Sirens blared as a dozen cars stormed into the neighborhood. Dozens of officers ran out with weapons locked and loaded as they split across the neighborhood, cordoning it off.

Behind them, several men of importance walked at a slowed pace, their suits ironed to perfection and measured to the centimeter. They reached the Trefor residence with its splintered door and trail of blood. The foul smell of bodily excrement and blood mingled in the air as a few officers retched to the side, silently heaving into a bush.

"Someone tell me why the hell my men are mangled worse than a dog's chew toy?" The man in the centermost position asked flatly with his brows furrowed.

"We're looking into it, Chief." One of the officers replied with sweat coating his brow.

"Hurry it up."

"Yes, Chief!" The officer ran off to join the others canvassing witnesses.

After ten minutes, several officers returned to report.

"Chief, we have witness reports that a large man broke into the Trefor residence approximately an hour ago. An officer still on patrol in the area confronted him, with more officers coming later for backup. But, the man lashed out, and" The officer paused and gulped. "... did this."

"Are you fucking with me, Rogers? One guy ripped my guys into fucking beef jerky strips, my fully armed— fully trained— f-u-l-l-y fucking capable men. Tell me how that's supposed to make any damn sense?"

Another officer approached with a laptop in hand. "Chief, we checked Trefor's records; he has a living kin." The man showed the screen to the Chief.

[Rhys Trefor — D.O.B. June 19th, 1998.]

[National Defense Agency — Honorable Discharge]

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[...]

[Arrested for manslaughter - All charges dropped due to faulty processing.]

[Entered into Orchard Hills Mental Rehabilitation Facility.]

[ACCESS DENIED - ADDITIONAL CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

The Chief's scowl spread across his entire face. "Those secretive bastards always do this shit. Redacted, redacted, redacted! Redact my bloody asshole, you pricks. And what the hell, he's already in our system?"

"So, you're telling me this military Rambo found out about Trefor, and our guys got mixed up in his little tantrum? And he's a known killer? AND A MENTAL PATIENT? God dammit. Clean this up and order a manhunt ASAP. Don't let this bastard run."

"Yes, Chief!"

The Chief sighed as he craned his neck, massaging it. Through his fingers, the image of scales peered through. "Retirement can't come soon enough. Why must all these crazy bastards come to my part of town."

...

Several hours passed, and Rhys arrived at the District Coroner's Office. The lights were on, but in contrast with the night sky, the place looked devoid of life. Rhys broke through the door, setting off a blaring alarm that slammed against the inside of the building.

Rhys silenced it within a moment, leaving a battered display of electrical components scattered across the floor. He walked through the corridors quietly, his steps an emotional hollow. His heart raced in his chest as he reached the mortuary. The metallic doors shone with silvery coldness from one corner of the wall to the next.

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The tags marked each locker. One by one, Rhys walked and read the names out. With each locker passed, his heart raced faster. None of them were his brother's. He was nearing the end of the row of lockers with nothing to show for it.

As Rhys reached the final column, his fist slammed into the middle locker, denting the metal plating. The bottom locker was unlabeled and left ajar, with blood staining the side of it. His breathing became ragged as he opened the door, revealing the bloodied body bag lying inside of the locker. He pulled out the examination slab and unzipped the body bag in silence.

Rhys' hands grabbed onto the examination slab, his fists clenching against the metal as his vision blurred. He held himself up as the sight of his brother burned into his retinas. Rope marks dug into his throat, yet they added insult to injury by slitting his throat after the fact. They gouged Aeron's eyes out from his skull. And his body was so bruised and battered he resembled a war veteran and not a normal human.

But the worst insult was the carved marking that sat on his chest. The same eye stared back at Rhys. Mocking him.

"Ouroboros Eye," Rhys uttered the words. "You're all dead. You merely don't know it yet."

Rhys zipped up the body bag, threw it over his shoulder, and carried it off. He would not let them defile his brother any more than they already have.

An hour away from the coroner's office, Rhys reached the outskirts toward a woodsy outcrop that rose to the mountain hiking path. He dug a hole further away from the path and buried his brother. He placed a makeshift tombstone and knelt beside it once he finished.

"Scamp, I'm sorry," Rhys muttered with his head lowered. "Your brother's useless. I thought I'd come back and get both of our lives sorted. My anger ruined our time together, and in the end, I couldn't even protect you." He laughed, bitter tears of regret.

"In your final moments, did you curse me? Did you wish you had a different family? You should've. Your brother's a cruel bastard, isn't he?"

"I'll never know." Rhys' laughter echoed through the trees. The wind blew, shaking the trees, almost resonating with the man's seething lunacy. "No, that's wrong. Maybe, once I kill them all, I'll know what you felt through their feelings. Was it resentment? Fear? Guilt? I hope they explain it properly."

"Rest up, scamp. Your brother's gonna get back to work now. Don't be sad, and don't feel lonely out there. You'll have a lot of company soon." Rhys patted the soil, leaving a handprint pressed into it, before standing up and walking away.

Rhys pulled out his phone and dialed a number as he descended the trail. After several rings, the line got picked up.

"Am I still dreaming, Commander; is that you?" A groggy voice blurted out from the other side of the phone.

"It's me, Grey," Rhys replied. "I need your help."

"Seriously? Say no more, Commander! Whatever you need, I've got your back." Greyson replied with a perked-up voice, the sound of rustling and crashing glasses sounding out from his side of the call. "What's up? What do you need me to do? I thought you were going to retire! I can't believe it!"

"Calm down, Grey," Rhys commanded. "I need you to get the team together and come to my city ASAP. My little brother is dead, Grey. They took him away from me."

The call stilled for moments before the sound of glass breaking sounded again. "I understand, Commander. No fun and games for this mission."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Commander. We all know how much you loved him. I—" Greyson paused. "I'll get everyone on a flight within a couple of days, even if I have to pull them out of their beds myself."

"Good. Tell everyone to be prepared. It'll be just like old times."

"It was that bad, Commander? Are you saying— No restrictions?"

"None. Those bastards gouged out Aeron's eyes, slit his throat, and wrung him up to hang like meat at the butcher's. They wanted to send the city a message. Ironic, isn't it?"

Greyson sat in silence before answering. "A message, huh? I understand, Commander. I'll let everyone know the stakes then. We'll show them what we did to the last group that messed with us."

"No, you're wrong, Grey." Rhys replied, chuckling, "The last guys will sing prayers in hell that they got off so easy compared to these bastards."

Greyson laughed from the other side, "Fair enough, Commander. It's been a few years, after all. We can give them something to celebrate in their graves."

"Stay safe, Commander. Don't rush into anything you can't handle yourself; we're coming."

"It's not me you should worry about, but them." Rhys retorted, "Just hurry up. I'll make sure to leave some of them for you guys."