Mr. Brock and Twist watched from the shadows as the two groups collided, a whirlwind of flashing weapons flying through the air. Sparks lit the night with every clash—rods, knives, and whatever else was at hand launched fiercely between them.
   Twist smirked, breaking the tense silence. "You don’t strike me as an ordinary citizen. You look like someone who’s led a gang before."
   Mr. Brock’s eyes narrowed, picking up a sturdy rod from the floor. "Say what you want—it won’t change my mind." His voice was steady but resolute. "I don’t want to kill you. So, if I win, how about we pull the gang down together and overhaul the operation? Change the game."
   Twist snorted. "Funny—like hell I’d let you defeat me." He grabbed a rod, stepping forward.
   “I’ll take that as a yes," Brock said, charging toward Twist. The next moments were violent—a brutal exchange of blows and parries.
   "Maybe I made a mistake picking the next leader," Twist growled between strikes. "I’m going to crush you."
   "You call it a mistake. I call it earning my place," Brock retorted firmly.
   "Earned?" Twist laughed bitterly. "If we’re counting members’ credits, it’s clear who owns this seat."
   "Not if the person does'nt even care about the gang, let alone being the boss," Brock said, ducking under a heavy swing.
   Twist’s sneer deepened. “Hmph. Coming from someone who joined by paying ransom.”
   Brock glanced at the others—Twist’s men were faltering under the onslaught. “Looks like your men are'nt enough to challenge our fury.”
   Twist’s expression darkened. "It might seem that way, but once I report this to the higher-ups—"
   “Like hell you’re leaving this building.” Hackerman’s rod connected with the back of Twist’s head, knocking him unconscious.
   “Nice hit,” Brock commented, nodding at Hackerman.
   They quickly tied Twist and his men to chairs. When Twist came to, Brock stepped forward, his voice carrying an almost regal authority.
   "Now that you’re awake, why don’t you hear me out? If you take control, we’ll change how the 18th Street gang operates—rule the underworld together."
   Twist spat, glaring. "And who said it would be that easy?"
   “No one’s expecting easy," Brock admitted. "But cooperate with me, stick to the plan, and we both get what we want. Simple."
   Twist’s eyes flashed with suspicion. "And what is it you want that you don’t care if your wife ever finds out?"
   “None of your business," Brock said coolly, turning away. “Play your part; I’ll play mine. Clean and simple.” He glanced back once more. “You’ve heard the plan. Inform your men. Let’s get to work.”
   Twist’s pride flared. "You caught me off guard—you think you can boss me around? I’m still the boss here. Show some respect."
   Brock waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever." He signaled Hackerman. "Untie him."
   As Twist and his men were freed, Brock leaned in. "If you don't mind, then explain your plan. How do you intend to take over the 18th Street gang? Remember, multiple people run this ship."
   Twist’s grin was wicked. "There’s always one—the overlord. The one who calls the shots."
   Brock nodded slowly. "And where in California do we find this overlord?"
   "You’ve got it wrong,” Twist said. “We don’t need to trace him. We need to *attract* him."
   Brock raised an eyebrow. "Attract the overlord? You’re full of surprises. How?"
   “Hahaha, not *we,* me.” Twist’s smirk grew wider, just as the distant whir of a helicopter rose above the rooftop. “You messed with the wrong guy. I’m stepping up—but it’s going to be your downfall.”
   Seconds later, hundreds of gang members strode into the hall—pants only, armed and dangerous. And from their midst emerged a man whose face was a tapestry of tattoos. The overlord.
   “Hey Twist,” the tattooed man drawled, bored. “Is this the betrayer you promised me? Couldn't you have handled him yourself?”
   Twist bowed slightly, smirking triumphantly. "My lord, judging by his pass cards, he’s gathered enough men to even challenge me. If I had'nt brought you here, you might not believe he could one day threaten you."
   The overlord’s eyes gleamed with interest as he approached Brock and Hackerman. “Then why recruit such a troublesome man?”
   Twist answered smoothly, “My lord, he could'nt pay the ransom for his wife’s release. So he joined us to help—though little did I know he had other ambitions.”
   The overlord circled Brock. “Mr. Night Watcher. I’ve heard good things about you. But here you are, throwing it all away. Were you the one who robbed the bank that day?”
   Every eye fixed on Brock, awaiting his answer.
   “No,” Brock said flatly.
   The overlord produced a dagger and began taunting him. “You better say the truth. Your little gang was responsible for that robbery, was'nt it?”
   “No...” Brock groaned as the dagger bit into his side.
   “Say no one more time, and I’ll pluck out your heart.”
   “I’m telling the truth. I didn’t do it,” Brock gasped.
   “Stubborn.” The overlord’s voice dripped with disdain. “Let’s see how long you last.” He turned abruptly. “Twist, bring me his wife. Chain them both in my chamber at South Bay.”
   “Do whatever you want with me,” Brock pleaded, “but please—don’t touch my wife.”
   “Choose quickly, then,” the overlord said over his shoulder. “Your wife or the money.” And he was gone.
   As the helicopter faded into the night, Twist turned back to his prisoners. “Nice. Did'nt expect you to be behind the robbery. You’re even more twisted than I am.”
   Hackerman’s voice trembled. “What now? What happens to the gang?”
Twist shrugged and gestured to one of his boys. “Tie them up. Sorry, Brock. You left me no choice.”
   "Don't you dare touch my wife," Brock warned fiercely.
   “It’s time you faced reality. You can’t take down this gang—not with me here.”
   Brock’s lips curled into a grim smile. "If you want to stop me, I promise this—I’ll burn you alive myself."
   Twist laughed, maniacal and wild. "Try all you want. But you won’t be walking out of the overlord’s chamber alive."
   “Bastard...” Hackerman growled as they were dragged from the hall.
***
At 10:15 p.m. Mrs. Julie sat on the couch, snacking on popcorn and watching TV. A faint groan drifted to her ears from the front doorstep, too soft to catch at first.
   Moments later, a heavy thud struck the door. Concerned, she rose and went to investigate.
   Opening it, Mrs. Julie froze at the sight of a woman collapsed on the doorstep—her body battered and bleeding.
   “What the...?”
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