Chapter 3 Hardening

Streets flooded with rivers of filth and broken dreams as the city gets pounded by the rain. Heavy grief pressed on him as though it were a 100 kg weight placed on him. He walked down the street in the rain. Face hidden in the hood.

He was not the same man who had hurried home days earlier, desperate to be with his parents. That man had died the moment he had read the death certificates, the moment he knew his sister, his last bit of family, was dead.

Now, there was only the hollow, angry version of himself.

A streetlamp buzzed and fluttered above his head as he walked toward the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. This was the meeting place. Where the nightmares ceased, or began.

The gang he once belonged the one that had been ambushed- had playground antics compared to the gang he was meeting tonight. The Venom Fangs. Ruthless. Relentless. Powerful. If you needed protection, money, or revenge, you went to them.

But once you were in, there was no turning back.

Robinson exhaled, his breath misting in the chill air. He was not here to go back.

A shadow moved at the edge of his vision. Then another. Men and women stepped into the light, faces hidden under hoods and masks. One tall man shouldered forward, his presence a vacuum, drawing the air toward him.

Devon Black. The leader.

"Late," Devon said, his voice smooth, but sharp, like a knife scraping against glass.

Robinson stared back at him, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "I came to join."

A low laughter ran through the crowd. Someone spat on the floor. Another muttered something Robinson couldn't pick up.

Devon tilted his head, regarding him. "You think you can just walk in here and insist on getting in?" He stepped toward him, crunching gravel with his boots. "You've got blood on your hands, kid?"

A commotion erupted suddenly- someone pulled a man forward, pushing him to his knees in front of Robinson. A man, trembling, was staring at him; his hands bound behind him, a gash on his cheek, crimson with blood.

Robinson's heart pounded in his ears.

"This rat burgled from us," Devon said, nodding toward the man. "If you're in, take him out."

The gun was heavier than it ought to have been as it was pushed into Robinson's hand. The cold steel bit into his palm like a cruel reminder of the choice before him.

The man on the ground cried. "Please," he begged. "I have a family."

Robinson's grip tightened on the gun.

He thought of his own family. The ones who were already gone.

He thought of Lucy.

A sharp breath. A second of hesitation.

Then-

A gunshot shattered the night.

The body slumped. The rain washed the blood into the cracks of the pavement.

Robinson didn't feel anything.

Devon grinned. "Welcome to the Venom Fangs."

A hand clapped against Robinson's shoulder, and the group erupted into murmurs. But his mind was empty, his heart cold.

The last piece of him had just died.

Then, just as the surrounding voices faded into the night, another gunshot rang this time from the rooftops.

A scream. A flash of movement.

And before Robinson could react, the world exploded into chaos.

A night of chaos, full of shouts and fire exchanges. The initiation had turned into chaos following the gunfire from the rooftop. Footsteps thudded on the sidewalk. Robinson scarcely had time to consider before Devon yanked him back into the shadows.`

"Sniper!" someone shouted.

Robinson's mind spun. He hadn't even had a moment to think about what he'd just done-what he'd just become-before a new horror was revealed to him.

Venom Fangs fled and ran, dashing behind dumpsters, crates, whatever. A second bullet cracked, hitting the ground inches from Robinson's boot. His muscles froze.

"MOVE!" Devon shouted, shoving him through a rusty metal door. Robinson staggered through, catching himself by the hair as the door closed behind him.

Inside, it was thick with cigarette smoke and perspiration. The warehouse itself was enormous, a labyrinth of steel columns and boxes, lost corners in the dark. Devon's gang members were already there, sharing hushed words among themselves, eyes flicking in Devon's direction.

"We have a problem," one of them snarled.

"No kidding." Devon's voice was cold, calm. He turned to Robinson, his eyes dark and calculating. "Congratulations, rookie. Looks like your first job's coming sooner than expected."

Robinson's pulse hammered. "What job?"

Devon smirked. "The one that proves you belong here."

Time dragged on as Robinson sat in the back of a sleek black SUV, his knees bouncing nervously. His fingers followed the shape of the gun in his lap. The city lay before him, yellow streetlights bleeding into the darkness, a pulsating world oblivious to the conflict simmering just beneath the surface.

Devon sat beside him, spinning a knife between his fingers."Your first major job's simple," he said. "There's a politician, a big name. But he's got debts-debts he ain't paid." He flicked the knife up, caught it effortlessly. "Your job? Collect."

Robinson swallowed hard. "And if he refuses?"

Devon grinned. "Then you make him regret it."

Robinson nodded, his fist around the gun. Heart pounding. Of course, he knew violence, but this was not the same. There was no gang war, no revenge. This was business.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a towering glass hotel. Devon gave Robinson a lazy nod. "Go on then, kid. Show us you belong."

Robinson stepped out, adjusting his hoodie. Every step toward the hotel felt heavier, like he was walking deeper into something he could never escape.

He wondered how he would make it out of the hotel, seeing that politicians usually have heavy guards around them. But little did he know that the boys working for the sanetor are Peter's ( a deadly drug lord, an ally to the leader of the 'fwangs', Devon). That way, Peter played his game into the corridors of power to have his crimes covered by the lawmakers and authorities. The boys have been instructed not to respond to any threat today. And the senator is now in for it.

Inside, the atmosphere was chilly, expensive. A man in a navy-blue suit was sitting by himself at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. Senator Douglas was his name.

Robinson walked in. "Senator."

The man glanced up, frowning. "Do I know you?"

"You owe the Venom Fangs."

Silence. "The senator was shocked to hear that. The senator whispered, his voice shaking. "I need more time." I swear, I"

Robinson's restraint cracked. Swift as an eagle to the prey, so went Robinson on him. Hand to the lapels and then a yank out of the chair.

The bartender gasped, and a few of the customers turned to look, but no one could step in.

"Walk," ordered Robinson.

On unsteady legs, he led him to the back of the hotel. Robinson held him tight, his own heart working regularly. He felt Devon's eyes on him from the waiting car outside, waiting. Watching.

It was darkly lit outside the alleyway and had an odor of spoiled food. Robinson shoved the senator into the wall of the bricks.

"Last chance," Robinson commanded, waving the gun. "Where's the money?"

"I, I don't have it," the senator stuttered. "Please, I just need ...."

Robinson never gave him the space to land the lies he had just cooked; rather, he pressed the barrel against the man's forehead. The seriousness of the situation was daunting. There could be no turning back if he pulled the trigger.

Just a moment of uncertainty.

The senator's phone rang in his pocket. Robinson's eyes flicked down, and before he could react-

A sudden movement.

The senator lunged.

The gun fired.

Blood sprayed against the wall. The senator collapsed, gasping, his hands clutching his stomach. His mouth opened as if to say something, but the words never came.

Robinson's breathing was ragged. The gun shook in his hand. His first major crime. His first step into the abyss.

Then-

A voice crackled in his earpiece. Devon.

"Leave him."

Robinson hesitated, staring at the dying man. "What?"

"We got what we needed."

Robinson glanced down. The senator's phone had fallen to the ground, the screen glowing with a text message.

"The money has been moved. It's safe now."

Safe where?

Robinson's mind spun. This wasn't just about debts. There was something bigger at play.

He turned to leave, but before he could take a step.

The senator grabbed his ankle.

His lips moved.

A whisper.

A name.

Robinson's blood ran cold.

"...Lucy."

The world tilted.

His sister?

How did this man know her name?

The senator coughed, blood pooling beneath him. His hand slipped away. His body went still.

Robinson stared, his breath frozen in his lungs.

Devon's voice came through the earpiece again, sharper this time. "Get back in the car, rookie."

But Robinson barely heard him.

His sister's name.

What the hell was going on?