CROSSFIRE

Chapter One of a Story of Revenge, Superpowers, and Mystery.

TWO YEARS AGO

Everything was in place for the meeting in the parking garage. Overwatch was nested on top of the building across the street, which was the best option despite its obstructed view. Police officer Damon Cross sat shotgun in an unmarked car out front.

“I don’t know about this. Something feels shaky; my gut’s telling me this is a bad idea,” Damon said, his leg bouncing up and down.

“Don’t worry, kid. Your brother’s done this sort of thing a dozen times, he can handle it,” the man in the driver’s seat replied, attempting to calm Damon’s nerves.

“I know, Jason. I know. But this isn’t a small fish we are talking about. This is Eddie “Big Fin” Franklin, one of the most dangerous men in this city!”

For years, “Big Fin” had terrorized the city streets. Now, he was moving on to bigger and badder horizons: super-weapons, enhanced enforcers. Eddie was a monster, and Damon’s brother, Ryder, was being thrown into the fire.

Damon and Ryder joined the police together, and eventually they were both recruited to be part of a special task force taking down crooks like Eddie.

Ryder had gained a knack for undercover work, so naturally team leader Jason Thorne chose him to play the buyer in this sting operation meant to take down Eddie Franklin. The plan was supposed to be simple: when Big Fin showed up with his high-tech weapons, everyone would close in. But things were a little more complicated than that…

In almost every major crime deal in this city, there was an elusive, yet well connected middleman known only as The Broker.

The only way to get a meeting with Big Fin was through him. Ryder’s cover was airtight—every detail exact and double-checked, or so they thought. After some back-channel talk and encrypted dark web messages, the meeting was set.

Ryder was outfitted with a silver watch embedded with a microphone. His team could hear every word being said. He paced around the front bumper of his car as he nervously waited for the targets to arrive.

Three black SUVs pulled around the corner of the street and into the parking garage.

But that’s when things went wrong.

They lost the signal for Ryder. Comms went dark.

“Uh-oh,” groaned Jason. “Comms are out. Something’s wrong”

“I’m going in!” screamed Damon.

“Wait! Not yet! Overwatch, do you have eyes?” Jason asked.

The sniper radioed in. “It looks like Ryder is arguing. No eyes on Franklin or his men, the SUV is blocking my sight. Wait a second…”

“What? What’s happening?” Damon yelled over the radio.

“Something’s going on. Ryder’s backing up with his hands raised.”

“Screw it, I’m going in!” Damon said. As he threw open his door and ran in, gunshots rang out.

Jason ran behind him, gun in hand, but they were too late.

By the time they reached the inside, Ryder was bleeding out on the cold concrete. Jason fired off his whole magazine at the fleeing SUVs as Damon cradled his brother in his arms.

“Ryder!” he cried. “I’m so sorry! I knew this was a mistake!”

“He knew,” Ryder gasped, “he knew I was a cop. Franklin paid The Broker for the list of names on the task force, and came to this meeting to kill me. We were played, Damon.”

His eyes went glassy.

“RYDER!”

Damon’s scream echoed across the garage.

PRESENT DAY

The makeshift command center smelled like stale coffee and adrenaline. Files and wrappers were scattered across the large table in the middle of the room, dimly lit by the fluorescent light faintly buzzing overhead.

“Gather around, everyone!” Damon ordered.

In the two years since his brother was tragically murdered by Eddie Franklin, Damon was promoted to team leader after Jason Thorne was made director of the task force. Damon had been waiting for this moment: a tip had arrived that Big Fin was scheduled to have a meeting with the fabled Broker tonight in an abandoned building downtown. The two men responsible for his brother’s death, in the same place. This was his first, and possibly only shot since the past two years.

The team huddled around the table: Lopez—the loyal, yet hotheaded one, O’Malley—the broad-shouldered powerhouse, Davis—the cocky, young hotshot, and Stone—silent yet dependable. They were the best of the best, handpicked specifically by either Jason or Damon for this mission.

“Alright, team. We have one shot at this. This is the building, here,” Damon said, pointing at the map. “It’s surrounded by armed tangos, and they’ve had snipers everywhere the past three days. The Broker likes to be careful, he normally doesn’t show up like this. The best route is through here, the sewer tunnels,” he pointed further down the map. “This path right here leads us to an opening that puts us right behind the building, without having to go through all of the guards. Everyone got it?”

Everyone nodded yes.

“Good then. Load up, wheels up in ten.”

The car was parked in the alley beside the sewer grate. One by one, the men lowered down there, flashlights on and weapons ready.

It was a dripping wet nightmare of rust, rats, and darkness. The team moved in tight formation, sweeping past slimy walls and filthy water that soaked their ankles.

“Stay sharp,” Damon ordered. “Access point coming up in two hundred yards.”

“Finally get out of here. Smells like crap down here,” Lopez remarked.

“Focus!” Damon snapped.

They pressed on in silence, the only sounds being their sloshing boots and the distant drip of water. With every step, something in Damon’s gut twisted tighter. It was that same bad feeling he had the night Ryder died.

Something was wrong.

They rounded a bend, and the tunnel opened up slightly.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Gunfire rang out from in front, the muzzles lighting up the darkness like fireworks.

“AMBUSH!” Damon roared, diving behind a concrete pillar.

O’Malley took two to the head, the scarlet spraying across Lopez who returned fire. Davis tried to fall back, cursing as bullets chewed the walls around him, but he was cut down in a hail of automatic fire. Stone dropped a few attackers before a shotgun blew a hole in his chest.

Damon felt striking pain slam into his side once, twice, three times. He staggered forward, blind-firing into the shadows. Jason’s voice crackled over comms, but it didn’t matter.

Damon collapsed against the tunnel wall, blood pouring from his gunshot wounds. The last thing he saw clearly was Lopez getting executed at point-blank range.

Then everything went quiet, except the ringing in his ears.

The attackers, Big Fin and The Broker’s goons, laughed as they checked the bodies.

“Leave the leader. Let him bleed out slow. Maybe this city will get the message.”

Their footsteps faded. Damon was all alone.

He dragged himself forward on his elbows, leaving behind a thick trail of blood. Every breath burned within him.

This is it, he thought. Same as Ryder. I failed them all.

His last ounce of strength gave out and he fell into the dirty water, barely able to lift his head.

It was then that he saw something out of place.

A pair of spotless white shoes appeared in front of him, untouched by the filth.

He forced his eyes upward.

A tall man in a luxurious white-and-gold suit stood over him, looking like he’d just stepped out of a prestigious gala. His hair was perfectly styled, and his smile was one of theatrics mixed with curiosity.

“Am I dead?” Damon rasped, blood bubbling on his lips.

“Close enough!” the stranger joked.

“What are you? Some sort of angel, or a devil?” Damon asked.

The man tilted his head and smiled brightly.

“Neither!” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I’m just a special man who has grown bored with your city’s predictable little violence. Things are switching up around here! Don’t you read the news? Meta-humans running amok in the streets! I’m someone who would like a piece in the game.”

He crouched down gracefully, bending his knees so his suit wouldn’t touch the sewage.

“I have an offer for you, Damon Cross. Power. Strength beyond your imagination. A second act. Revenge, if you want it. All I ask is that you make things interesting.”

Damon coughed. “What’s the catch?”

The man’s smile widened. “No catch. If you ever quit, or cease to listen to or entertain me, you return back to this sewer. Exactly like this. Still dying. Still a failure.”

Damon stared at him a long time. Grief, desperation, and rage all warred in his head.

“Deal.”

A golden-white light exploded through the tunnel.

Damon woke up.

The burning pain was gone. The filth and blood that had covered him had vanished. His ruined tactical gear and uniform were gone, and in its place a dark suit made of unknown material. Deep matte black that swallowed the light, and accented crimson lines along with advanced armor and a belt. A mask covered his face with glowing red eye slits.

He flexed his fingers. Power surged through his muscles, making him feel stronger than he had ever felt in his life.

The man in the white-and-gold suit was still standing there, clapping enthusiastically with a wide, theatrical grin.

“Beautiful!” he applauded. “Simply beautiful! I’d give that transformation sequence a solid eight out of ten!”

Damon’s head turned towards him. “Who, or what, are you really?” he asked.

“I’m the one who just saved your life! But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here. For now you may call me…the Spectator!” he gave a little bow, his movements full of flamboyance and energy. “Now, how about you do a little test run of those new powers of yours?”

Damon looked around. He could see everything perfectly in the darkened sewer, every detail sharp. He took a step forward and willed himself into the shadows. The darkness wrapped around him like a cloak. He became nearly invisible, just another piece of the night. Damon then punched the tunnel wall. His fist sank deep into the concrete with a loud crack, sending chunks flying in the air.

“Impressive, huh?” the Spectator laughed with delight. “Superhuman strength, durability, rapid regeneration, night vision, enhanced hearing, and my personal favorite, shadow blending! You’re a force to be reckoned with now, Damon.”

Damon felt alive. Furious. Hungry.

The Spectator leaned in. “So, what’s the plan, my newly-minted avenger? Ready to put on a proper show for Old Big Fin and The Broker?”

Damon’s glowing eyes narrowed. He could hear distant heartbeats coming from the end of the tunnel.

“They killed my brother, and now my team,” his voice came out low and rough. “They aren’t ready for me now…”

The Spectator clapped again, practically vibrating with glee. “Yes! That’s what I like to hear! Go on then!”

Damon sprinted down the tunnel, faster than a human had any right to be. The shadows bent around him as he ran, cloaking his approach.

Big Fin and The Broker are dead, he thought to himself. They just don’t know it yet.

To Be Continued…

Copyright Aaron Creed 2026. All Rights Reserved.

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