Chapter 1 – "Coming Home"
Five Years Later…
The sun scorched the cracked streets of Steelpoint, and the air was thick with diesel, sweat, and lies. A rusty old Greyhound bus screeched to a stop at Southbridge Terminal, its faded white paint covered in graffiti tags from forgotten crews. The door hissed open, and out stepped Jayce Carter, dressed in worn jeans, a faded hoodie, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes scanned the block—everything was smaller, rougher, deader than he remembered.
"Damn... this place really fell apart."
Five years ago, Jayce dipped from Steelpoint after his brother, Tariq, was gunned down in a drive-by. Back then, the Southside Blades were on top—tight family, real unity. Now? The buildings looked abandoned, tags from rival gangs bled across brick walls like scars, and the air carried the threat of violence like an open wound.
Jayce walked to a busted payphone by a corner store. He dropped a coin and dialed the only number that still existed in his head.
"Yo?"
"Big Rell. It's me."
There was silence on the other end, followed by static, then:
"…Jayce?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
---
The Pickup
Fifteen minutes later, a beat-up Crown Vic pulled up beside the curb. Out stepped Big Rell—a heavyset man with tired eyes and a thick gold chain with the Blades insignia. His beard was flecked with gray now, but his voice was just as deep.
"You got a death wish comin' back here, cousin."
"Good to see you too, Rell."
They hugged, brief and firm. Not much was said. Not much had to be.
In the back seat sat Tone Garza, slick shades on, chewing a toothpick like he owned the block. His smirk was the same, but something in his eyes was different—calculated. Cold.
"Damn, Jayce," Tone said. "Look who crawled out the grave. What's it been, five years? You still know how to shoot?"
Jayce chuckled, but he noticed Tone didn't offer a handshake. Just a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
They drove through the block. Jayce watched the streets that raised him now buried in chaos. Kids were slingin' crack out in the open, and even the corner stores had bulletproof glass over candy bars.
"The Blades are weak now," Rell admitted. "Half the crew dead or locked up. Vultures run most of the Northside. Rustborns got Echo Heights. We hold down a few corners, but that's it."
"What happened to the code, man?" Jayce asked.
Tone shrugged. "People stopped caring."
---
The Funeral
They pulled up to a small church. A service was just ending. A few people walked out in black, including Maya Rivers, who stood at the steps wearing a leather jacket over a tight black tank top. Grease smudged her jeans—she'd just come from the shop.
When she saw Jayce, her eyes widened.
"Jayce…?"
"Maya."
They stared for a moment before she stormed forward and punched him in the shoulder.
"That's for ghosting."
Then she hugged him. Tight.
They walked quietly inside. The funeral was for Miss Loretta, Jayce's mother. Stroke. No money for the hospital. No one called him. Rell said it was "too dangerous."
Jayce knelt at the casket. The weight hit him then—the years he missed, the words he never said.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
---
Back to the Hood
That night, they returned to the old Carter house—cracked windows, broken fence, and the front door had been kicked in more than once.
Jayce sat on the porch, staring at the streetlight buzzing overhead.
"What really happened to Tariq?" he asked Rell, who lit a cigarette.
"Drive-by. Masked. Nobody talked. But I got my suspicions."
Jayce looked at him.
"Tone?"
Rell said nothing.
Just then, shots rang out down the block. Automatic fire lit up the night. Tires screeched. A kid screamed. Jayce stood.
"We just gonna sit here?"
Rell pulled him back. "This ain't your fight no more, Jayce."
Jayce looked at his hands. Calloused, scarred. Then he stood and walked toward the garage.
"What you doin'?" Rell asked.
"Gettin' my bike. If I'm back... I'm all in."
Rell muttered, "You crazy... just like your brother."
---
The Tag War Begins
By the next morning, Jayce had visited the graveyard where the old crew used to tag. He grabbed spray cans and marked the Southside Blades sign over the Vultures' graffiti.
That afternoon, three Vultures rolled up on him in a black lowrider.
"You real brave, homie," the lead one said, flashing his gun. "That tag got a death wish attached."
Jayce didn't flinch. "Nah, just a reminder. Southbridge still breathes."
Fists flew. Blood spilled. Jayce walked away with bruises and a new respect from two kids on bikes who watched the whole thing.
---
End of Chapter – Rebirth
Later that night, Jayce sat on the porch with Rell, Maya, and even Tone, who laughed like old times. But Jayce kept looking at Tone's hand—no scars, clean knuckles. He hadn't been in a fight in a long time.
Rell sipped from his bottle.
"You really back for good?"
Jayce nodded.
"They took my mom. I want this block cleaned up. I want Tariq's killers."
He looked across the street.
"I'm takin' Southbridge back."