Tombstone stood at the window.
He didn't say anything for a long time. Just stood there looking down at the city with his hands behind his back. The room behind him was completely still — nobody spoke, nobody shifted, nobody made a sound that might draw his attention.
The report had come in piece by piece over the last hour. His trap. The oil plan his people had spent three days setting up. Every man he'd sent — taken apart in one night. Several badly injured. A few who wouldn't be working again. And the vigilante had walked out without a scratch.
He turned around slowly.
"Every single one of them." His voice was low. That was worse than shouting. "I gave them one job." He looked around the room at the men standing along the walls. "One."
Nobody answered. Smart.
Tombstone walked to his desk and picked up the report one more time. Photos of the scene — blast marks, broken equipment, his men scattered across the dockyard floor. He looked at it for a second then dropped it back down.
"You know what the other gangs are saying right now?"
Still nobody answered.
"They're laughing." He sat down heavily. "Tombstone's crew got cleaned out by one vigilante. That's what they're saying across every operation in this city." His jaw tightened. "I built everything here on one thing. One thing. That nobody touches what's mine without bleeding for it."
He leaned back in the chair and looked at the man standing closest to the door.
"Get me Herman."
Herman Schultz was halfway through his dinner when the call came.
He looked at the number on the screen, finished chewing, then picked up.
"Yeah."
He listened for about ten seconds without speaking.
"How much?"
He listened again. A small smile crossed his face.
"Alright."
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. Herman Schultz had been doing this kind of work long enough that almost nothing surprised him anymore. The job was always the same at the end of the day — someone needed something done that they couldn't do themselves, and they called him. Simple as that.
He got up and walked to the back room of his apartment.
The suit was hanging where it always hung. Custom built over years — vibro-shock units mounted at both gauntlets, insulated from head to foot, engineered to channel and release concentrated shockwave blasts with precision. He picked up one of the gauntlets and turned it over once in his hand. Set it back down.
People called him Shocker like it was supposed to be an insult. He'd stopped caring about that a long time ago. Names didn't matter. Results did.
He looked at the suit for a moment longer.
A vigilante. Something fast, from what he'd heard. The whole city was talking about it.
He wasn't impressed. Fast meant nothing if you couldn't take a shockwave to the chest. And nobody took those.
Shocker walked into Tombstone's office without knocking.
Two of the men near the door stepped forward immediately. Shocker didn't look at either of them. He crossed the room, pulled out the chair across from Tombstone's desk, and sat down like he'd been invited to do exactly that.
Tombstone watched him without expression.
Shocker leaned back, one arm resting over the side of the chair, completely relaxed. "So," he said. "You've got a pest problem."
"I need the vigilante brought in," Tombstone said. "Alive."
Shocker repeated the word like it had an inconvenient weight to it. "Alive. That's more complicated than the alternative."
"Can you do it or not."
Shocker looked at him for a moment. Then he smiled slightly. "I watched the footage from your warehouse." He tilted his head. "Your guys put together a decent trap. Oil on the floor, snipers at every angle, cage drop from above." He paused. "Still lost."
"That's why I'm not calling my guys," Tombstone said flatly. "I'm calling you."
Shocker held his gaze for another moment, then stood up and straightened his jacket. "Double what you offered."
Tombstone's eyes narrowed slightly. "You haven't even seen him yet."
"I saw the footage." Shocker shrugged. "Fast targets cost more. That's how it works." He picked up his jacket from the arm of the chair. "Double. And I work alone. No backup, no babysitters, nobody getting in my way when I'm operating."
The room stayed quiet.
Then Tombstone nodded once.
Shocker turned toward the door.
"One more thing," Tombstone said.
Shocker stopped but didn't turn around.
"I want him breathing."
Shocker glanced back over his shoulder. "I said alive, didn't I."
He walked out.
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