man,” she said quickly, stepping back.

“No, that’s not it. The scars. What the hell happened?” Blade asked, his voice low and urgent.

“Some guy—a real sleazy piece of shit—took me to this place. He said he wanted to talk ‘business,’ and normally that’s just sex. But he was in charge of this place that would trap young boys for perverts and a whole lot of really sick shit. This creepy fuck wanted something else—he wanted someone to burn. They laughed while I screamed and tossed fifty bucks on me when they were done, like it was fine. I didn’t want that. I’d never let someone do that to me if I could help it, man.”

“Do you remember where this place was? Do you have the address?” Blade asked, his voice sharp.

“Actually, yeah, I do. You really don’t want to go to someplace like that, though. That’s a real—”

“I’d like that address, please. Also, do yourself a favor and stay away from them there,” Blade insisted.

As Candy wrote down the address, Blade reached for his wallet.

“Here’s the place,” she said, handing it to him.

“And this is for you,” he said, pulling out a wad of cash and offering it to her.

“That’s too much, man,” she protested.

“I know how to count,” he replied flatly.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“No one you need to know,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

“What are you going to do?” she pressed, her curiosity tinged with fear.

“Give them what they’ve got coming to them,” Blade said, his voice resolute.

That night, Blade pulled up in his car, tossing his badge into the glove box. He grabbed his gun and made his way to the trunk, pulling out an old army bulletproof vest from ‘Nam, along with an old pump shotgun. He crossed the street to the location of the address Candy had given him and knocked loudly on the rusty metal door.

A slide in the door opened, revealing a creepy man with slicked-back hair, sunken eyes, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“The fuck do you want?” the man grunted.

“Hey man, I’ve got some merchandise to sell you,” Blade replied, his tone nonchalant.

“What kind of merchandise?” the creep asked, eyes narrowing.

“You know what kind,” Blade said, his demeanor shifting.

“Tell me more,” the man pressed, intrigued.

“A couple of young boys. Their mom was a junkie, and she overdosed or some shit. You can have them both for five hundred bucks. A bargain, right? I mean, I am at the right place, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re at the right place,” the creep confirmed, a greedy smile spreading across his face.

“So do you want them or—”

“Do you have pictures? If I like what I see, I’ll take ’em off your hands.”

“Sure thing. Just open up, and you can see them,” Blade said, a smirk crossing his lips.

The creep shut the slide to the door, undid several latches, and opened the big metal door wide. He suddenly found himself face to face with Blade’s shotgun.

“What the fu—”

“Candy says hi, you sick motherfucker!” Blade snarled.

He pulled the trigger, the blast taking the creep’s head clean off in seconds. Blade rushed inside, locking the door behind him as he did.

An armed thug emerged from a room down the hallway and opened fire. Blade felt bullets thump against his vest, but he barely flinched. He fired back, pumping the shotgun and blowing out the thug’s kneecap.

As the thug fell, Blade pulled out his handgun and unloaded a few rounds into his head as he walked by. The thought of a place like this even existing brought up the burning rage within him, and the desire to end it gave Blade a sense of purpose again.

In several rooms, seedy men were waiting for their “orders.” Instead, they were filled with lead by an enraged Blade. He made his way down the hall and turned into a room, finding a short, sleazy older man with a soldering iron preparing to use it on a terrified young teenage boy.

The man turned to Blade, eyes widening in fear as Blade shot him in the groin with the shotgun. The young man was sobbing and fearing for his life until Blade rushed over, covered him up, and cut him loose.

“Shhh. Hey. Calm down, kid. You’re alright. Did he do anything to you? No? Not yet? Good. Good. Do you know if there are any more in here? Go. Get dressed and get out of here.”

The young man ran out of the building, and Blade double-checked every room before returning to the one with the bleeding and nutless older man.

“You’re making a big mistake! Don’t you know who I am?” the old pervert gasped, struggling to speak through the pain.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. You brought this shit on yourself,” Blade said, his voice cold as ice.

“Who the hell are you?” the old man croaked.

“Who am I? Death,” Blade said, his tone final.

He shot the man in the head, then lit a match, throwing it on the bed before walking out of the building. As the flames roared behind him, Blade felt a dark satisfaction wash over him.

Last edited by Machismo (10/12/2024 3:55 am)

Chapter 9: The Final Grind

A few days later, Blade had gotten in touch with Detective Dalton, and the two met up downtown. They walked through the busy streets, the noise of the city fading into the background as Dalton seemed preoccupied. After a few minutes, he spotted what he was looking for—a questionable hot dog stand.

“You want one, kid? It’s on me,” Dalton offered, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re actually going to eat that shit?” Blade asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not bad,” Dalton replied with a grin.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Blade said, shaking his head.

“Your loss. Pass the relish?” Dalton asked, clearly unfazed by Blade’s hesitance.

“That’s food poisoning waiting to happen,” Blade warned, but Dalton only chuckled.

“So, Blade, have you got any leads on Candy’s killer, or is that why we’re out here right now?” Dalton asked, taking a bite of his hot dog.

“Not much yet. I’m assuming it was a junkie that tried to get too fresh with her. She wanted to back out of the arrangement, and he didn’t like that,” Blade said, his tone grave.

“That’s the risk you run when you sell your body on these streets, I guess. Still, it’s a real damn shame. Wish I had more to give you, but you know about all I do,” Dalton said, shrugging his shoulders.

Blade sighed heavily. “How about what you’ve got on this killer? Making any headway?”

“Actually, yeah I am. I’m getting a list of all Vietnam veterans that live in New York. Must be a big-ass list, 'cause I requested it days ago,” Dalton replied, glancing around as they continued walking.

“Going to go knocking on some doors?” Blade asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“As many as I can. This guy is definitely a vet like us. Is that why we’re out here walking? You still haven’t covered that,” Dalton noted, casting a sidelong glance at Blade.

“What do you know about Montelli?” Blade asked, changing the subject.

“You mean Vic Montelli? Shit kid, you’re going after a big one. Elusive mobster type. He’s got his hands in a lot of pies, namely drug distribution and prostitution, but we’ve never been able to make anything stick. He’s got connections high up, and if you go after him, they tend to make you pay for it. I’ve been wanting to nail that shitbag for years,” Dalton explained, his expression darkening.

“But instead, you’re going after someone killing child molesters and drug pushers,” Blade pointed out, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

“Are you rooting for this guy or something?” Dalton asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I just find it funny, is all. We’re out here trying to maintain peace and protect the innocent, but our hands are tied in such a way that we can’t even stop this obviously guilty Montelli guy. Someone is out there seeing to it that these assholes get what they deserve, in my opinion,” Blade said, his voice steady.

“You might think that, but the law is the law. We’re lawmen. We have our duty, and we’re bound to it, kid. I understand where you’re coming from, though. I was in Saigon too. I saw it fall. I was taking part in ‘Operation: Frequent Wind,’ which saw us evacuating the last of the American citizens and at-risk Vietnamese. So many people wanted to go with us that we had to leave behind because we had orders. It never sat well with me either,” Dalton shared, his eyes distant.

“Our guy is probably thinking the same thing. I know you might not care about the victims so far, 'cause honestly neither do I, but what if he escalates? What if he goes psycho and kills anyone he comes across just for pissing him off? Do you think that’s not possible?” Dalton asked, searching Blade’s eyes for understanding.

“No, it’s certainly possible, isn’t it? Forget it, Dalton. My opinion doesn’t matter in your case,” Blade replied, the passion draining from his voice.

“I appreciate the passion, kid. Let’s get back to Montelli, though. How can I help?” Dalton asked, refocusing.

“What can you give me on him?” Blade pressed.

“Plenty. I’ve got names, addresses, and his favorite restaurant. Just be careful with this shit. The man is connected, and he’s loaded,” Dalton warned, the seriousness returning to his demeanor.

“That might come in handy,” Blade said, a fire igniting within him.

Later that day, Blade sat next to the sleeping John Newton, his partner. He didn’t say a word or move a muscle. He just sat there, replaying the events of the last several months over and over in his head. The pain and rage churned within him like a storm.

Reaching for his gun, he remembered he had left it in his glove box. Just then, Kelly walked in, her face streaked with tears before she even entered the room.

“Kelly? Kelly, what’s wrong?” Blade asked, concern flooding his voice.

“More than I can handle, Trevor. The policeman’s pension fund isn’t willing to pay for any more of John’s treatment here,” she sobbed, her words spilling out in a rush.

“What?” Blade replied, confusion gripping him.

“They want to move him to hospice care. They’re also not going to provide any benefits for me, and I was counting on that to keep things in order! I wanted to keep John’s place, and—”

“I don’t understand. Why aren’t they paying up?” Blade interrupted, trying to piece together the situation.

“They claim that since I’m his last surviving relative and I’m not dependent on him, they don’t have to offer benefits!” she exclaimed, frustration boiling over.

“That’s bullshit! Bullshit!” Blade shouted, anger rising.

“I moved back here to help, but now I’m going to be bogged down in more bills than I know how to handle. Hospice care isn’t cheap either. I can’t do this, Trevor! I don’t know what to do!” she cried, collapsing into his arms.

He held her tightly, trying to calm her down as he glanced over at John, who was awake and watching them, tears pouring from his eyes. He looked terrified for his sister, conveying his worry without words.

“I might know what to do,” Blade finally said, determination replacing despair in his heart.

That night, at a restaurant called Florentino’s, Vic Montelli entered with two bodyguards and a scantily clad blonde with a feather boa. The smug man sat at his usual VIP table, surveying the room with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Good evening, sir! Will you be having your usual?” the waiter asked, his tone professional.

“Absolutely. Make it rare. Very rare. I’m feeling bloodthirsty tonight. Haha!” Montelli replied, chuckling darkly.

Leaning in closer as the waiter walked away, Montelli turned to his bodyguards. “I’m not kidding about that, boys. I’m fucking furious. I got some asshole out there killing everybody around me. Seriously, I had a State Senator in my pocket, and he’s dead. My product sellers, the Ghouls, are getting blown away. My nephew Rico—who, to be fair, was a creepy little shit—got set on fire too. I want to find this fucker and tear him apart. I want to rip his fucking nuts off and shove them down his throat.”

The blonde dancer beside him coughed, trying to mask her discomfort.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart, you don’t like the dinner conversation? Feel free to take a fucking hike, but you’re not getting a dime if you do,” Montelli said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Now listen, boys. I want you to keep a close eye out. Nicky isn’t around right now, so you’re what I’ve got. What is he doing? A little business with my other friend from D.C. Loaned him out to go hunt that motherfucker.”

One of Montelli’s bodyguards took him to the restroom. The bodyguard looked inside first, ensuring it was clear. Once the coast was clear, Montelli entered, heading straight for a stall.

The lid of the trashcan slowly began to move.

Making as little noise as possible, Trevor Blade emerged from the can, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He stood beside the stall, pouring chloroform onto a rag, waiting for Montelli to exit.

After a few moments, Montelli flushed and stepped out of the stall to wash his hands.

Trevor Blade pounced.

“Who the hell are you?!” Montelli shouted, trying to scream but Blade quickly covered his mouth with the rag.

Montelli struggled, clawing at Blade, but the fumes overwhelmed him, and he fell unconscious.

Montelli bolted awake, his eyes wide with fear as he realized he was dangling from chains suspended from the ceiling in an empty warehouse.

“Chucky! Frank! Get me down from here! Help! Hey! Someone! Help me!” he yelled, panic rising in his throat.

Then he heard a noise from the darkness. A large meat grinder was being pushed into the room by Trevor Blade, who emerged from the shadows like a specter.

“Recognize this place? It’s a meatpacking plant. You own it, right?” Blade asked, his voice low and menacing.

“Yeah, that’s right. What’s it to ya?” Montelli shot back defiantly.

“Rico killed someone here a few nights ago. Thought it’d be appropriate to kill you here since I’ve already taken care of him,” Blade said, a twisted smile creeping onto his face.

Montelli’s bravado faded. “You. You son of a bitch! You motherfucker! You—”

Blade pressed a button, lowering Montelli slightly toward the meat grinder.

“Whoa! Whoa! Hold on! We can talk about this! Leave that alone! Don’t do it!” Montelli screamed, fear evident in his voice.

“Your actions, and the actions of the lowlife scum that follow you, have cost my best friend everything. I’m going to be needing the money you took from his pocket,” Blade said, his tone unwavering.

“Money? Sure! I’ve got money! You want to talk money, I’ll give you what you want! Just let me down!” Montelli pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Your address,” Blade demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“What?” Montelli stammered, confusion flickering across his features.

“Where do you live?” Blade repeated, leaning in closer.

“2468 Ocean Drive!” Montelli blurted out.

“How do I get in?” Blade pressed, eyes locked on Montelli’s.

“That’s easy. I’ll give you the key. Catch. That key is the back door, and that one turns off the security system,” Montelli explained, panic overtaking him.

“Any guards?” Blade asked, his voice steady.

“No, they were with me! I had two in the restaurant and two outside. How the hell did you get by them?” Montelli asked, bewildered.

“Dragged your ass out the window into the alley. They didn’t do a very good job of checking for suspicious vehicles before you went in. Get what you pay for, right? Where’s your safe?” Blade demanded.

“First room beside the kitchen. You can’t miss it. Combination 14-22-0,” Montelli said, trembling now.

“Awfully helpful with the information,” Blade noted, his tone icy.

“I don’t want to fucking die here!” Montelli cried.

“Maybe you don’t have to. Is there anything else you want to tell me? Anything at all regarding your house?” Blade asked, his voice low and menacing.

“Nothing. I swear to God!” Montelli insisted, fear suffusing his features.

“If you’re lying, I’ll be back,” Blade said, stepping away from the grinding mechanism.

Montelli began to plead, but Blade was already gone.

An hour later, Blade was in the backyard of Montelli’s three-story home. He passed by the pool, scanning the area for any signs of life. It appeared the place was empty, just as Montelli had said. He opened the back door with the first key and turned off the security with the second, moving silently through the house.

As he crept into the kitchen, he felt something metal at his feet. Looking down, he realized he had kicked over a water bowl.

“Oh shit—”

Suddenly, a vicious Doberman guard dog rushed into the room, knocking Blade to the ground and tearing into his cheek and arm. Blade struggled to fend off the dog, doing what he could to regain his footing, but the Doberman wouldn’t relent.

Desperately, he reached for anything he could find, finally grabbing a knife from the counter. In his panic, he still couldn’t bring himself to stab the dog. Instead, he used the knife to free his arm from the dog’s powerful jaws.

In a moment of clarity, he pulled out the chloroform rag from earlier. He hoped it still had potency as he shoved the rag into the dog’s face. Slowly, the dog began to weaken, finally collapsing to the ground as it succumbed to the fumes for a deep sleep.

Blade carefully lifted the unconscious dog off of him and ran to the sink to wash his wounds with water. Grabbing a knife, he wiped his prints off it and any other surfaces he had touched, using a towel to stop the bleeding on his arm.

A surge of anger filled him as he reflected on the lies Montelli had fed him and how close he had come to killing a dog. Wasting no time, he headed straight for the safe. The combination was accurate. He was happy to hand it out because he never though Blade would make it to the safe to use it. He emptied the safe before returning to the dangling Montelli in the meat packing plant.

“Oh fuck, you’re still alive? No! No! Help! No! You’re fucking crazy! Fuck! Fuck! No!” Montelli yelled, panic rising in his voice as he saw Blade approach.

Blade stared at Montelli, cold and unyielding. He pressed the button to lower him further into the grinder.

Montelli screamed as blood sprayed from the grinder. “No! You can’t do this! I’m connected! I’m a made man!”

Blade watched as Montelli writhed, his screams echoing in the warehouse. “Your connections can’t save you now,” Blade replied coldly. 

As Montelli’s body was fed into the machine, Blade felt a grim sense of justice wash over him. He remained until the grinder finished, ensuring that Montelli felt every ounce of pain he had caused others before finally walking away.

Chapter 10: Fade to Black

Blade was back at the hospital, sitting next to John, who once embodied the vibrant spirit of “Rudeboy.” Now, he was confined to a bed, tethered to a breathing machine that would sustain him for the rest of his life. The weight of that thought pressed heavily on Blade’s heart.

“Listen, man,” Blade started, his voice hoarse, “all of your bills are handled. Anything that would drag Kelly down is being taken care of. She’s going to be set for life. I handled it. You know, I actually started enjoying it. I wanted to keep hunting these monsters. I didn’t just want to kill them. I wanted them to feel it, just like we feel it—the pain of what happened over there.

“There are days where I feel like we were heroes deprived of victory, and other days, I want to listen to those people who spit in our faces when we came back home. Those people who called us murderers. We were just—just following orders. I guess I’m tired of feeling sorry about it, though. I’ll never be sorry that we tried. Never. We did what we thought was right. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now. Maybe I’ve just lost it. The thing is, I’m going to be found out, so it doesn’t really matter. This Dalton guy, he’s a good detective. A smart guy. He was over there with us. He’ll have it all figured out. Time’s almost up. That just leaves you, buddy, and the situation you’re in.”

Blade stood up and looked away from John, staring at the wall, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

“We never did bullshit each other very much, so I’ll get right to it. If you want me to cut you off of this ‘system’ you’re on, then I will. Just blink your eyes twice if that’s what you want.”

The two shared a moment of silence, just staring at each other. The only sound in the room came from the machines keeping John alive.

Two blinks confirmed his wishes. 

Blade sighed deeply. “I love you, brother. You don’t have to hurt anymore.”

With that, Trevor slowly grabbed the plug to the breathing machine, yanked it from the socket, and cut the cord with a knife to ensure it couldn’t be reconnected. Not wanting to see his friend suffocate, Blade quickly left the room. He walked away from one of the hardest choices he had ever made as quickly as he could. As he walked down the hall, nurses rushed past him in response to the alarm blaring from John’s machine. They wouldn’t make it in time.

Calmly, Blade waited for the elevator to open. Once inside, he hit the button for the first floor. As soon as the doors shut, he fell to his knees, slamming his fists against the metal walls and screaming out in frustration and rage. Tears poured down his face as he slowly regained his composure. Pulling out a pill bottle, he took a few too many pills, hoping to numb the pain.

As the doors opened on the first floor, Blade walked out of the hospital, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders.

At his precinct, Detective Dalton was eating a disgustingly greasy hot dog and pouring over the list of Vietnam vets in New York when another case file was dropped on his desk.

“What the hell is this? I’m in the middle of the priority case,” Dalton grumbled.

“Sorry, sir, but I was told you’d want to see this personally. Vic Montelli was murdered, and you won’t believe how,” Officer O’Malley said, his voice tinged with urgency.

“Montelli? You’re shitting me. Let me look at that. Whoa! What the hell?” Dalton exclaimed, skimming through the report.

“Fed into a meat grinder. It got jammed on his fucking rib cage,” O’Malley stated, a mixture of disbelief and fascination in his tone.

“And you’re not puking?” Dalton shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it weird that I’m getting numb to it? So many burned up and chopped up bodies,” O’Malley admitted, shaking his head.

“You’re telling me. Alright, O’Malley, I’ll take it. Holy shit. I can’t—” At that moment, Dalton had a realization, and his phone rang.

“I’ll let you get that, sir,” O’Malley said, stepping back.

“Yeah. Thanks, O’Malley,” Dalton replied, slowly walking over to his phone and picking it up.

“Blade?” he answered, trying to steady his voice.

“Did I make it too obvious?” Trevor Blade’s voice came through, cool and collected.

“Actually, I should’ve seen it sooner. You didn’t hide that you were fine with what was going on, and you’re definitely on that list of Vietnam veterans. Didn’t think to tell me sooner? Could’ve saved me hours of phone calls and paperwork,” Dalton pointed out, irritation lacing his words.

“I don’t think I could’ve finished what I started if I had,” Blade admitted, the weight of his actions hanging heavy in the air.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong about that,” Dalton replied, pulling out his revolver and checking if it was loaded.

“So, where are you, kid?” Dalton asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Not too far off, actually. I want to meet. The old naval yard. Go to dock 4, and you’ll see an abandoned boat docked there. Meet me at midnight. Come alone. I can trust you, right?” Blade instructed.

“Sigh Alright, Blade. I’ll do it, kid. Tonight at midnight,” Dalton agreed, though unease settled in his stomach.

Dalton put all of his files on the case into a folder and took it with him as he left the office.

In another part of town, a man with a cold, steely gaze stared ahead, listening to the end of Blade's conversation. He hung up the phone and dialed another number.

“This is Mendoza.” the man answered, his tone clipped.

“This is Nicky. I was Montelli’s man, hired to take care of that job for you,” Nicky said, his voice low and measured.

“I trust you have good news?” Mendoza asked, his irritation evident.

“The phone tap I requested worked. I know who to go after now. His name is—”

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anymore than I already do. This situation has gotten out of hand, and it needs to be dealt with. Deal with it, and that includes any loose ends. Just make it stop,” Mendoza ordered, his voice hardening.

“I find myself unemployed suddenly. Will the money cover the effort?” Nicky asked, his tone shifting.

“It will. Payment will be delivered once the job is finished, but we will get in touch with you. Do not call me again,” Mendoza snapped before hanging up the phone.

That night, Dalton pulled up to the old boat at midnight, surprised to see it was a little larger than he expected. It was the husk of an old naval vessel, the kind he was all too familiar with—the kind they used to ship the boys across the ocean to Korea and later to Vietnam.

He saw Blade standing at the top before disappearing into the darkness. Dalton pulled out his gun, firing up his flashlight as he made his way onto the ship. The creaking metal and banging from above sent a chill down his spine, but he pressed on, heart racing.

Down one dark hallway to the next, he heard the echo of a door opening. Following the sound, he heard a hissing sound as a flare was thrown through another doorway at the end of the hall. Dalton carefully made his way forward, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

At last, he reached the top of the ship, surrounded by flickering flares that made it difficult to see. Blade stood on the side of the ship behind him and tossed another flare to get his attention. In an instant, he tackled Dalton, knocking his gun away.

As they both scrambled to their feet, Blade fired a shot next to Dalton. The old detective raised his hands in surrender.

“Scary, isn’t it? The fear? The helplessness? You could die in seconds and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Your life isn’t in your hands anymore. Someone else has taken that from you. This world is full of horrible monsters, undeserving of understanding or forgiveness because all they do in life is this—they make people victims. This is what it’s like, Dalton. It’s what it’s like to be a victim. That’s what this is all about,” Blade spat, his voice low and intense.

He let the gun dangle from his finger. Dalton breathed a sigh of relief, stepping forward to grab it when suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the night. A bullet blasted straight through the chest of Detective Dalton.

“NO!” Blade shouted, grabbing Dalton and hiding him behind a wall, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Why’d you do it, Dalton? Why’d you set me up? I trusted you!” Blade exclaimed, panic rising in his throat.

“I didn’t! T-That’s not from one of my guys!” Dalton rasped, blood spilling from his mouth.

“Dammit! Come on, we gotta get you out of here. I’ll help you. Come on,” Blade insisted, desperation clawing at him.

“No, Blade, you get out of here!” Dalton urged, the strength in his voice fading.

“Don’t try to play hero with me, Dalton. Let’s—”

“Dammit, kid, listen to me! Get the hell out of here! I’ll draw their fire! Take this!” Dalton shouted, handing Blade the now-bloody file.

“No one knows but me. Do you understand? No one knows. I can’t condone, but I won’t condemn either. Get out of here!”

Blade hesitated, then took off toward the edge of the ship. He turned back hesitantly, just long enough for the shooter to blast him twice in the chest.

Dalton grabbed his gun, firing at the shooter, but Blade fell into the water below.

“NO! DAMMIT! NO!” Dalton screamed, firing repeatedly.

The sniper was more accurate, hitting him in the chest a couple more times. He fell back against the metal floor, breath escaping him as the reality of his situation sank in.

In the moments that followed, Blade struggled against the waves, dragging himself up from the depths. He crawled onto the shore, adrenaline fueling him.

A figure loomed before him, outlined against the night sky. Nicky, the sniper, stood with a confident grin.

“Nice shot, huh?” Nicky taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

Blade raised his gun, but it was too late. Nicky pulled the trigger first, the bullet tearing through Blade's side. The pain was excruciating, but he managed to squeeze off a round, hitting Nicky in the chest.

As Nicky fell to his knees, Blade walked up, placing the barrel of his gun against Nicky’s forehead. Nicky crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Blade, delirious from blood loss and the weight of his actions, pulled open his army jacket, making sure the flak jacket had caught all the bullet shrapnel.

In his delirium, he fell back into the water, floating out and staring up at the night sky. The sounds of the night turned into screams, gunfire, and the familiar echoes of Vietnam. He heard the screams and curses of the people when he got home.

Memories flooded back—the last words he had with his wife, the pain, the betrayal, and everything that had transpired since. Overwhelmed again, Blade switched between maniacal laughter and bitter tears as he was carried out by the waves, surrendering to the darkness.

Last edited by Machismo (10/12/2024 4:02 am)

Blade was called down to the station to speak with Chief Roma. Blade carried himself as a much happier man 2 years on from the death of his wife, and what happened to his partner and best friend. He smiled and joked around with the other officers, as he lit up a cigarette just before entering Chief Roma's office.

Chief Roma: Of course you light up. I might as well chuck this sign.

Trevor Blade: Make sure you dispose of it properly. I'd hate to write you up for littering sir.

Chief Roma: Real funny guy Blade. Listen, I wanted to say this for awhile, but great job out there.

Trevor Blade: Sir? You feeling alright? Been drinking on the job? How many times have you threatened to boot my ass for-

Chief Roma: Unnecessary roughness? Heh, and that's just for starters. No kid, despite the official policy, I've been proud seeing you out there doing your thing. If you ask me personally, I'd say you've been showing restraint.

Trevor Blade: You notice that huh?

Chief Roma: You think I'm a dumb ass kid? I was walking the streets when you were still sucking on your momma's titty. I know things. I can see it. You were touch and go there for awhile after, well you know.

Trevor Blade: I found my work to be a relief.

Chief Roma: I don't see how that's possible, but whatever works. We were looking over some numbers, and crime is down. It's still a war zone, but it's a start. It's because of guys like you. This is coming from the Mayor by the way.

Trevor Blade: Haggar huh? I voted for him.

Chief Roma: You voted?

Trevor Blade: I meant to vote.

Chief Roma: Uh-huh. He and President Swift seem to have the same ideals. They want to crack down on crime, and they're looking at guys like yourself as the example.

Trevor Blade: I wouldn't do that. I'm just doing my job.

Chief Roma: We've got a lot more work to do. Crime is down, but murders are still spiking. It's mostly dirtbags, but the law is the law. We've got to put a stop to this shit. Put these assholes behind bars.

Trevor Blade: Sure. Let's feed and clothe the monsters. Gives me a warm feeling inside know that I put a roof over their heads.

Chief Roma: Yeah, it's a bitch ain't it? We have to get them off the streets. They got this new guy out there, they're calling the "Cop Killer". That fucker is actually targeting us. Can you believe it?

Trevor Blade: And you want to take him in.

Chief Roma: Honestly, between you and me, I'd tear his head off if I had the chance.

Trevor Blade: Yeah? Maybe torch him, and light a cigarette off his corpse?

Chief Roma: Shit Blade, what the fuck?

Trevor Blade: Just painting a vivid picture.

Chief Roma: It's vivid enough. Give it a rest. I want you to keep your eyes and ears out for anything on this "Cop Killer". We need to stop this, and I mean now.
 
Trevor Blade: You got it Chief. I better head out then.

Chief Roma: Not so fast hotshot. We're supposed to be doing this random drug screen shit. It's part of the President's "War on Drugs". Heh, good luck with that.

Trevor Blade: Again? You made me piss in a cup 3 weeks ago. Doesn't seem so random.

Chief Roma: Don't look at me kid. I'm just the messenger. A Nurse Greeley will be taking your sample.

Trevor Blade: *sigh* Yeah? Her again huh. I get it now.

Chief Roma: What?

Trevor Blade: Nothing. Consider it done,

Chief Roma: Now you're going to come up clean right? You are looking a little on edge all of a sudden.

Trevor Blade: You know me Chief. I'll pass with flying colors.

In the parking lot of the station, the blonde Nurse Greeley was suddenly slammed against the wall by Blade, as he railed her repeatedly. She reached back to try and kiss him, but he pushed her head down and thrust away with a tinge of anger. Minutes later, they both cleaned themselves up.

Nurse Greeley: Another perfect screening Blade. You're a model cop you know that?

Trevor Blade: Is this really your thing? Getting it rough in a dingy place like this?

Nurse Greeley: Only if I see something I want, and the opportunity presents itself. There was no way you were going to pass that other test, and I'm guessing this one would send up red flags too.

Trevor Blade: If it wouldn't, I would have just pissed in the cup for you.

Nurse Greeley: But then we wouldn't have gotten to have so much fun! Relax, you act like you hate it.

Trevor Blade: It's not great when I have no control over it.

Nurse Greeley: That's part of the thrill for me. I get to fuck a druggie cop, who'll lose his job if I report the shit I've found. Don't worry though, I won't. I like you too much.

Trevor Blade: Thanks I guess.

Nurse Greeley put her panties back on under her dress, and began to walk out of the parking garage.

Trevor Blade: You want a ride or something? This isn't the best time or place to be walking around outside.

Nurse Greeley: I don't think so. I got everything I wanted from you tonight. Until next time.

Greeley walked away, as Blade sat back against the wall. He looked up into the sky and thought of his wife. Later, Greeley was making her way to the bus stop a few blocks down from the station. As she stood at the sign she heard noises. She looked to her left and right, and felt relief when she saw a beer can blowing in the wind. Then she felt an arm wrap around her neck, and a knife at her throat.

Greeley: N-

Thug: Shh! You just shut up bitch! Do you not understand? I'm not going to fucking cut you if you don't stop moving! Do you want to die tonight? No? I didn't think so. Get in the alley. You and me are going to have some fun!

Nurse Greeley: No! Please no!

A man with a thick mustache, black bandana, and denim jacket cackled as Nurse Greeley tried to fight him off. He threw her into the alley. She tried crawling away, but he unzipped his pants and forced himself onto her. He ripped away her underwear and forced her to the ground. She screamed as he violated her, begging for help. Suddenly, he was forced off of her. She wiped away her tears, and her vision cleared to show Detective Blade standing over both of them with a brick in hand.

Trevor Blade: This sick motherfucker.

Nurse Greeley: Thank God! Thank God!

Trevor Blade: What makes you so sure he gives fuck about this hell hole? Are you alright?

Blade helped her up, as she cried into his chest.

Nurse Greeley: What are you going to do now? Arrest him!

Trevor Blade: No, I'm not going to arrest him.

Blade set the Nurse aside and pulled out some lighter fluid. He soaked the unconscious man in it, and lit a match. He stared coldly at the Nurse as he tossed the match onto the man. He immediately burst into flames. The pain awoke him screaming, as he stood up, and smashed himself against the walls of the alley, doing everything he could to put out the fire. Finally, he succumbed to it, and fell to the ground. His skin charring, Blade stood over him and watched him burn. He turned to Greeley.

Trevor Blade: You going to tell anybody about this one either?

Nurse Greeley: N-no! No way! I swear.

Trevor Blade: And no more "random" screenings?

Nurse Greeley: R-right. Right. No more. No more screenings. *sniff*

Trevor Blade: Then you have a bus to catch.

Nurse Greeley: Actually, if you're still offering that ride, I'll take it.

Trevor Blade: Yeah, I thought you might.

Blade woke up the next morning in a haze. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. The sunlight was shining in from the window of the small room, so it wasn't his place. As he tried to remember, he suddenly felt something under the covers that reminded him.

Trevor Blade: Hey! What are you doing under there?

He lifted the cover to see Kelly kissing his chest and down his stomach.

Kelly Newton: I just thought I'd have a little fun waking you up is all.

She giggled as she pulled the cover back down. She moved further down. Blade's eyes rolled back as he enjoyed the morning for the first time in years. He fought hard to push out the immense guilt he was suddenly feeling, being in bed with the woman whose brother, his best friend, he had killed out of mercy.

She made him breakfast, bacon and eggs. The first breakfast in sometime that hadn't been from a bottle.

Kelly Newton: Is it good? I don't cook much these days.

Trevor Blade: It's delicious. You used to cook all the time. What happened?

Kelly Newton: I used to cook for you and John. That's what happened.

Trevor Blade: Right. You did a lot for us. When you say I was always there for you, you forget that you were there for us too.

Kelly Newton: I wasn't with you when you needed me most.

She suddenly dropped the spatula into the frying pan and started tearing up.

Kelly Newton: I ran away. I tried to escape the pain I felt with John's death, but it followed me. We could have at least dealt with it together.

Trevor Blade: You did the smart thing. You got the hell out of here. It was the right thing to do.

Kelly Newton: I should've asked you to come with me then.

Trevor Blade: That offer sounds tempting, especially not, but this is where I'm needed I think. This is where I can do what I have to do.

Kelly Newton: What do you mean?

Trevor Blade: Police work. Too much bullshit out west to deal with, keeping cops from doing their job.

Kelly Newton: Well, I could've at least called mo-

Blade stood up and hugged Kelly close.

Trevor Blade: Don't worry about it alright? It's OK. Everything is going to be OK.

Kelly Newton: Yeah, it is now I think. I'm back here and we're-well we're something alright.

Trevor Blade: Yeah, I guess we are. I hate to leave so soon, but I got to get to work. Have to leave now if I'm going to make it on time. Though when have I ever made it on time before?

Kelly Newton: Hehe, have a good day today. Will you call me?

Trevor Blade: Absolutely.

Later on, Trevor Blade pulled up to a crime scene on the street. An elderly man was found dead on the sidewalk. He lay there bleeding with several bullet holes through his chest and head.

Trevor Blade: Son of a bitch. They swiss cheesed this poor old bastard.

Officer Jackson: Unfortunately sir. We think this happened late last night.

Trevor Blade: And we're just now getting to it?

Officer Jackson: No one called about it until the nearby bodega owner came to open up.

Trevor Blade: Of course. No one gives a shit, unless it's bad for business.

Officer Jackson: We don't have witnesses coming forward either.

Trevor Blade: I wouldn't expect they would. We got a new street gang out here causing all kinds of trouble. They're called the X'ers, and they follow a similar MO with every attack. They go for the elderly. They kill these innocent old timers, and take everything they've got on them. People around here know who the X'ers are. Even if they wanted to talk to us, they never would. The X'ers would come for them.

Officer Jackson: So our hands are just tied. I didn't join the force to collect dead bodies off the streets. I joined the force to keep things like this from happening.

Trevor Blade: I hear you Jackson, but our hands are tied. It looks like his hands were tied too. Look, the marks around the wrists. They fucked with this guy before they killed him. This is unacceptable. It's unacceptable man.

Officer Jackson: Where are you going sir?

Trevor Blade: I got to get some air and track down a lead. If you find anything else let me know.

Officer Jackson: Yes sir.

That night, a trio of young punks entered a corner store. Two white guys seemingly lead by a black young man, started knocking things off the shelves. The elderly man behind the counter grabbed his shotgun and pointed it towards the punks, while he wife lowered herself under the counter.

Shop owner: Alright you little shits, that's enough! Get out of here now!

Black punk: You obviously have no idea who you're talking to. See, we're the X'ers, and we do what we want around here. If want to trash your store, and take what we want, we'll do just that. If wanted a piece of of your bitches, nasty ass, I'd take that too, but she's a little old for me.

White punk: Like you wouldn't.
 
Black punk: Maybe I would. Maybe I would. Look at her over there. She's so scared. She's shaking. She might wet herself. I might shoot her in the face.

Shop owner: No please! Just take what you want!

Black punk: Always intended to. Again, you can't stop me you old fuck. In fact!

The Black punk threw the old man to the ground and shot him several times through the chest.

Shop owner's wife: No! Oh my God no! Please no!

The older woman ran around the counter and tried to shield her husband's body. The punk shot her as well. The three punks laughed, as they stole from the register, knocked shelves over, and filled their bags with anything they wanted. With no regard for the dying elderly couple. They ran off laughing, as a car pulled up not too far behind. Trevor Blade approached looking to buy some more cigarettes, but instead he found the shop in disarray. He quickly ran over to the couple to check their pulses. His heart raced, as he felt theirs give out. The anger boiled up, as he thrashed around to his feet, and held his head in his hands. Flashes of Vietnam memories flowed through his head. Memories of the older Vietnamese who begged to be taken to America, only to be left to die. He fell back against a wall and angrily cursed that his head was getting clouded again. He suddenly heard laughter in the distance. The trio of laughing punks were still close. The killers were not far, and he would do what he had to do. The three were walking down the sidewalk, when one of the punks broke off. He went into the alley way, to have a little party, with a familiar white powder. As he sat down to snort it off his arm, he suddenly saw a car pull up to his two friends.

Black punk: Hey man, what the fuck do you want?

White punk: What? Are you a cop or something?

Blade got out of the car and coldly shot both men in the legs. They screamed in agony, as Blade cuffed them, and dragged them one by one into the back seat of his car. The third punk hid behind a dumpster, shaking, shaking so much that he dropped his switchblade. The sound got Blade's attention. He looked around the area, but didn't anyone, so he finished shoving them into the back of his car before driving off. The panicked punk took off running.

Black punk: Fuck man, are you a cop or something?

Trevor Blade: That's right.

Black punk: Cops can't do this! You can't just shoot us! We have rights!

Trevor Blade: Those people you killed, they had rights. They wanted to live. They wanted to be left alone. They wanted to run their store. They wanted peace. You deprived them of that, so I'm going to deprive you.

Black punk: What makes you think we even did anything man!

White punk: Yeah, we didn't do nothing! We want a lawyer man, you know!

Trevor Blade: I don't think so.

The X'ers continued to curse and scream as Blade drove them to the docks. It was not too far from the place he had his meeting with Detective Dalton 2 years prior. The words still echoed in his head. "I can't condone, but I won't condemn". He dragged the punks out of the car, and lined them up beside the edge of the dock. The ocean waves splashed behind them. Blade pulled out his gun.

White punk: Man, what the hell are you doing?

Trevor Blade: Making sure they don't think the arson killer is back, by trying something new.

Black punk: Hey man, if it's a confession you want you got it! Alright? I killed them! I did it! Now stop! I'm telling you! I did it!

Trevor Blade: I know

Blade pulled the trigger, the bullet passing through one skull, and then the next. Both punks fell into the ocean. Blade stood there staring, feeling the rage, the anger, and the numbness.

At the same time, Officer Jackson was finishing his work for the night. He had finished detailing the scene, and saw the body off to the morgue. He took a deep breath, and tried to hold back tears. The young rookie was still unaccustomed to the grotesque crime taking place in his city. He sat outside of his house in his car, trying to will up a smile for his beautiful wife. Suddenly, he noticed a car pull up behind him. A car he had seen at the scene of the crime across the street. He reached towards his gun as he got out of the car, and walked up to the car.

Officer Jackson: Excuse me sir, but you need to step back. I'm a police officer and-

The man in the other car lunged forward with a knife, and stabbed Jackson in the chest repeatedly. He tried to scream out, but the attacked slashed his throat. As Jackson lay bleeding on the ground, his gaze was fixated on the attacker, the "Cop Killer".

The next day Chief Roma called Blade into his office.

Chief Roma: This shit is getting ridiculous Blade. Look at me, I'm losing my hair over it.

Trevor Blade: What did I do this time?

Chief Roma: Not you. It's this fucking "Cop Killer". He's not like the other maniacs out there killing with intent. He doesn't leave a calling card, at least not one that we can find. The bodies are slashed up. Our fellow cops are getting butchered.

Trevor Blade: Believe me Chief, I want to find this fucker more than anything.

Chief Roma: I know you do, and I want you to make it a priority, but I have other business for you to look into. The last couple nights, a gang called the X'ers have been raising hell on the south side. I want you to look into it for me. We're stretched thin, and now we got our brothers out there dying in the streets.

Trevor Blade: I know what that's like. I feel it. I feel it every time Chief. It's always a reminder of 'Nam, and of John.

Chief Roma: Well then, let's get our asses in gear and do something about this.

Trevor Blade: Oh, I intend to Chief.

That night Blade was sitting in a seedy bar, drinking a beer, and keeping his eyes open. The normal riff raff were easy to distinguish. The bartender wouldn't even blink when they came in. However, a trio of guys came in, and he suddenly paused. He gave them a glare, and tightened the grip on his mug. Blade could tell from a symbol on their clothes that they were X'ers. It was the same symbol he found on the two gang members he killed at the pier. A scrawny white kid, with long, curly, ginger hair and a headband approached the bar.

Bartender: Evening Oscar.

Oscar: Heh right. I'm sure we won't be having any problems right? Drinks on the house? We wouldn't want trouble would we?

Bartender: Of course not. You can have whatever you want.

Oscar: That's what I thought. Give me the top shelf shit. The whole bottle.

Trevor Blade: Why am I paying and you're not?

Oscar: Excuse me motherfucker? Did you just talk to me?

Trevor Blade: I'm just wondering what skinny little piece of trash has got going on that gets him free drinks. You a celebrity? You a politician? I don't think so. So what is it?

Oscar: You shit bag, don't you know who we are? Look at the colors man. Look at this "X". Don't you know what that means? We're the X'ers you dickhead.

Trevor Blade: Dickhead? I don't care about your snazzy get up. I really think you should pay the man.

Oscar: Why haven't I killed this fucker yet? You listen here, I-

Oscar suddenly looked down and felt something pressed into his stomach. He looked down to see a gun.

Trevor Blade: Yeah, why haven't you killed me yet?

Oscar: What the fu-

Trevor Blade: Detective Trevor Blade. You're under arres-

Oscar and the other X'ers quickly took off running.

Bartender: Do you know what you just did? They are killers Detective. Cold blooded killers. They'll be back.

Trevor Blade: Maybe or maybe not. Thanks for the beer.

Blade put some money on the table, and got out of his seat, following after the X'ers. They ran quickly, but Blade managed to cut them off.

Trevor Blade: Why'd you leave in such a hurry?

Oscar: Hehe, you're him aren't you? You're the guy? You killed the others.

Trevor Blade: I'm Detective Trevor Blade. See the badge? That means don't move, or you'll eat a bullet. You're under arrest.

Oscar: Hahaha! You're the killer! You're going to shoot us aren't you? Go ahead. We're not afraid to die. He told us to find you. Hahaha!

Trevor Blade: I-I need you all to get on your knees right now. I've only got a couple pairs of cuffs, so you'll have to share.

The three men got on their knees and turned their backs to Blade. As he cuffed them, the incessant laughing from Oscar started getting to him.

Oscar: I'm a killer too you know? I've killed. I've killed the elderly. The innocent. Don't you want to kill me killer man?

Blade slowly reached for his gun, and pointed it at the back of Oscar's head. The thumping sound of his heart was all he could hear. He fought the urge and quickly put it in the holster.

Trevor Blade: Dude, you're on some serious shit, because I'm just a cop placing you under arrest. Boy do I appreciate the murder confession though. We'll have to talk about that more at the station. Get up.

None of the three X'ers had seen Blade draw his gun. They hadn't seen the look of a killer in his eyes. However, from around the corner Roscoe saw everything.

Roscoe: Detective Trevor Blade huh? Yeah. Yeah, that's the guy alright.