The air was thick with tension as Aaron, Matt, and Leon moved in synchronized steps toward the heart of Bishop's territory. They had come a long way, through traps, manipulation, and the remnants of their own fractured souls, but tonight—tonight was different. There would be no more hiding, no more running. This was the reckoning, and it was long overdue.
Aaron's hand flexed around the gun in his grip, the weight of it a reminder of just how much he had lost, and how much he had to gain. He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. It wasn't about the money, the power, or even revenge. It was about wiping out the poison Bishop had injected into this city—and finally taking back control of his own life.
They reached the old factory building that had once been a front for Bishop's operations. The place smelled like rust, concrete, and failure. Inside, there were no signs of life, no guards patrolling. Just emptiness. It made Aaron uneasy. Bishop didn't operate on instinct like they did. His traps were more cerebral—he wanted them to think they were winning before he crushed them beneath his thumb.
"Stay sharp," Aaron muttered, scanning the shadows around them. "He's waiting for us."
Leon grunted. "He's not the only one with a plan. We'll take him down."
Matt, his face still pale and drawn from the beating he'd taken, shuffled behind them. His steps were slower, but there was something about his presence that felt different. He wasn't just Matt anymore. He was a man broken by Bishop, and now, he was a man ready to destroy him.
They moved deeper into the factory. The oppressive silence weighed down on them, but Aaron didn't falter. Not now. They were at the edge of this twisted game, and Bishop had no idea what he was about to lose.
Without warning, a voice echoed through the factory. Cold. Calculating. "So, you finally decided to show up."
Aaron's muscles tensed as he spun toward the source of the voice. There, standing atop a metal catwalk above them, was Bishop. His dark silhouette was a stark contrast against the faint, flickering lights of the factory. His expression was calm, composed—he was the king, and they were nothing more than pawns in his game.
"Don't bother with the theatrics, Bishop," Aaron growled. "This ends tonight."
Bishop's laughter was low, mocking. "Do you really think that? You've never understood, have you, Aaron? You think you're here for revenge. For your 'soul.'" He sneered. "But it's not that simple. This isn't about winning or losing. It's about power. And you, Aaron, you've always craved it."
"Not from you," Aaron spat.
Bishop's eyes gleamed with amusement. "We'll see about that."
With a snap of his fingers, the lights in the factory flickered and dimmed. Suddenly, figures appeared from the shadows—Bishop's men. Armed, ruthless, ready to fight to the death. The final battle was upon them.