Chapter 5: BAPTISM BY FIRE
The number was a kid.
[NUMBER INCOMING]
[SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER: 089-56-7823]
[DESHAWN WILLIAMS — AGE 16]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: GANG RETALIATION — IMMINENT]
I stared at the notification while my morning coffee went cold. Sixteen years old. A junior at Frederick Douglass Academy in the South Bronx. Honor roll student. Basketball team.
And in three days, he was scheduled to testify against the Trinitarios gang in a murder trial.
The case had been in the news. DeShawn had witnessed a shooting six months ago—wrong place, wrong time, right conscience. He'd cooperated with police despite the risks. Now the trial date was approaching, and the gang had decided that witnesses were easier to eliminate than evidence.
Can't hack my way out of this one.
I spent thirty-six hours on reconnaissance. The gang's structure, their territory, their known associates. DeShawn's school schedule, his home address, the route he took between them. The police protection assigned to him—two officers in rotating shifts.
One of whom, I discovered, was feeding information to the Trinitarios.
Officer Marcus Chen. Twelve years on the force. Three disciplinary actions, all swept under administrative rugs. And regular cash deposits to an account that didn't match his salary.
The protection is compromised. DeShawn's schedule is known. The hit is coming.
[INTERVENTION WINDOW: 48 HOURS]
[THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL]
No information warfare would work here. No anonymous tips. The dirty cop would just warn the gang to change their approach. The only solution was physical intervention.
You're not ready for this.
Maybe not. But DeShawn didn't have time to wait for me to get ready.
The ambush would happen during a scheduled transfer. DeShawn was being moved from the precinct to the courthouse for a pre-trial hearing. Officer Chen was on the escort rotation. He'd arranged for the transport to take a specific route—one that passed through gang territory.
I arrived at the ambush point six hours early.
The location was a narrow street in Morrisania. Abandoned buildings on both sides. Limited sightlines. Perfect killing ground.
I found a position on a fire escape overlooking the street and settled in to wait.
The hours crawled by. My body ached from holding still. The Glock pressed against my hip, a constant reminder of what I was about to attempt.
Three gang members, probably armed. One kid to protect. And me—a guy who's been shooting for three weeks and took one Krav Maga class.
The math was terrible. But the alternative was watching a sixteen-year-old die.
They came at 2:15 PM.
Two cars blocked the transport van—one in front, one behind. Three men emerged, weapons visible. The unmarked police car carrying DeShawn screeched to a halt.
Now.
I descended the fire escape, trying to control my breathing. The first shot had to count.
I aimed at the lead car's front tire. Squeezed the trigger. The round hit true—the tire blew out with a bang that echoed off the abandoned buildings.
The gang members scattered, looking for the shooter. I had maybe ten seconds before they found me.
Move.
I sprinted toward the transport van. The two cops inside—Chen and his partner—were ducking below the windows. DeShawn was in the back seat, eyes wide with terror.
One of the gang members spotted me. He raised his weapon.
I fired twice. One round hit his shoulder. He went down screaming.
[COMBAT ACTIVE]
[SYE: 50/50 → 42/50]
The second attacker came from my left. I turned too slow—something slammed into my ribs, knocking me sideways. Not a bullet. A tackle.
We hit the pavement together. He was bigger, stronger, younger. But I had training now, however limited.
Inside. Get inside his reach.
I drove my elbow into his throat. He gagged, grip loosening. I scrambled free, but he caught my jacket, pulling me back.
The knife appeared in his hand like magic.
Oh shit.
He slashed. I threw my arm up. The blade caught my forearm—hot, bright pain that nearly made me black out. Blood sprayed across the concrete.
[DAMAGE DETECTED]
[LEFT FOREARM LACERATION — MODERATE]
[COMBAT EFFECTIVENESS: -25%]
I grabbed his knife hand with my good arm and twisted. Something popped. He screamed. The knife clattered to the ground.
I kicked it away and wrapped my arm around his neck. The chokehold was sloppy—Santos would have been ashamed—but it worked. Ten seconds of pressure and he went limp.
One down. Where's the third?
The third attacker had reached the transport van. He was pulling at the door handle, trying to get to DeShawn.
I ran. My arm was screaming. Blood dripped down my hand, leaving a trail on the asphalt. The gun felt slippery in my grip.
"Hey!"
He turned. Saw me. Raised his weapon.
I fired first.
The round caught him in the leg. He dropped, clutching his thigh, weapon spinning away across the street.
Three down. All still alive.
I reached the van and yanked open the door. DeShawn stared at me—a stranger covered in blood, breathing hard, holding a gun.
"Run," I said. "East, three blocks. There's a church. Stay there until police you trust arrive."
"Who—"
"Go!"
He ran.
The cops in the front seat were still frozen. Officer Chen's eyes met mine through the window. I saw recognition there—not of my face, but of what I'd just done. Exposed his ambush. Protected his target.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had called it in.
Time to disappear.
The veterinary clinic was in Hunts Point. Cash business, no questions. The vet—a tired woman named Dr. Okonkwo who'd clearly seen worse—stitched my arm while I bit down on a leather belt.
"Knife?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter."
"It matters for antibiotics." She threaded the needle through my skin. "This is a clean cut, at least. Missed the major vessels. You're lucky."
Lucky. I'd taken a knife wound protecting a teenager from gang members. The bar for luck had shifted considerably.
"Keep it clean. Change the bandages daily. Come back if you see red streaks—that means infection."
I paid in cash—five hundred dollars that I couldn't really afford—and stumbled back to my car.
[COMBAT COMPLETE]
[NUMBER RESOLVED]
[XP GAINED: +250]
[SYSTEM LEVEL 6 → 7]
[PC: 21 → 25]
[COMBAT READINESS: UNLOCKED — TIER 1 DEFENSIVE]
The notifications scrolled across my vision as I sat in the driver's seat, too exhausted to move. Combat Readiness. Finally unlocked. I'd earned it with blood—mine and theirs.
DeShawn Williams would testify. The gang members would be arrested. Officer Chen's treachery would eventually come to light.
And I'd learned something important about myself: when it mattered, when there was no other option, I could fight.
I found a gas station bathroom and washed the blood off my hands. The face in the mirror looked like a stranger—pale, drawn, eyes too old for Webb's features.
This is who you are now. Someone who bleeds for strangers.
I bought a candy bar from the vending machine. The first food I'd eaten in two days. It tasted like survival.
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