"Kyle..." A gentle voice called to him through the haze as he struggled to wake. His vision was blurry and his hearing faint until that familiar warmth pulled him back from the edge. "Kyle, Kyle..." The voice grew louder, snapping him into full consciousness as memories of chaos—gunshots, burning pain, the adrenaline of stopping a bus hijacking—flashed in rapid succession.
Startled, he bolted upright, and his sudden movement stirred his mother from her vigil by his bedside. For what felt like an eternity, she had softly called his name. Now, as he touched his head and slowly slid his hands down to his waist, he murmured, "How... How am I here?" His mind was a fog of disjointed recollections, yet the solid walls of his room offered a semblance of reality.
Relief flooded him as he turned toward the door and saw his mother waiting. "Mom," he whispered, voice trembling with gratitude and residual fear. With no hesitation, he ran into her arms, embracing her tightly as if to anchor himself to life.
Dorothy Damian held him close, her heart heavy with unspoken worry. She had endured her own horrors in the past few days—kidnapped by a ruthless faction and then rescued by her son, who singlehandedly dismantled an entire mafia group. Though her body bore little evidence of her ordeal, her eyes revealed the deep confusion and pain of trying to understand a world that had turned violent and surreal overnight.
"I thought I was going to die," Kyle sobbed, tears and mucus staining his cheeks. "You won't believe it, Mom—I had to stop a bus hijacking. I saved everyone... even though I got shot a gazillion times."
Dorothy's eyes shimmered with both relief and sorrow. She struggled to comprehend the whirlwind of events—how her little boy had become so troubled, fighting demons—while she herself was left grappling with the scars of her own abduction. "It's okay, sweetheart," she whispered, stroking his hair with a trembling hand. "What matters is that you're safe. I'm just... trying to understand it all."
After a moment of shared silence, her gentle voice shifted to an attempt at normalcy. "How about we watch a movie, like we usually do?" she suggested, her tone both hopeful and wistful—a longing to reclaim a piece of the past amid the chaos of the present.
Kyle, still shaking but comforted by her presence, managed a soft, "Okay..."
Dorothy then gathered her keys. "I'm going to get some ice cream," she said, trying to sound casual even though her mind was swirling with unanswered questions about her son's miraculous feats and the dark world he navigated. The door clicked shut behind her.
As Dorothy stepped out, the scene shifted subtly. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement as she made her way toward the ice cream store six blocks away. Her Spanish heritage shone through in the warm hazel of her eyes and the graceful set of her features—a beauty that belied the trauma she had endured. Yet, beneath her calm exterior, a storm of thoughts churned. How had her son, the boy she once knew, become entangled in a life of demons, mafia, and hijackers? She tried her best to come to terms with it all, clinging to the hope that one day, these horrors would make sense.
Lost in thought, she barely noticed the group of three young men ahead—delinquents notorious in the neighborhood, the kind of kids parents warned their children about. When she accidentally bumped into one of them, their leader suddenly grabbed her. But before the situation could escalate, a sharp slap rang out—a sound so resounding it seemed to echo down the block.
The young man recoiled, his sneer replaced by shock, while his companions stepped forward with threatening postures. "What the—?" one spat, "We could gut you right here!" Their menace hung in the air like a dark cloud.
Just then, a large figure stepped in. "Hey, hey, are you really going to gang up on a woman?" The commanding tone silenced the group instantly. It was Raymond, known throughout the neighborhood as an upright delinquent. The boys, their bravado instantly shattered, backed off with mumbled curses.
Raymond bowed his head slightly, apologizing, "Sorry 'bout that, Kyle's ma."
Dorothy managed a small, rueful smile as she dusted off her shirt. "No need to apologize," she replied playfully, though the events of the past few days still weighed on her mind. "I appreciate it, though I could have handled myself." She gestured for him to stand tall, and Raymond chuckled warmly. "No doubts about that, ma."
Side by side, they continued their journey to the store. As they walked under the gentle glow of the late afternoon sun, Dorothy couldn't help but wonder how the extraordinary events that had upended her life would ever make sense. But for now, all that mattered was the the peace that exists in this present—lull before the storm.
Dorothy gave Raymond a small, grateful nod before continuing on her way, but her mind lingered on the brief confrontation.
She had lived on this block for years, had seen kids like those boys go down the wrong path too many times. But Raymond... he was different. Despite his connections to the gang, there was something in his eyes—something that reminded her of Kyle.
The thought of her son made her chest tighten.
Kyle...
He had changed. She wasn't sure when it started, but lately, he carried himself differently—more distant, more intense. Ever since the night he saved her from Borgov's men, he had been different. She had tried to understand, tried to make sense of the impossible things he had done, but nothing added up.
She gripped the bag of ice cream tightly as she walked. Maybe she had been too afraid to ask. Maybe she didn't want to know.
Kyle had singlehandedly destroyed an entire criminal empire. He had taken down trained killers, men twice his size. And now, after stopping a bus hijacking and barely surviving, he was acting like nothing was wrong.
Dorothy exhaled sharply, no mother should have to watch her child bleed and wonder if he was even human anymore.
Meanwhile...
Raymond watched Dorothy from a distance as she walked away. He had meant it when he said she could handle herself, but deep down, he knew she had no idea how much danger lurked around her.
And Kyle...
Raymond had witnessed what he was capable of.
That night still haunted him—the night Borgov's empire went up in flames. He and his crew had been given a simple directive: burn it to the ground and leave nothing behind.
Then he arrived.
A monster.
At first, Raymond couldn't comprehend it. No human should wield such raw power. Yet there he was bearing the face of his cousins bestfriend, tearing through the inferno with an almost inhuman presence. In that moment, Raymond's beliefs were challenged.
Now, he stood at a crossroads.
Would he keep playing along, following orders, doing whatever it took to stay afloat?
Or was it time to finally break free?
One thing was certain—he had to face Kyle.
The real question was... how?