Chapter 4 - The Price of a Fracture
Damian Graves was a mountain of a manâsix-foot-four, covered in tattoos, and possessing a reputation for breaking dockworkers' bones whenever the shipping unions didn't cooperate. He was currently sitting in his luxury living room, watching an action movie on a massive theater screen while his four bodyguards played poker at a round table nearby.
"Hey, Damian, you seen Ryan?" one of the guards asked, tossing a chip into the pot. "His phoneâs been off for hours. The old man is starting to get annoyed."
"The kidâs probably hiding under some girlâs sheets," Damian laughed, a booming, arrogant sound. "Heâs got no stomach for the family business. You saw him last nightânearly threw up when I cracked Tessa'sâ"
Before Damian could finish the sentence, the lights in the entire guesthouse went pitch black. The movie screen died instantly, plunging the room into absolute darkness.
"What the hell? Check the breakers!" Damian shouted, standing up.
A silent, terrifying sequence unfolded in the dark. The sound of a heavy body hitting the floor echoed through the room, followed by a wet, choking gasp. Then another. And another. Within twelve seconds, four distinct thuds rattled the floorboards.
"Hey! Answer me!" Damian roared, pulling a custom gold-plated .45 caliber pistol from his waistband. He flicked on the flashlight attachment, sweeping the beam across the room.
The light illuminated his four bodyguards. All of them were lying flat on the floor, unconscious, their zip-ties secured tightly around their wrists and ankles.
Standing in the center of the beam, completely unbothered by the light, was Jack. He was holding a heavy, solid iron crowbar he had retrieved from Damian's own garage.
"You... you're that soldier boy," Damian stammered, his confidence faltering for a fraction of a second before his massive ego took over. He aimed the pistol directly at Jackâs chest. "You think you can sneak in here and scare me? Iâll put a bullet through your skull and have the cops bury you in the swamp!"
Damian squeezed the trigger.
The gun didn't fire. The firing pin clicked against an empty chamber. While the lights were out, Jack hadn't just neutralized the guards; he had used a localized electromagnetic pulse pocket device to fry the electronic components of Damian's customized luxury firearm.
Before Damian could process the mechanical failure, Jack closed the distance between them with a speed that defied human anatomy. The iron crowbar swung through the air, catching Damian directly across his right forearm.
CRACK.
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A sickening splintering sound echoed through the room as Damianâs arm bent at an impossible angle. The gold pistol clattered to the floor as the giant let out a roar of absolute agony.
"That's one," Jack said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he raised the iron bar again. "Thirty more to go, Damian. Letâs see how many strikes you can survive."
