Grayson returned to the city under cover of night, slipping through the streets of Chicago with purpose and a stolen identity.
The quiet tension of O-Block shifted the moment he arrived to draw attention without revealing his intent.
As chaos ignited around him, he vanished into the shadows once more.
The city stirred in response, and the pieces on the board began to move.
Wilson’s earpiece clicked once before the voice came through, steady but with a tension that didn’t need explanation.
“Shots fired. O-Block just lit up. Two Street Deacons are down, but still breathing. The rest are locking up the block and moving to posture.”
Wilson straightened in his chair and keyed through a series of camera feeds.
Surveillance nodes lit up across four monitors, each showing a different angle of the same escalation.
Men rushed behind cars, weapons drawn with practiced movements.
There was no confusion in their formation.
The Street Deacons responded like a unit trained to expect trouble and resolve it quickly.
“Shooter?” he asked without lifting his gaze from the screen.
“Gone. I didn’t get a look at the face, but I saw a patch on the left shoulder. Devil’s Sons. Bright stitching. Planted for visibility.”
Wilson muted his mic and rewound the footage.
The drone feed caught the moment of contact—a controlled approach through the alley, followed by two quick shots delivered with precision.
“Looks like our boy has leveled up his approach,” Wilson said aloud, mostly to himself.
“Someone’s trying to start a war,” the asset added. “Kade’s people are about to take the bait.”
One Deacon dropped behind a crate, the other fell sideways, both hit in the vest.
The shooter had moved with speed, but not in a hurry.
The pacing of the attack suggested planning, not panic.
He slowed the clip and studied the surrounding street.
Traffic had already thinned by the time the shot landed.
Sidewalks were mostly clear.
The local foot traffic had turned away just before the trigger was pulled.
Someone had studied these patterns carefully.
The asset spoke again, his voice still level. “Kade’s crew is gearing up. Assault rifles, spare mags. They’re looking for a reason.”
Wilson shifted his attention to the thermal overlays.
All registered consistent signatures, but the trajectory of the shooter left no residual trace.
No discarded casings.
No drag patterns.
The exit route had been clean, even deliberate.
Opening a secure channel, he typed in a short command string.
R S N 1
The biometric vault responded.
Diagnostics confirmed stable vitals, no red flags in the neural scan, and a clean report from medical.
The subject had been cleared for controlled deployment.
All that remained was authorization.
Wilson entered the final line of code.
Greenlight confirmed.
Target Zone Delta.
Insertion authorized under handler override.
A new marker appeared on the tactical map, moving in from the north fringe of the block.
There was no request for mission brief, no transmission of intention.
Only a signal tracking quietly into the zone.
He unmuted his comm and spoke with calm certainty.
“The Risen is inbound.”
A pause followed, longer than usual.
Then the asset responded, his voice lower.
“Cleared for live?”
“He’s operating,” Wilson replied, already shifting focus to the next feed.
The marker approached the perimeter at a consistent pace.
Surveillance tracked brief flashes of movement
There were no full visuals, just the suggestion of a figure slipping between blind spots.
The asset maneuvered his cart into position along the sidewalk near the fire hydrant.
The equipment remained buried beneath a layer of scrap metal and loose electronics, but the cameras were active.
One lens covered the alley where the shooting occurred, the other monitored the southern corridor.
His setup fed directly into Wilson’s command interface.
Across the street, the Deacons were repositioning.
They kept their weapons close, held tight formation, and moved with intent, but no one pushed forward.
The block was locked down, tightly coiled.
The asset adjusted the focus on the rooftop lens.
Nothing appeared on the bodega ledge at first.
A moment later, a figure shifted into view, crouched behind a ventilation unit near the edge of the roof.
Then the figure dropped to the scaffolding below and disappeared behind the alley wall.
There was no impact noise.
The alley camera briefly lost visual contact before picking up a faint shift in shadows between the fire escape and the stack of shipping crates.
The feed didn’t display a full silhouette, but the outline was unmistakable.
The Risen had entered the block.
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