Chapter 62 — In America, the Only One Who Can Protect You Is Yourself
Benjamin Miles Franklin.
Former U.S. Army Staff Sergeant.
Served in Iraq.
He reported the abuse of detainees in his unit—
and his superiors framed him as the scapegoat.
He was dishonorably discharged.
And in America, a dishonorable discharge is a death sentence for your future.
No one will hire you.
Not even the jobs no one else wants.
So after returning home, broke, blacklisted, and desperate, Franklin was forced into the world of stolen-goods transport run by his brother-in-law:
Darius Morgan.
And the man currently pointing a gun at Amanda—
—was Darius himself.
Franklin, on the other hand—the man sprinting over—was none other than C-Note, the inmate in Prison Break who could smuggle anything into Fox River for a crisp 100-dollar bill.
C stands for the Roman numeral 100.
Note means banknote.
Hence: C-Note.
---
The moment Darius raised his gun, William stepped in front of Amanda without hesitation.
"Whoa, relax, man!
You're not the only one here with a gun."
William had already drawn Peggy Gallagher's old pistol, holding it steady as he shielded Amanda behind him.
Amanda had nearly collapsed from shock when the Black man appeared with a gun in his hand.
South Side.
Black man.
A firearm pointed at her.
Her mind instantly flashed with countless local news stories —
White girls assaulted, then shot, in dark corners just like this.
But then William stepped in front of her like a descending guardian angel, and her terror… melted.
Her trembling stopped.
Her heartbeat steadied.
She stared at William's broad back, dazed.
He felt like absolute safety.
Darius barked a laugh, though tension made his voice wobble.
"Oh, I knew it!
We're doing a toughness contest now, huh?
What's that you got—some Middle-Eastern hand-carved Smith & Wesson 745?"
Truthfully, Darius was just as scared.
Nobody sane walks around South Side at this hour.
Especially not in a deserted parking lot by the lake.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Footsteps.
A shout.
"Whoa—whoa—WHOA!
What the hell is happening?!"
Franklin skidded into view, eyes widening at the sight of two armed guys and two guns pointed in opposite directions.
His heart dropped.
If he got arrested again—with his previous record—
the judge wouldn't show mercy.
He'd be locked away for years, not months.
Darius hissed to him under his breath:
"These two motherfuckers came out of nowhere!
What now?
Do we kill 'em?"
Darius's words carried a clear threat.
Amanda shivered instinctively, fear running down her spine.
Franklin—more level-headed than his brother-in-law—snapped:
"Are you out of your damn mind? Murder is a felony!
You idiot—shut your mouth!"
Then he turned to William.
"Hey, you too. We don't want trouble.
How about we all lower our guns? Okay?"
---
On the other side of the hood, William stared at Franklin.
There was something familiar about his face—
Like he'd seen him somewhere.
But between the late hour and the dim, half-broken streetlamps of the parking lot, he couldn't make out his features clearly.
Only a silhouette.
"Look, your buddy is still pointing a gun at me.
You think I should lower mine first? Does that sound reasonable to you?"
Truthfully, William could've solved this in the simplest way imaginable:
Two bullets.
Then toss both bodies into Lake Michigan using his storage space.
But behind him stood Amanda.
If he did that… she'd have to be silenced too.
No one—not a single soul—could know about his supernatural abilities.
---
Franklin studied William again.
Blond hair, blue eyes.
Typical white-guy face.
His manner didn't scream "race warrior."
Those extremist white-supremacist types never set foot in the South Side of Chicago.
They barely leave the North Side.
Amanda's frightened expression also matched the usual way civilians reacted to armed Black men in the dark.
Franklin relaxed a little.
Probably just a reckless white couple chasing "thrills" in the South Side.
But one thing still didn't fit:
As a former soldier, Franklin sensed something.
A criminal aura.
Hidden under a clean, almost aristocratic appearance.
That contradiction made him uneasy.
But he didn't back down.
"Hell no. I don't know you, man.
This ain't about what's reasonable.
Either we lower our guns together, or we keep standing right here like this."
He paused deliberately, applying pressure.
"And remember—we've got two guns.
You've got one.
Think about the girl behind you."
William snorted.
"Exactly. Since you have two, it makes even less sense for me to put mine down.
I drop my gun, and I'm dead.
And let's be honest—you two aren't exactly here for legal business, are you?
You sure you want a standoff with me?"
His words hit the soft spot.
Darius, flustered, hissed:
"Franklin!"
Asking the former soldier for guidance.
Franklin raised his voice, steady but tense:
"Listen, man… I've got a wife.
A little girl—cutest kid in the world.
I'm just trying to make some money, a'ight?
I don't wanna hurt anybody.
Tonight—how about we didn't see each other, you didn't see us?
That's me backing off as far as I can.
Don't make this harder.
We cool?"
William stared at him.
Even in the dim light, he could read the eyes.
Not lying.
Not looking for a fight.
Just bad luck crossing paths.
This was an accident.
He leaned back slightly and whispered to Amanda:
"In a moment, follow my lead.
Step back slowly—understand?"
He didn't wait for her answer.
He addressed Franklin again:
"Alright. How about this—
We both move back. At the same time.
That's as far as I'm willing to go.
I'm not dropping the gun."
Because in America, one truth never changes:
You don't trust people.
And you never put your gun down.
Not even with the government.
In this country, only you can protect you.
Cops have no obligation to save civilians.
Neither does the military.
Franklin nodded.
"Alright, man. Fair enough.
Just… let's all make sure nobody twitches the wrong way, okay?"
He called to Darius:
"Darius—move back. Slow."
Both sides retreated in sync.
When William reached the cover of a nearby car, he pulled Amanda behind it.
The moment they vanished from sight, Franklin and Darius finally lowered their guns and hurried back to moving their cargo—much faster than before.
Behind the tinted window, William watched them continue their work.
Franklin. Why did that name feel so familiar?
He frowned.
Franklin wasn't the protagonist of Law & Order, and he didn't recall a major "Franklin" from other crime dramas…
Where had he seen that face?