The Eighteenth Street wasn't an empire ruled by a singular tyrant, but a festering wound governed by the twisted logic of its elder members and those who could best cultivate its malignant growth. It was a system of shared power, a council of vultures picking clean the bones of their victims.** Mr. Brock leaned forward, his gaze sharp enough to cut steel. "Twist, bless his ambition, is too blinded by the myth of the Overlord. He thinks eliminating one figure will solve everything."
   Hackerman steepled his fingers, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "What's your point, Brock?"
   "My point?" Brock's voice was a low rumble. "Twist's obsession with the Overlord is a symptom. He's clawing his way up the ladder, fueled by something deeper... a vendetta." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "He's plotting something, Hackerman. And it's likely personal."
   Hackerman's brow furrowed. "Are you saying he might be a victim, too?"
   "Bingo." Brock snapped his fingers, a grim satisfaction in his eyes. "Look at the man. The desperation in his eyes, the ruthlessness he exudes… it reeks of a man who made a deal with the devil. He probably swore vengeance, promised to tear this whole thing down. But killing the Overlord is like clipping a weed; the roots remain, poisoning the ground. Others would only suffer the same fate."
   "So, he's wasting his time, chasing a ghost," Hackerman said, confusion clouding his face. "Why didn't you tell him?"
   Brock leaned back, a weary wisdom etched on his face. "The greatest solutions are forged in collaboration, not isolation. Thinking you can solve everything yourself isn't strength; it's a prison, trapping you in a single, narrow path when a thousand easier routes lie open before you."
   "Did you just make that up?" Hackerman asked, a hint of grudging admiration in his voice.
   "Born from experience," Brock said, a flicker of pain in his eyes, "forged in the fires of challenge."
   Hackerman straightened, the air growing thick with unspoken tension. "So, what's the plan?"
   Brock's eyes hardened, the glint of steel returning. "The plan is to make them all pay. Every single one of the bastards who dragged us into this abyss. We can't storm the castle, not alone. But we can build our own fortress, brick by painful brick, from the inside. We'll turn their own house against them." He slammed a fist on the table, the sound resonating in the small room.
   "That's… ambitious," Hackerman breathed, a mixture of awe and apprehension in his voice. "How? You can't just conjure a new gang within the existing one."
   A ghost of a smile played on Brock's lips. "I already have. Twenty-five strong, active, and waiting."
   Hackerman's eyes widened, disbelief warring with dawning comprehension. "What? You've been playing this game for a while, haven't you?"
   "This isn't just a game, Hackerman," Brock said, his voice low and dangerous. "This is a war. A slow, meticulous dismantling of their entire organization. Piece by piece."
   "The higher-ups won't see it coming," Hackerman muttered, lost in thought.
   "That's where you come in." Brock fixed him with a piercing stare. "Your mission, from this moment forward, is to find the others. Those who have been burned by the Eighteenth Street, those who crave escape. Gather them. Nurture their resentment. Fan the flames of rebellion."
   "With my reputation… I don't know if I'm the right man for this," Hackerman began, doubt creeping into his voice.
   Brock cut him off, his voice firm. "...But with your position, you are the *only* man for this. Now, you're dismissed. Thank you."
   Hackerman sighed, the weight of the task settling heavily on his shoulders. "Alright." He turned and left, the door closing with a soft click.
   Brock watched him go, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Two more steps." A faint smirk played on his lips as he murmured the words to himself.
****
The worn welcome mat barely muffled the sound of Brock's heavy footsteps as he entered the living room.
   "Honey, guess what?" Julie's voice was bright, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere he'd just left.
   "What?" he replied, the question laced with a weary resignation.
   "I got a job!" Julie exclaimed, her face radiant.
   Brock slumped onto the couch, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Wow. Is that something to be so excited about?" He knew he sounded like a grump, but the day had drained him dry. "What kind of job is it?"
   "A restaurant, of course!"
   "Please, let it not be one that closes after midnight," Brock said, pulling off his boots.
   "It closes at seven," Julie replied, her voice holding a hint of gentle chiding.
   "Well, good luck with that," he said, the words sounding flatter than he intended.
   "Why do you sound so tired?" Julie asked, her brow furrowing with concern.
   "Maybe because I am tired." He pushed back the memories of the underground meeting, the weight of his plan pressing down on him.
   "Was there a fight again?"
   "No, I just need a nap." He started for the bedroom. "When do you start?"
   "Next Monday," Julie said, following him. "Oh, I almost forgot! Kelvin is coming to visit."
   Brock stopped dead, turning to face her. "Who's Kelvin?"
   "My former coworker," she said, her tone patient.
   "Why?" The question came out sharper than he intended.
   "What do you mean, 'why'?" Julie's hands went to her hips, her patience wearing thin. "Someone's coming to see me after we moved, and you're asking me 'why'?" She turned away, muttering, "Why am I even telling you?"
   Brock sighed deeply, a sound lost in the quiet room. "Maybe you shouldn't have." He turned and flopped onto the bed, the springs groaning beneath his weight. "I'd better grab some sleep before duty calls."
   *Ding ding*
   "Oh, great. Sweetie, get the door."
   The door creaked open.
   "Hi," a voice said.
   "Hi, how was the drive?" Julie asked, her tone welcoming.
   "Long. Is your husband home yet?" Kelvin asked, stepping inside and glancing around the house. "Nice place. Expensive."
   Julie giggled. "Don't know about the expensive part, but yeah, my husband chose a nice place." She headed to the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea?"
   "Coffee. Haven't had any this morning," Kelvin replied, continuing to survey the house with a keen eye.
   "Thanks. So, found a new job yet?" Kelvin asked, receiving a cup of coffee.
   "Yeah, a restaurant called yesterday. Start Monday," Julie said.
   "Wow! That was fast!"
   "Yeah, no time to slack around." Julie returned his gaze, a hint of steel in her eyes. "How's West Adam doing after the gang fight?"
   Kelvin sighed, his jovial demeanor fading. "That day was hell. I really don't want to talk about it." He took another sip of coffee, his eyes clouded with unpleasant memories.
***
**Thirty Minutes Later**
   They were still chatting in the living room when Brock emerged from the bedroom, his eyes half-closed, his hair disheveled. He stopped dead, his gaze locking onto Kelvin. Recognition slammed into him like a physical blow.
   'Grandwalker!' he thought, the name laced with disbelief and fury.
   'Mr. Night Watcher!' Kelvin exclaimed inwardly, his composure cracking, surprise flashing in his eyes.
   As hard as it was to comprehend the fact that Grandwalker was Kelvin, Mrs. Julie's former co-worker Mr. Brock still kept his calm as he sat down.
   "You're Kelvin, right?" Mr. Brock asked, extending a hand.
   "Yes, I am." Kelvin replied, shaking hands with Mr. Brock.
   Mrs. Julie was watching these two, observing the way they were acting.
   "You look like a good man." Mr. Brock said, nodding gently.
   "Come on honey, he's a good man. The only friend I had in the restaurant." Mrs. Julie said, smiling at Kelvin.
   "Really! The only friend. Well, you need to be careful though, with the friends you keep cause your worst enemies could be your closest acquaintances." Mr. Brock said, glaring at Kelvin.
   "Honey, is there a reason you're acting this way? If you want him to leave just say so and stop making us feel like some high school kids." Mrs. Julie asked.
   "Did I say something wrong? I was only reminding you of what you already know." Mr. Brock asked, standing up to leave. "Have fun, both of you."
   "I'm sorry about that, hope you're not angry?" Mrs. Julie asked worriedly.
   "Nah why would I be? What he said was true, harshly true." Kelvin said, gulping down the remaining coffee. "Alright I need to take my leave so I could prepare for work."
   "Okay, I'm really sorry for the embarrassment."
   "No need for it."
   Kelvin left immediately, while Mrs. Julie went into the room, looking furious.
   "What was that all about? Coming out to spoil the fun and just walking away like all is fine?" Mrs. Julie shouted.
   "Sorry for ruining your little chat." Mr. Brock replied as he dressed up.
   "Well tell that to the guy you insulted." Mrs. Julie said, pointing at the door.
   "The guy I insulted? Don't make me laugh." Mr. Brock said, leaving the room in rush. He left the house on his car, without minding the speed limits he drove off.
   "What has gotten into him?" Mrs. Julie asked herself as she went back inside.
***
In the car, Brock’s hands were clenched white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel. He stabbed at his phone, his face a mask of fury.
   *Ring ring*
   "Hello," Grandwalker's voice answered.
   "I need to see you at the hideout, now." Brock said, hanging the phone.
   After sometime the two of them arrived at the hideout on their car. Mr. Brock jumped out of the car and went to meet Grandwalker.
   "Mr. Night Watcher, calm down."
   "What do you think you're doing with my wife?" Brock asked angrily as he held Grandwalker by his shirt.
   "I didn't do anything to her, I'm telling you the truth." Grandwalker replied, afraid.
   "Let me ask you one question, and you better don't lie about it, were you the one who kidnapped my wife?"
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