Page 34 of Nocturne
High. Piercing. Sharp like a blade slicing through the silence. It starts like a whisper and grows, grows, until it vibrates in my chest. Our eyes meet. Damon stares at me like a mirror: wide eyes, clenched jaw, trying to figure out what the fuck is coming.
Two figures step out of an alley on the left, near snow-covered trees. Thick trunks, fat enough to hide any living shit.
Without thinking, I draw my gun. The sound of metal slicing the air is almost comforting.
One shot. Left knee.
The man screams, collapses. Two shots to the head.
Silence.
The second guy runs. Straight at Damon.
He doesn’t back down. Runs too. The impact is brutal, dry. Body against body. Knife against flesh.
The man pulls his blade. Damon reacts fast.
One punch. Another. To the gut.
He grabs the guy’s armed wrist hard. Spins.
A violent spin, almost beautiful to watch.
The man’s body flies through the air like a ragdoll—limp, useless.
He crashes down hard.
A dry crack echoes—the sound of flesh hitting frozen concrete.
Damon doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even breathe.
He just acts. He pulls the gun from his jacket.
Two shots. Quick. Precise.
The body shudders in the snow. The ribs must beshattered to pieces.
The siren won’t stop.
It rises, dragging through the cold air like a desperate scream, slicing through the heavy silence of the night.
With every second, the sound gets louder, harsher — like it’s calling every motherfucker that haunts this shitty hole. And we’re stuck here, exposed, no one coming to save us.
“This way.” I point, my voice sharp, cutting through the icy fog. The building we came from is our only shot. “More of them are coming.”
But we don’t even take a step before they’re already here. Eight shadows come down the hill, feet sinking in the snow, pounding like war drums. Black balaclavas hide their faces — skulls painted on like trophies of bloodshed, dark and threatening.
Behind Damon, three more appear silently, like ghosts from nowhere.Where the fuck did these bastards come from?
Tension crawls over my skin like electric fire ready to blow.
I can’t lose it.
I need to think — fast — before hell swallows us whole.
Midnight Echoes made their lair here, far from the city, far from the light. A hideout to train, traffic, grow in the shadows. We walked right into the trap. If we try to kill these fuckers now, it’ll only get worse — they’ll just send more.
“The car!” Damon yells, backing up, his eyes burning in the dark as they close in — sharp knives, rusty bats, nails and spikes driven in like a promise of pain. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
