“On… on the computer, in a folder,” Tony stammered.
Vic forced him to sit straight.
“Open it.”
With shaking hands, Tony typed in a password. The desktop appeared, cluttered with folders. He opened one labeled ‘Archive.’
Inside were video files. The names were cynical, sorted by the victims’ appearances. Vic saw a file with Ellie’s name.
His heart tightened, but he didn’t watch it. He knew if he did, he’d lose control. And he needed more info.
“Where are the copies?”
“On… on the discs, in the safe.” Tony pointed to a metal cabinet in the corner.
“Open it.”
Tony walked to the cabinet, trembling. He punched in a four-digit code. The door clicked open.
Inside were boxes of discs, folders, and stacks of cash. Vic grabbed the boxes and dumped the discs onto the floor. About twenty of them, each marked with a pen.
“Is that all of them?”
“Everything, I swear!”
Vic delivered a sharp, heavy blow. Tony collapsed to his knees. Vic pinned his hands to the floor.
Then, Vic made sure Tony understood the true meaning of helplessness, just as Ellie had. He took brutal but, in his mind, necessary steps to ensure those hands would never operate a camera or a keyboard again. The pain Tony felt was only a fraction of what the girl had endured. Vic systematically dismantled the young man’s future, leaving him with injuries that ended his dark trade forever.
Tony passed out from the shock. Vic let him go.
He gathered the discs and found a can of lighter fluid. He doused the computer, the discs, and the desk. He struck a match.
The fire flared up hungrily, racing across the floor and up the walls. Tony groaned, trying to crawl toward the exit. Vic walked out without looking back.
Behind him, the roar of the fire and the distant sound of sirens. Tony would survive, scarred and broken, but his career as a blackmailer was over.
Vic walked through the night. Fireworks exploded overhead—red, green, gold.
People were cheering, celebrating. He felt nothing. Only a cold void. Two down.
Two left: Ryan and Sterling. The cop’s son and the leader. The most dangerous.
The most protected. But Vic wasn’t in a hurry. He knew that haste was a killer.
In prison, the patient ones survive. He would wait, study them, find the weakness, and strike. He went home as the sun was coming up. His mother was still asleep.
Vic went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. The reflection was a stranger.
Ice-cold eyes, a face like stone. He didn’t recognize himself, and he didn’t care. He turned on the TV and lay down.
He fell asleep instantly. No dreams, no thoughts. The machine was working perfectly.
The finale was close. Ryan Brooks, nicknamed “Britva” by some of the local punks, wasn’t just a Captain’s son. He was a liability.
Captain Brooks knew it, but he covered for him. Blood was thicker than the badge. Ryan beat people in bars, sold pills, drove drunk.
The cases were buried, witnesses were intimidated, reports went missing. The system protected its own. Vic knew a direct attack wouldn’t work.
Touch Ryan, and the whole precinct would be on him. He needed a setup. Something so heavy that even his father couldn’t bury it.
On May 11th, Vic met Charlie at the bar. They spoke quietly in the back room.
“I need something heavy,” Vic said. “A large quantity of high-grade narcotics.”
Charlie whistled.
“Vic, are you out of your mind? That’s a life sentence. If you get caught with that kind of weight…”
“I won’t. It’s not for me,” Vic lit a cigarette. “Can you get it?”
Charlie paused, then nodded.
