3:00 AM – THE CHASE BEGINS
Damien Blackwood didn’t sleep that night.
The warning was clear, but he wasn’t about to back down. He sat in the dim light of his apartment, his gun on the desk, the serpent-and-dagger pin lying next to it. His eyes traced its curves, his mind calculating every possibility.
Someone had been here.
Someone had watched him.
And that someone knew he was close.
His phone vibrated again. Another message from the Unknown Number.
“This is your final warning, Detective.”
Damien smirked, exhaling sharply.
Final warnings mean I’m getting closer.
He grabbed his coat, tucked the gun into his holster, and headed out.
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3:15 AM – THE HUNT FOR ANSWERS
The city streets were nearly empty, bathed in the eerie glow of streetlights. Damien’s mind worked like a machine, assembling the puzzle pieces.
* Someone had left him those photographs of his father.
* That same someone was being hunted by another force.
* And now, the hunters were after him too.
There was only one person he knew who could track the messages.
Isaac Graves.
A hacker, informant, and borderline criminal—Isaac owed Damien a few favors.
Damien arrived at an abandoned laundromat, pushing through a rusted door. Inside, the hum of computers filled the space. Screens flashed with encrypted codes, data streams, and security footage from across the city.
Isaac, a wiry man in a hoodie, spun in his chair and raised an eyebrow.
“You only come to me when you need something.”
“Track these messages,” Damien tossed his phone onto the desk.
Isaac sighed, cracking his fingers. “You know, most people say ‘please’—”
“Isaac.” Damien’s tone was flat.
“Alright, alright,” Isaac muttered, typing rapidly. “Let’s see who’s threatening the great Damien Blackwood.”
Lines of code scrolled across the screens. The encryption was advanced—whoever sent these messages wasn’t just some amateur thug.
Isaac’s face darkened.
“This… this isn’t good.”
“What?”
Isaac hesitated. “These messages are bouncing through multiple dark web servers, but…”
He hit a key. A map lit up.
The messages originated from inside the city.
Damien’s stomach twisted.
His enemy wasn’t some distant shadow.
They were right here. Watching. Waiting.
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3:45 AM – THE NAME THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST
Isaac ran more traces, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Suddenly, he stopped.
“No way…”
Damien leaned in. “What?”
Isaac pointed to the screen. “One of the servers they used—it’s registered under a name that doesn’t exist.”
Damien’s pulse quickened. “What name?”
Isaac hesitated. Then:
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“Jonathan Blackwood.”
Everything around Damien went silent.
His father’s name. On a server linked to his enemies.
That meant one of two things:
1. His father was being used as a cover.
2. Or worse—his father was involved.
Damien’s grip tightened on his gun.
For the first time, he wasn’t sure which truth was worse.
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4:00 AM – THE AMBUSH
Before Damien could say anything, Isaac’s security alarms blared.
Red lights flashed across the screens. The monitors flickered—then went black.
Isaac paled. “They found us.”
The next second, the door burst open.
Three masked figures in black tactical gear stormed in, guns raised.
Damien reacted instantly. He shoved the desk over, grabbing Isaac and pulling him down. Bullets tore through the air. Sparks flew from shattered screens.
Isaac screamed, “WHAT DID YOU GET ME INTO?!”
Damien rolled, fired two shots. One attacker dropped. The other two spread out.
His mind calculated their movements.
They weren’t here to kill him.
They were here to erase everything.
And if that was the case…
They needed Isaac alive.
Damien yanked the power cord from Isaac’s rig, grabbing a hard drive. “We’re leaving. NOW.”
Isaac didn’t argue. He followed Damien through the back exit.
Gunfire followed them into the alley. Damien spun, shot out a streetlight, and disappeared into the shadows.
The masked figures hesitated.
That was their mistake.
By the time they reached the alley—Damien was gone.
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4:30 AM – THE REVELATION
Isaac sat on a rooftop, panting. “You need to start warning me when people are trying to kill you.”
Damien ignored him, plugging the hard drive into his backup laptop. The files loaded.
Surveillance footage. Documents. Classified records.
Then, a video file appeared.
Isaac leaned in. “What the hell is that?”
Damien clicked play.
The grainy video showed a man tied to a chair. A single light bulb flickered overhead. Footsteps echoed. A voice spoke.
"You were supposed to be dead, Jonathan."
Damien’s heart nearly stopped.
The camera angle shifted, revealing the man in the chair.
Face bloodied. Bruised. But his eyes—those were unmistakable.
Jonathan Blackwood.
Damien’s breath caught.
His father was alive.
And someone wanted him to stay buried.
Then, the screen glitched.
A new message appeared in bold letters.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE STOPPED DIGGING."
The laptop shut off.
And in the distance—sirens began to wail.
The laptop’s screen remained black, unresponsive. Damien tapped a few keys, but the system was dead.
Isaac cursed under his breath. “That wasn’t a normal shutdown.”
Damien knew exactly what it was.
A remote wipe.
Whoever sent that message had access to their systems—and the power to erase every trace of their findings.
A chill ran down his spine.
That meant they were watching.
Right now.
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4:40 AM – NOWHERE IS SAFE
“We need to go,” Damien said, standing up.
Isaac ran a hand through his hair. “Go where? They found us in under an hour. They’ll keep finding us.”
Damien didn’t have an answer.
But he knew one thing.
He wasn’t going to sit around and wait to be silenced.
Isaac packed what little he could—backup drives, burner phones, a concealed weapon. “I assume you have a plan?”
Damien’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was a plan or just sheer desperation, but he had an idea.
They needed a new lead.
And there was only one person left who might have answers.
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5:15 AM – THE LAST INFORMANT
The old warehouse reeked of rust and oil. A single bulb flickered above, casting long shadows against the peeling walls.
Damien and Isaac stood in front of a man tied to a chair—Elias Corday, a black-market information broker.
Corday’s lip was split, blood trickling from his nose. He gave Damien a weak grin. “You didn’t have to be so rough, detective.”
Damien cracked his knuckles. “You’re lucky I’m in a hurry.”
Corday spat blood onto the floor. “And what exactly do you want?”
Damien pulled out his phone, showing a paused frame from the erased video.
Jonathan Blackwood.
Corday’s face lost all color.
“I don’t know anything,” he muttered.
Damien grabbed him by the collar. “Wrong answer.”
Corday’s hands trembled. “Listen—I swear, I was warned not to talk. They said—”
The bullet came out of nowhere.
A single suppressed shot.
Corday’s head snapped back. His body went limp. Blood seeped from the single hole in his forehead.
Isaac cursed and ducked behind a crate. “SNIPER! MOVE!”
Damien didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Isaac and ran.
Another bullet whizzed past his ear.
They crashed through the side door, sprinting into the darkness.
Someone didn’t want Corday to talk.
And now, Damien knew why.
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5:30 AM – THE UNMARKED ENVELOPE
After shaking off pursuit, Damien and Isaac holed up in an abandoned motel on the outskirts of the city.
Isaac collapsed onto the couch. “Okay. I officially hate my life.”
Damien paced. Every step brought him closer to an ugly truth.
Whoever was pulling the strings was always one step ahead.
Then—
A knock at the door.
Both men froze.
Damien drew his gun and crept toward the peephole. The hallway outside was empty.
Another knock.
This time, it came from the floor.
Isaac pulled the door open—no one was there.
But on the floor lay a single manila envelope.
No name. No markings.
Damien picked it up, his heart pounding.
Inside was a photograph.
A warehouse. Coordinates scribbled on the back.
And beneath it—four words that made his blood run cold.
"You have one chance."
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5:45 AM – THE CLOCK IS TICKING
Damien stared at the photograph.
The warehouse in the image wasn’t just any location.
It was the same warehouse where his father had been held.
His fingers curled around the paper.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
It was an invitation.
Isaac swallowed hard. “You know this is a trap, right?”
Damien exhaled, sliding a fresh magazine into his gun. “Of course it is.”
Isaac hesitated. “Then what’s the plan?”
Damien looked at him, his eyes colder than ever.
“We spring the trap.”