The boardroom smelled like fear.
Damien Blackwood adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit as he stood at the head of the obsidian conference table. Twelve men sat around him—executives, shareholders, all powerful in name but trembling like students before an executioner.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.
"I gave you one job," he said, voice calm, clipped. "One."
No one answered. The silence was suffocating.
On the screen behind him, a photo flickered: a warehouse, burning. Damien's latest acquisition—millions gone in smoke. Arson. Inside job.
He turned to the man at the end of the table—Phillip Crane, Chief Operating Officer.
"You had full control of that facility, Phillip."
"I—I swear, Damien, I had no idea—"
A pen flew across the room and embedded into the polished wall behind Phillip with a thunk. Everyone flinched. Damien hadn't moved from his spot.
"I don't tolerate incompetence," Damien said coldly. "You're finished."
Security entered without a word. Phillip stammered, begged. Damien didn't look twice as the man was dragged from the room like trash.
Outside, the city skyline stretched endlessly—glass and greed and steel. Damien stared at it, jaw clenched.
"Meeting adjourned."
He walked out.
---
8 hours later — 2:03 a.m.
The same hands that signed billion-dollar deals now loaded a silenced pistol.
Damien stood on the edge of an apartment rooftop in the slums, no longer wearing a suit. Black tactical gear. Gloves. His face was half-masked, only his steel-blue eyes visible—eyes that didn't blink as they watched a man through a dusty window below.
Target: Councilman Elias Ward.
Crime: Human trafficking, covered in gold and politics.
Damien's breath was steady. Calm.
You play God in daylight, Damien... but you kill in darkness.
A voice echoed in his mind—his late father's, maybe. Or just the part of him still human.
He fired.
One clean shot. Glass shattered. Silence.
He turned to leave, melting into shadow.
Then—
A click. Behind him.
A camera.
Someone had just taken a photo.
He spun around, gun raised.
But the rooftop was empty.
Only the sound of distant sirens and the cold wind brushing a
gainst the blood on his gloves.
---
To be continued...
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