"Tell me," Mr. Brock's voice, a low, simmering fury, cut through the stale air of the alleyway. "Were you the one who kidnapped my wife?"
   Grandwalker swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Yes, but—"
   The "but" died unspoken. Brock's fist connected with Grandwalker's gut, a sickening thud that stole the air from his lungs. Grandwalker doubled over, wheezing, his face contorted in agony.
   Brock didn't let him recover. "Acting like her best friend," he spat, each word laced with venom, "while you were sinking your teeth in behind her back, weren't you?" Another punch landed, this one aimed at Grandwalker's jaw.
   Grandwalker, tasting blood, groaned. "I swear... Twist asked me to do it. I didn't know she was your wife!"
   Brock, fueled by a rage that threatened to consume him, grabbed Grandwalker by the front of his shirt, hoisting him up until his feet dangled inches above the grimy asphalt. "Do you have any idea how she'd feel if she found out her only friend is a heartless gangster? Let this be the last goddamn time I see you anywhere near my wife. Got it?"
   "Sure," Grandwalker gasped, his eyes wide with fear. "Got it."
   Brock released him, letting him crumple to the ground in a heap. Grandwalker coughed, a wet, rattling sound that echoed in the narrow space.
   Without another word, Brock turned and stalked toward his car. He slid behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. The engine roared to life, a mechanical growl that mirrored the rage churning within him. He slammed the car into gear and sped away, leaving Grandwalker choking in the dust.
   As he drove, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Hackerman.
   He answered, his voice still raw with anger. "What do you have for me?"
   "Aaah yeah," Hackerman's voice crackled through the speaker. "I checked the background of all the gangs. About twenty percent of the members were victims of Mr. Twist's climb to the top. Thirty percent never had a job so they took this path and the rest are just bullies and typical rascals."
   "Good," Brock said, his tone clipped. "Since you got the information you needed, start gathering them. In secret. And be careful. I don't want any spies." He hung up abruptly, his jaw tight. "I'm going to tear this whole goddamn gang down for what they did." The thought was a cold, hard promise.
   He pulled into his driveway, the tires crunching on the gravel. Julie stood on the doorstep, her arms crossed, her expression fierce. She looked like a lioness, ready to defend her pride.
   He climbed out of the car, his gaze meeting hers. "What are you doing?"
   "Kelvin isn't answering his phone," she said, her voice sharp. "I wanted to know if he got home safely. He's not picking up."
   A knot of suspicion tightened in Brock's stomach. "Kelvin, Kelvin, Kelvin," he mocked. "If you care about him so much, why don't you just marry him? Besides, what are you implying?" He brushed past her, unlocking the front door. "That I might have killed him for visiting? Or warned him to stay away from you?"
   "Who knows?" she retorted, following him into the house. "The way you looked when you left, anyone would think you were about to burn the world to the ground."
   "Can we just stop this ridiculous argument about your precious Kelvin?" Brock snapped, turning to face her.
   "Alright," she said, her eyes searching his. "Then tell me what's going on. You left here angry, and you came back even angrier. Don't tell me it's nothing."
   Brock sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't tell her the truth, not yet. "(Breaths out) It's my head officer. He said they're transferring me to a new branch... in Compton."
   Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What! Why would they pick you, of all people, to go to such a dangerous place?"
   "And you know what that means," he said, his voice laced with a forced resignation. "I'll only be coming home once in a while."
   "Come on, you need to tell them you have a family. You can't accept the transfer."
   "It's done. The decision's been made. It's either I quit or get transferred." He saw the disappointment cloud her face.
   She sighed. "When will you be coming back?"
   "Probably once every two, three days."
   "Wait! Are you starting today?"
   "Annoyingly yes," Brock replied, his jaw tight.
   "Tsk, do they have to be this heartless?" Julie asked, shaking her head. Brock just shrugged, the weight of his secret pressing down on him.
   As 5:00 PM approached, Brock packed a bag, the silence of the house amplifying the tension between him and Julie. He left, giving her a quick, strained kiss, and as soon as he was out of sight of the house, he pulled over and dialed Hackerman's number.
   "Hello, Mr. Night Watcher," Hackerman answered, a hint of excitement in his voice.
   "How's it going?" Brock asked.
   "Fortunately, we're not the only ones who want to get revenge on the gang. They all won in."
   "Good," Brock said, a grim satisfaction settling in his gut. "Tell them to gather in Compton. I'll text you the address after I've informed the others."
   "Alright."
   Brock drove straight to his guarding post, he called the other group and texted the hideout address to Hackerman.
   After a long, tense drive to Compton, he arrived at the hideout: a massive, abandoned hall sandwiched between two churches. The juxtaposition was jarring, a visual representation of the darkness and false righteousness that defined the gang's world.
   Hackerman waited for him at the front gate. They walked inside together, the cavernous space echoing with the murmur of a hundred or more voices. Men and women, hardened faces etched with anger and resentment, sat waiting.
   Brock strode to the front, the murmuring fading as he reached the makeshift stage. "I believe everyone gathered here is a victim of the activities of the 18th Street gang," he began, his voice amplified by the hall's acoustics. "Robberies, assaults, kidnappings, carjacking, murders… threatening you to join, or it would continue. And, not so shocking, even I, standing right here, am also a victim of their actions."
   He paused, letting his words sink in. "Because of all this, I decided to form a gang. This gang… in order to get a satisfying revenge on the higher-ups of the 18th Street."
   A ripple of anticipation ran through the crowd.
   "How? You ask. Well, as simple as this: each one of you is going to spread out to every single 18th Street gang in Los Angeles."
   He continued, laying out his plan, the air thick with tension and a growing sense of purpose.
   "Looks like a hard one. How do we know those that were victims?" One of the members asked, his voice skeptical.
   "Having a conversation with them, could be the best way to find out those that genuinely want to get revenge but the simplest way is asking Hackerman about them." Mr Brock replied, gesturing at Hackerman.
   "Come on, there are over thirty thousand members in the whole of Los Angeles. You want me to look into them?" Hackerman exclaimed.
   "Not for free." Mr Brock said, smiling at Hackerman.
   "Aggrr..."
   "So go into the street looking as badass as ever, check for hideouts, commit yourselves, gather as much victims as possible and keep in touch. Any questions?" Mr Brock asked.
   "Where do we start?"
   "Start by knowing each other in here so you don't bump into one another out there." Mr Brock replied.
  *Clap clap*
  *Clap clap*
   "Nice plan you've got there." A voice dripped with mock admiration. Twist. He strolled into the hall, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Let me guess, you already know I'm planning the same thing, right?"
   "How did you find this place?" Brock asked, his eyes narrowed.
   "It would only be suspicious if almost all the members I gathered up were gathered in a different location." Twist replied, smiling annoyingly. "And it was only stupid of you to have bring all your pass cards here."
   "There's is a tracking device in our pass cards." Hackerman shouted.
   "Too late, sorry but my revenge is a different type. I plan on taking charge of the operation of 18th street gang by eliminating all former members that made you suffer, why not join me?" Twist asked.
   "No difference from what you did to get where you are, what they did and what you'd do when you achieve your crazy goal." Mr Brock said, all of them held their weapon as they came forward.  
 "Well since your goal doesn't align with mine, we'd have to settle this dispute." Twist said blowing a whistle signal.
   A gang of boys walked into the hall with weapons, standing behind Twist.
   "This guy's really twisted." Hackerman commented.
   "Let the fight begin, Mr. Night Watcher."
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