The nightmares never came slow.
Von jerked awake in a cold sweat, heart pounding like it was trying to punch out of his chest. The abandoned apartment he slept in was silent except for the distant bark of a dog and the hum of city sirens far away. He looked around, hand automatically reaching for the pistol under his pillow.Clear.
He sat up, hoodie still on, staring at the cracked ceiling. The air smelled like dust and dried blood. But none of that mattered.Not when he was back in his head again.
Tracy, the name hurt to think. It throbbed like a fresh wound, even though it had been nearly two years. Von leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees up, and closed his eyes.
The memories came fast, uninvited, but unstoppable. It was supposed to be a normal day.
Back then, Von and Tracy were like twins. Grew up together on the same block, learned the streets side by side. Von had always been sharper, quieter, the thinker.
Tracy was the talker, the loud one, the one who brought laughter even when the neighborhood was drowning in struggle.
"Come on, Von," Tracy had said that day, "we gon' hit up Mr. Lee's, get a plate, then go holla at Shanice. You still scared of her fine ass?"
Von had laughed. He rarely did, but Tracy knew how to pull it out of him.
They were halfway to the store , Von blinked and a sudden 10 second vision appeared where he saw Tracy lying down in the pool of blood.
He snapped back to reality, his heart pounding as faster than the speed of light, as head gasped for air.
Out of shock Tracy asked "Von you good ? Bro wassup with you?"
"Nah I'm just imagining silly things" Said Von trying to keep it cool and calm.
"You were properly imagining Shanice ass up in you face , suffocating your your weak ass sex game" Said Tracy teasing Von.
They both laughed it off and started debating about who would cuff Shanice first. Von was now at ease as if he hadn't had any horrific vision.
The van came out of nowhere, blacked-out windows, speeding down the wrong side of the street. Von's instincts kicked in. He grabbed Tracy by the shirt.
"Back! Move!"
But it was too late.
The doors of the van flew open mid-turn. Masked shooters hung out with drums and switches, unloading bullets with no warning. A BDK hit, clean and merciless.
Von ducked behind a brick wall, dragging Tracy by the arm. But Tracy wasn't moving right.
That's when Von saw it.
Blood. A spreading patch on Tracy's chest. His friend's eyes were wide, lips trembling."V-Von…"
Von's mind froze. The sounds around him faded. The shooters were still firing, but he didn't hear them. All he saw was Tracy's face. His boy. His brother, dying.
Something snapped. Time slowed.The world became quiet, eerily quiet.That's when Von first felt it.
Like a fuse had been lit in his chest. His vision blurred and refocused, but now everything looked… different. He could see the shooters' movements before they made them the twitch of a shoulder before a bullet fired, the jerk of a wrist before someone aimed. Ten seconds ahead.
He moved.
Not with fear, not even with thought. Just action.
Von snatched Tracy's pistol from his belt. His own wasn't drawn yet. He ducked, rolled forward, and returned fire,perfectly. Every bullet landed. Three of them fell before they even realized someone was shooting back.
The last man jumped back into the van and peeled off, tires screaming.
Von stood in the middle of the street, shoulders heaving, pistol still raised.
He turned.
Tracy lay there, eyes glassy, blood soaking his shirt. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. A weak smile tugged at his lips.
"I got you, bro… I got you," Von whispered, dropping to his knees. But he knew.
He was already gone.
Back in the present, Von opened his eyes. They glowed faint red in the dim light of the room.
He didn't cry. Not anymore. The tears were used up. But the rage? That was eternal. It lived in his bones now. In the red glow behind his eyes. In the tremble of his fists every time he thought about Tracy… or his father.
Von stood and walked to the boarded-up window. He peeked out, O-Block still looked the same. Maybe a little darker. Maybe he just saw it differently now.
He pulled the chain around his neck out from under his hoodie. At the end of it was a small silver bullet pendant. Inside it? A piece of the casing from the bullet that hit Tracy.
A reminder, a promise.
There was a knock at the door, three quick taps, then two slow. The BD signal.
Von opened it just enough to peek.
It was Big Dre.
"Yo," the older man said, stepping in with a heavy breath. He looked tired, like the streets had worn him down more than usual. "You really did it, huh? Leon's dead."
Von nodded.
Dre sighed. "You just kicked up a hornet's nest, lil' homie. CIA's already sniffin' around. And the BDK? They're hunting."
"Let them," Von said, voice cold. "I've been waiting."
Big Dre looked at him for a long time, then glanced around the room. "This where you been hiding all this time? Thought you was ghost."
"I was. Now I'm back."
Dre stepped closer, pulling a folded envelope from his coat. "Your mama left this with me. Said to give it to you if you ever came back for real."
Von took the envelope and sat down on the mattress. He opened it carefully.
Inside was a letter. Handwritten. His mother's handwriting.
My baby,
If you're reading this, it means you've come back into the fire.
I tried to keep you safe. But you're your father's son.
Don't just seek revenge, understand the war you're in.
Your father had a plan. There's more to the story.
Look under the floorboards at the safe house on 79th.
Everything you need to finish what he started is there.
Love always,
–Mama
Von's jaw clenched. He folded the letter and slipped it into his jacket.
Dre raised an eyebrow. "What's it say?"
"It says," Von replied, rising to his feet, "we're just getting started."
He picked up his pistol, checked the magazine, and grabbed his hoodie off the chair.
His eyes glowed again, bright, burning red.
Meanwhile…
Inside a sterile government office buried beneath the Federal Building in downtown Chicago, the air buzzed with quiet tension.
Monitors lined the wall, displaying a paused video frame from a grainy street camera outside Louis' Barbershop. Blood on the pavement. Shattered glass. A body.
In the center of the screen: Von Royner, hood up, pistol in hand, face briefly visible in a shard of reflection from a nearby car window.
A tall man in a black suit leaned forward, pausing the image at that exact second.
"That's him," he said.
Another agent nodded grimly. "He's alive."
"Scrub the video feeds. Traffic cams, body cams, any city surveillance. I want a full movement trace starting two days before the Leon Kray hit. He doesn't vanish again."
The agent stared at the screen, eyes narrowed.
"Royner's back… and it's about to get messy."