The head office felt less like a place of authority and more like a pressure cooker, primed to explode. Every Watcher present, a constellation of anxieties flickering in their eyes. The emergency summons had cast a pall over them all, heavier than the usual shroud of secrecy that cloaked their organization.
   "'It is unfortunate that we lost seven of our members,'" the Head Officer’s voice, usually a comforting baritone, now grated like rusted gears, "'but it's even more unfortunate – and shameful – that one of us killed a fellow Watcher.'"
   A ripple of unease spread through the room. Watchman Hollis, a man whose face perpetually seemed etched with skepticism, raised his hand. "Speak," the Head Officer commanded, his gaze sharp enough to cut steel.
   "Aren't we leaping to conclusions?" Hollis challenged. "Couldn't it have been one of the gangs? Someone who got hold of our weapons?"
   The Head Officer’s expression remained implacable. "A reasonable question, Hollis. If the autopsy hadn't been crystal clear. Liam died this morning, minutes after our return to the office. This wasn't some street thug. This was… intimate." He paused, the silence a tangible weight pressing down on them all. "I need the one responsible to come forward. Explain yourselves."
   A murmur rippled through the ranks. "Does he really think someone's going to confess?" someone muttered, the voice lost in the general disquiet.
   "This is a waste of time," another voice chimed in, laced with a cynical undercurrent.
   The Head Officer's lips thinned. "Perhaps." He reached into his pocket, producing a small, innocuous-looking recorder. The room seemed to shrink as all eyes fixed on it. "Then I'll lend a hand. The day each of you joined, I equipped you with one of these. Liam used his to record suspicious conversation. Let's see what he might have discovered."
   The air thickened with anticipation. Nerves, sharp and electric, danced in the room. Even Mr. Brock, usually a mask of cool calculation, felt beads of sweat prickling his forehead. Then, the Head Officer pressed play.
* * *
   //'I've told you to stop prying into my affairs, Liam. Do I have to carve that into your thick skull?'
   'Well, you don't have to, but I can't just stand by and watch if what you're doing looks suspicious.'
   'Suspicious to *you*, right? Keep being nosy, and I promise you'll shorten your lifespan.' The voice was low, a gravelly growl.
  'Shorten my life? Hah! Come on, Mr. Ali. I only asked if they were your relations.'
   'I'm not obligated to answer that. If you want to report me, go ahead.' (Pause)//
* * *
   "Mr. Ali," the Head Officer said, his voice now a steely blade. "Come forward."
   After a tense heartbeat, a tall, black man with weary eyes stepped into the center of the room. "Did you kill Liam?" the Head Officer demanded.
   Ali's jaw tightened. "No. I had that conversation with him, yes, but it was a long time ago. It was… advice. He didn't take it."
   "You expect us to believe that?" The Head Officer advanced, his shadow looming over Ali. "There's no date stamp on that recording. What was so suspicious that you felt the need to give such… *advice*?"
   Mr. Brock's racing heart steadied, the fear slowly receding. He watched Ali with a detached curiosity, marveling at his own stroke of luck.
   Ali sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "A woman begged me to let her pass through by 10 PM every night. She was scared to meet her husband awake, a drunk who'd beat her every single time. I gave her a chance. Later, she asked if her daughter could spend weekends at my place, afraid the man might hurt the girl. Each time Liam saw them with me, he started asking questions."
   "A touching story," the Head Officer said, unconvinced. "But why didn't she just report the abuse to the police?"
   "She said she didn't have the time or the money for court or a divorce. She needed to care for her daughter."
   "So, acting the good Samaritan. If that's true, why didn't you simply explain all of this to Liam?"
   "I did. Multiple times. But he kept being nosy, hounding me. I'm not a child who has to report everything to him. So, I stopped and gave him that… advice."
   "If you're telling the truth and didn't kill Liam," the Head Officer said, his eyes narrowed, "then who did?"
   "You expect me to know that? Punish me for breaking the rules, fine. But I'm not taking the blame for murder."
   "This is the only evidence we have," The Head Officer said, the words feeling like a death knell. "But if the real culprit is caught, I promise you'll be punished to death. Meeting dismissed."
   The Watchers dispersed, a flock of uneasy birds scattering after a gunshot. Not a word was exchanged, the weight of accusation hanging in the air.
* * *
   **Two Days Later**
   A call came at 5:30 PM. Twist's voice, curt and businesslike, instructed Mr. Brock to head to the hideout. Grandwalker, ever the faithful chauffeur, drove him.
   As they entered the building, a raucous cheer erupted, the sound deafening.
   "The devil really does treat his own well," Mr. Brock muttered, a cynical smile playing on his lips. The music pulsed, bodies swayed, and the air reeked of sweat and cheap liquor.
   "Wow," Grandwalker said, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and unease. "Guess this is what it feels like to be famous."
   Mr. Brock navigated the throng, his gaze fixed on Twist, who stood on a makeshift stage with four other figures.
   "As you all know," Twist shouted, his voice amplified by a crackling microphone, "thanks to our accomplishments, I've been promoted to State Leader of the 18 Str gang. And now, I'm announcing your new leader. From today, you'll be led by… NIGHT WATCHER!"
   The room exploded in a cacophony of cheers, the name "Night Watcher" echoing through the space.
   "Alright, alright!" Twist yelled, trying to regain control. "Also, this guy, Hackerman, helped me out. He's going to be a contender for the seat. I just hope he gets stronger soon."
   A wave of laughter washed over the crowd, directed at Hackerman, whose frail frame and nervous demeanor made him the perfect target. He offered a weak wave, his face a mask of anxiety.
   Mr. Brock seized the microphone, his gaze sweeping over the cheering faces. "I want to thank you all for this honor. As your new leader, I promise I won't let you down! But for now, let's just enjoy the moment!"
   The music surged, and the party erupted anew. Mr. Brock, feeling the weight of his newfound responsibility, descended from the stage and headed towards Twist's office.
   The office was exactly as Twist had described it – a chaotic blend of high-tech equipment and gangster paraphernalia. As Twist explained the various settings and functions, Mr. Brock couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.
   "Can't we change the settings on some stuff? This place looks like a Fortune 500 company run by thugs." Mr Brock commented, breaking the silence.
   "It's up to you. The office is yours now. That's all you need to know," Twist said, opening the door. "Call me when you get the alert."
   "You mean the cash? Alright." Mr. Brock bounced on the leather chair. "Wow! One step further."
* * *
   *Knock knock*
   "Yeah, come in," Mr. Brock said, sitting upright.
   The door creaked open, and Hackerman shuffled inside, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "Hi."
   "Hackerman, right?" Mr. Brock asked, his voice laced with impatience.
   "Yeah."
   "You realize this is a bad gang, right? Stop acting like a lost schoolboy."
   "Sorry, but I'm kind of nervous…"
   "Then why did you join?" Mr Brock snapped, cutting to the chase.
   "My younger sister was abducted coming back from school. I found a note when I got back, I called the number, and the boss demanded five hundred thousand..."
   "But you didn't have that kind of money, so you offered to do whatever he wanted if he released your sister," Mr. Brock interrupted, completing the story.
   "Yes."
   "What about your sister?"
   "She was released, but I'm still stuck here. My life is only going to get worse."
   "Can't let you leave, if that's what you're expecting. Hacking that bank vault… that was impressive. I want you to help me move ahead. Want to get payback on the world?"
   Hackerman's eyes widened, a flicker of hope igniting within them. "Huh? What do you mean?"
   "We're in the same boat, Hackerman, just that my case is on a much grander scale." Mr Brock said, leaning forward.
   "If you really mean it," Hackerman whispered, "what should I do?"
......
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