Chapter 4
The roar of Andreas' motorcycle echoed through the dark city streets, but his mind was quieter than ever. He didn’t need to look at the flashing lights in the distance to know he was close. The police presence was overwhelming, and the Rodriguez family was just a small part of whatever larger operation was going down tonight. His heart raced, but it wasn’t fear—it was a strange, focused calm that settled over him as he approached the neighborhood. He didn’t have time to second-guess himself. “This is insane,” he muttered under his breath. “But I can’t just let them take that family down.”
Andreas pulled into an alley two buildings down, killing the engine and letting the silence settle in around him. The flashing lights bounced off the walls, and he could hear the distant commands of officers setting up their perimeter. He removed his helmet, straightened the bandana around his face, and tugged the black hat into place. “This is ridiculous,” he thought, glancing at his reflection in a nearby window. “Lawyer by day, playing dress-up by night.” But the urgency of the moment forced him forward. He glanced up at the third building, counting the floors. “Seven stories. This should get me close enough.”
Andreas moved quickly, his muscles remembering the countless drills from his military days. He gripped the rough surface of the building as he began his ascent. The bricks were old but solid, and his hands found purchase with ease. “This is just like old times,” he thought, smirking slightly, but the reality of the situation hit him just as hard. “Except now, you’re scaling buildings in a cape.” He reached the rooftop and crouched low, catching his breath for a second. The lights from the police cars below cast eerie shadows over the block. “One wrong move up here, and I’ll be on the news for all the wrong reasons.”
From the rooftop, Andreas scanned the chaotic scene below. The police and FBI tactical teams were swarming the building, their movements quick and methodical. He could see them positioning themselves for a coordinated raid. “They’re sweeping the whole building,” he realized. “Not just the Rodriguez family… they’re going for everyone.” He spotted the fire escape on the seventh floor of the Rodriguez family’s building, his target. Without hesitating, he ran across the rooftop, leaping the narrow gap between the two buildings. The wind tugged at his cape as he landed with a soft thud on the fire escape. “Still got it,” he muttered, a hint of pride flickering in his mind.
Andreas crouched low on the fire escape, peering into the window of the seventh-floor apartment. Inside, a family sat around a small table, their dinner undisturbed by the chaos outside. He could hear the clinking of dishes, the quiet hum of conversation. “They have no idea what’s about to hit their building,” he thought, his grip tightening on the window ledge. Silently, he slid the window open and slipped inside. The air was warm, filled with the smell of food and faint laughter. “Focus, de la Vega,” he reminded himself as he moved quickly through the room, unnoticed by the family. He eased into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
Andreas stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the quiet hum of the apartment fading behind him. The smell of stale air and old carpet filled his senses as he moved carefully toward the stairwell. His heartbeat quickened, but his footsteps remained light and calculated. The elevator was broken—he’d seen that in the reports earlier—which meant he was going to meet them here, in the stairwell. As he approached the door, the faint sound of boots thudding against concrete echoed through the silence. “They’re coming up fast,” he thought, gripping the handle tightly. “No turning back now.”
Andreas descended the stairwell, his boots silent against the worn concrete. Below him, he could hear the FBI tactical team moving, their voices echoing through the narrow space. This is insane, he thought, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. These are trained officers... but I’ve seen combat—real war. They don’t stand a chance. As he dropped into their midst, the team barely had time to react. His sword flashed, disarming the first officer with a swift strike. A punch to the next sent him reeling. What am I doing? This is madness. But I can’t stop now.
The tactical team quickly regrouped, weapons raised. They’re used to dealing with scared kids, not someone who’s seen the front lines, Andreas thought as he ducked behind a railing. One officer lunged at him, but Andreas sidestepped easily, striking the man’s arm with the flat of his blade. The officer’s rifle clattered to the floor. This is crazy... These guys think they’re ready for anything, but they don’t know war. Another officer came at him, and Andreas disarmed him with a swift kick. They’re not ready for me.
Just as Andreas disarmed another officer, a blow struck his side. The impact was enough to make him stumble, and one of the officers managed to knock the sword from his hand. Damn, he thought, that’s what happens when you get cocky. With his sword gone, Andreas reacted on instinct. He flashed his cape into the officer’s face, temporarily blinding him. Using pure muscle memory, he unleashed a series of quick, calculated punches, knocking the man to the ground. They’re police—trained. But I’m trained to fight wars.
As the officer crumpled to the ground, Andreas caught his breath. This is beyond crazy, he thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. Before more officers could regroup, he grabbed his sword from the ground, feeling the weight of it again. His mind raced. I’m not fighting to kill, just to stop them—make them think twice. He ducked into the shadows as more units rushed up the stairs. His heart pounded, the adrenaline surging. They’re the police, but right now, they’re in over their heads.
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Andreas pressed himself into the shadows beneath the stairs, listening to the heavy footsteps of the next group approaching. The moment they were close enough, he rolled out from his hiding spot, somersaulting past the third officer in line. In a fluid motion, he pulled the pin from the man’s flashbang before landing on his feet and driving a fist into the fourth officer’s groin. The man doubled over in pain just as the flashbang exploded, a deafening crack followed by a blinding light. Andreas spun his cape around himself, shielding from the blast. The chaos was instant.
As the officers reeled from the flashbang, clutching their heads and blinking through the disorientation, Andreas moved like a ghost among them. His sword flashed in quick, precise arcs, striking with the flat of the blade. One officer dropped to his knees as Andreas tapped him on the helmet, while another stumbled forward, only to be tripped and knocked out cold with a swift elbow to the chin. He flowed between them effortlessly, disabling each without breaking a sweat. “A little more practice, fellas,” he muttered, sidestepping another officer and flicking the sword lightly against his back. One by one, they crumpled, completely outmatched.
The next group of officers opened fire the moment Andreas moved, bullets tearing through the air around him. But somehow, as if by instinct, he twisted and leapt at them like a force of nature. He crashed into the first officer, knocking him flat, and rolled to his feet, sword swinging. The second officer’s gun shattered under the force of his strike, the barrel snapping clean off. Andreas stood, his eyes locked on the third officer, who was mid-reload. He kicked him hard in the chest, sending him crashing backward. The fourth officer was screaming into his radio for backup, his hands trembling as he fumbled to reload. Andreas batted the gun barrel away with a flick of his sword and, without hesitation, grabbed the man’s helmet and slammed his head into the railing, the clatter of the helmet against metal echoing through the stairwell.
The last group of officers stormed up the stairs, their weapons raised and ready. Andreas moved with precision, deflecting blows and dodging gunfire as he worked his way through them. But then, halfway through the fight, the radio crackled with an order to pull back and regroup. The officers hesitated, then began retreating down the stairs. Andreas watched them go, his adrenaline still coursing. As the last man turned to flee, Andreas smirked and, almost without thinking, slashed a quick “Z” across the man’s rear. "Who the hell do I think I am?" he wondered to himself. But somehow, deep inside, it felt like his instincts were already answering—he was becoming something more.
Andreas slipped through the apartment door, the air thick with tension. Inside, the father paced back and forth, gripping an old revolver with trembling hands. The walls were adorned with religious icons, faded paintings of saints, and crosses. In the corner, the mother clutched the two younger children, her eyes wide with fear. Jose stood by the window, staring out at the chaos below, a gun in his hand, ready for a fight. Andreas surveyed the room quickly, already calculating the best way out, but before he could speak, the father spun around, his eyes wild.
“We’re not running,” the father growled, his voice shaking as much as his hands. “We fight our way out.” Jose nodded in agreement, his grip tightening on his pistol. Andreas knew the situation was bad, and these men didn’t realize just how dangerous it was. He moved swiftly, catching himself just before speaking in his normal voice. Instead, he leaned into the cholo accent, his tone rough. “You’re not gonna make it out if you start shooting,” Andreas growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “You wanna end up like those fools downstairs?”
The father’s fear snapped into action. He pulled the revolver, firing a shot at Andreas. Instinct took over. Andreas sidestepped, the bullet whizzing past him, and in one fluid motion, he knocked the gun aside with his forearm and closed the distance. His blade was at the man’s throat before he could react, the cold steel pressing against his skin. The father froze, eyes wide in shock, his breath ragged. Andreas leaned in, his voice a low growl through the cholo accent, “You keep acting like a pendejo, and I’ll cut you before they even get here.”
The father’s chest heaved as he stared down at the blade, his grip on the revolver loosening. Sweat dripped down his temple, and he looked over at his wife and kids huddled in the corner. Andreas held his ground, his eyes cold and unyielding. “You want to protect them, right?” Andreas hissed through clenched teeth. “Then you stay. You surrender, and I’ll get them out.” The father’s resolve crumbled, the fight leaving his body. He slowly lowered the gun, nodding, realizing there was no other choice.
Jose, still clutching his pistol, stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. “We can’t just give up like this!” he spat, his voice shaky but defiant. His eyes darted between Andreas and his father, looking for any sign of support. Andreas didn’t flinch, his blade still at the father’s throat. He turned his gaze to Jose, cold and sharp. “You think you're a hero? You try to fight, and your mother and little brother will pay the price. You want their blood on your hands?” Jose’s grip faltered, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. Slowly, he lowered his gun, defeated.
With both men disarmed, Andreas finally lowered his sword, the tension in the room still thick but shifting. He stepped back, giving the father a moment to breathe. “Here’s the deal,” Andreas said, his voice steady but firm. “You and your boy stay here, surrender to the police. I’ll get your wife and the kids out safely. It’s the only way this ends without anyone else getting hurt.” The father looked over at his family, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “Okay... just get them out,” he whispered.
The mother looked up from where she huddled with the kids, her eyes wide, unsure. Andreas crouched down beside them, lowering his voice but keeping the rough cholo tone. “Look, I know this is messed up, but you gotta trust me, alright? I’m gonna get you and the kids outta here, but you gotta keep quiet and stick close, yeah?” The mother glanced over at her husband, still unsure, but when she looked back at Andreas, something in her softened. She clutched the kids tighter and nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Okay... we’ll follow.”
Andreas led the family out of the apartment, moving swiftly but silently, keeping close to the walls. The dim hallway was alive with chaos—teams of officers were breaching doors, dragging residents out, their shouts echoing down the narrow corridors. He signaled for the mother and kids to stay low, pressing them into the shadows. A few feet ahead, two officers wrestled with a man who was resisting arrest, but the commotion allowed Andreas to slip past unnoticed. His heart pounded in his chest, but his movements were calculated and precise.
As they continued down the hallway, Andreas spotted another tactical team forcing their way into an apartment two doors down. Gunshots rang out as the officers exchanged fire with someone inside. He quickly waved the mother and kids to duck behind a large pillar, the crack of gunfire echoing through the building. The flashes from the gunfight lit up the hallway in bursts, but Andreas kept his head low, waiting for the moment to move. Once the shots died down, he signaled again, leading the family deeper into the maze of apartments.
One of the tactical teams rounded the corner just ahead, their flashlights sweeping across the hallway. Andreas reacted instantly, pulling the family close and covering them with his cape, ducking his head low. His heart pounded as the lights skimmed over them, casting long shadows. For a brief moment, it felt like they were caught—but the officers, distracted by the chaos around them, didn’t notice. They rushed past, their boots thudding against the floor, moving toward the next breach. Andreas exhaled quietly, then gave a quick nod to the mother. It wasn’t over yet, but they were almost there.
Andreas led them down a side hallway toward a broken door that hung loosely on its hinges. He kicked it open wider and gestured for the family to move quickly. Beyond the doorway was a small alley, dark and empty, away from the chaos. The sounds of shouting and gunfire grew fainter as they slipped out into the night. Andreas paused, scanning the area before guiding them through the shadows toward a side street. The police were focused on the building, giving them the cover they needed. In moments, they were clear, disappearing into the darkness of the city beyond the reach of the FBI.