Yan's world tilted because of what he heard.
Yan stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
The bar's heat clung to his skin like guilt. Thick. Humid. Heavy like consequence.
He stormed toward the exit—but hit something solid.
Rock-solid.
A chest, carved like cinderblock. Dressed in black. Eyes hidden behind shades.
Hippie's left-hand man.
Han Aibonita.
Built like a refrigerator with PTSD. Arms crossed like guarding the gates of judgement.
"Where you headed, hotshot?" the man growled. His voice was gravel soaked in gasoline.
The door was just right there. Just five feet away.
Freedom. Air. Escape.
Han moved like a glitch in Yan's code—stepping sideways, reblocking the door before Yan could even flinch.
Yan tried to sidestep.
But the big man stepped in front of him again, like a damn wall programmed to block escape.
Hippie sat calm at the booth, sipping beer. No reaction. Like this was part of the pitch.
Hippie didn't get to say all that shit just to let Yan bail.
Yan's panic spiked.
Tension cracked the air.
The restaurant was silent now—watching. Even the fan stopped squeaking.
Then—
CRASH.
A flying kick collided with Han's ribs, sending the man flying like physics forgot how to work.
He shattered through plastic chairs. Bottles exploded on the floor. Beer streamed like blood across linoleum.
And there he is, still landing like a comic book panel—
Eddie "Doppy" Ebanosar.
Black hoodie rippling, DoorDash flag flapping, standing where the bodyguard used to be.
Eyes locked. Fists ready.
"Dops..." Yan blinked.
"You called for extra rice, I brought noodles." Doppy cracked his knuckles, stepping over a puddle of beer.
Everyone paused.
Even Hippie twitched. Jaw slack. Brow lifted. Beer dribbled from his smirk.
Han started to groan, shifting like a dying NPC trying to respawn.
"Let's leave that noodles for later." Yan hissed, grabbing Doppy's wrist and yanking him toward the exit.
They ran.
As fast as they can. No words. No plans. Just instinct.
Outside, the night greeted them like a crime scene waiting for its tape.
"To the overpass!" Yan jumped onto the back of Doppy's motorbike, one hand gripping chrome, the other clinging to adrenaline.
Doppy kicked the ignition. The bike roared, and the tires screeched. He squeezed the throttle without question.
"HIJO DE PUT—YOU THINK THIS ENDS HERE?! THIS DON'T END HERE!
Hippie behind them, meowing like a prophet strung out on amphetamines.
10PM
Rain threatened. Clouds gathered like witnesses. Streetlamps hummed above the overpass, casting halos where no one prayed.
Doppy slowed the bike below the overpass—where the highway split the city's rhythm like a scar.
The pathwalk reeked of fuel and rust. Echoes of traffic whispered above.
Five bodies.
Facedown.
Twisted.
Breathing barely visible.
And one man standing like a statue carved in grit.
Black hoodie. ABQ Ink. on the back. Bruised face. Blood streaked across his sleeves.
And a swollen fist purpled from rage and impact.
Doppy confusedly whispered, "What the actual..."
"John!" Yan stepped forward.
John didn't move. He breathed. That was all.
Then Bryll arrived, dragging a limping Frix covering a black eye like dead weight. Both panting. Both wrecked.
Doppy's helmet fell out of his hand.
"Bro... what did I miss?"
*CRACK!*
9:30PM
The darkness dressed Nuban like a velvet threat.
Neon lights hissed against puddles of rainwater and piss.
John lit a cigarette. "Where's Yanny?"
He's walking beside Frix, boots crunching bottle caps.
"Business," Frix muttered, hands deep in his jacket. "Someone looked for him earlier."
"Who?"
John exhaled smoke—
Then stopped.
Frix wasn't walking right.
Too stiff. Too quiet.
It wasn't the streetlights in Frix's eyes.
It was fear.
Then Frix pointed, voice shaking.
"W-who?... who's them?"
Six men stepped out of the shadows.
Maria's crew.
Their faces looked like overdue debt.
Cold. Unbothered. Ready.
The thickest one stepped forward, eyes locked on Frix.
"The stash?"
Frix froze. Words died in his throat.
Then—
SWOOSH.
A wooden arnis cracked through the air, aiming straight for Frix's skull.
He didn't have time to scream.
CRACK
John blocked it with his arm—barely.
"Call them," he growled—
Then shoved Frix like a sack of sin.
Frix bolted.
Running like cops were behind him and hell is waiting in front.
One of Maria's men sprinted after him—fast like a fucking horse with murder in its lungs.
Frix was panicking. Regrets flashing like headlines in his head.
"I shouldn't have touched that stash.
I should've listened.
Fuck fuck fuck—"
"Dear Lord," he gasped mid-run, "I swear I'll burry the stash if you—"
God left him on read.
The man caught him.
Grabbed his shoulder—
SLAM.
Frix's body hit the ground like gravity tripled.
You can see the pain and exhaustion drawn to his face.
He tried crawling.
But pain wrapped around his ribs like wire.
His body screamed 'quit'.
The man pulls his hair, dragging him back.
Not giving Frix a room to breathe.
CRACK!
A fist crushed Frix's face into the pavement.
His skull bounced.
His vision blurred.
He saw his ancestors giving him side-eyes.
He's passing out.
He's about to receive a final blow.
Then—
WHAM!
A fist from nowhere—
The man chasing him flew, crashed into a bollard like God had enough.
Bryll Seniba.
Dripping in sweat. Eyes blazing. Shirt torn from the sprint.
The freeloader with fists that rewrite stories.
He wasn't done.
GRAB. SMASH. SMASH. SMASH.
He dragged one goon by the collar and curb-stomped him.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Blood painted the sidewalk red.
Bryll dusted his palms.
"Don't fuck with Aragons."
10:30PM
Frix sat in Yan's house, holding an ice bag to his face like it owed him rent.
The air was thick. Stale fan breeze. Dim lighting.
The smell of cigarette ash and spilled coffee lingered in the room like trauma.
Doppy leaned on the wall, arms crossed.
"So that's what happened?"
Frix gave a shaky nod.
Silence.
Everyone felt it—the weight, the war coming.
Doppy clicked his tongue. "Following Yanny outta curiosity was the right move then."
"We gotta do something." Doppy added.
Yan stood up like a decision was just made.
"Meeting. Tomorrow."
Doppy grabbed his helmet. "Aight. I'm out. Girlfriend just texted. I'll tell Ricky. Vroom vroom."
He disappeared like his Wi-Fi cut out.
Yan looked at Bryll.
"Tell Vic."
Then—darkly—
"And tell Lee."
The room froze.
All eyes turned to Frix.
He gulped.
"What the fuck y'all staring at me for?!"
Silence.
Frix laughed nervously.
"Bro... ya'll can't be serious."