The rain came without warning.
It wasn't the soft drizzle of summer, or the gentle cascade of spring.
It was a furious, torrential thing — crashing down in sheets, drowning the city in a torrent of water and despair.
Damon stood at the edge of the rooftop, staring out at the horizon, where the storm swallowed the skyline whole. His hair clung to his forehead, wet strands hanging in his eyes. He didn't care.
He hadn't cared about much lately.
---
The night after their first move, something shifted in the air.
It wasn't just the storm. It was the sense of tension that had built up like a string pulled too tight.
Every shadow on the street felt like a threat.
Every face a potential enemy.
Every turn of a corner felt like it could be their last.
But they didn't stop.
They couldn't.
They had drawn blood now, taken their first steps into the world they were too afraid to touch before. And once you crossed that line, there was no going back.
Marcus was the first to voice it out loud. "They're going to come for us."
It wasn't a question. It was a certainty.
Damon had known it from the moment the suits started to patrol their neighborhood. They were out for revenge. The city would never forget the insult of being challenged by the people who had always been beneath them.
"We're too small for them to ignore," Damon muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His fingers curled into fists as he watched the storm lash against the windows. "But I don't care."
---
The storm didn't stop the next day.
It didn't stop the day after that either.
The floodwaters rose.
And with them, the stakes.
---
Callie had been restless, pacing the broken floorboards in their hideout. She was clutching a revolver, the weight of it grounding her to the world around her. "We need to hit harder," she said, eyes flashing with that familiar dangerous gleam. "They'll never leave us alone. So why don't we take it all?"
Jasmine shot her a look. "You're not thinking of starting a war, are you?"
Callie smirked, an expression that was part defiance, part dare. "You don't get to make a change by whispering in the dark. You do it by ripping out what's holding you down."
Adrian, still not speaking much, watched them both from his corner. His fingers twitched, restless with the need to do something — anything. His eyes were full of quiet rage. He hadn't said a word since the night they'd made their first move, but Damon could see the fire burning behind them.
They were all feeling it now.
The storm outside had a rhythm — a beat of chaos and inevitability. The water pouring from the sky had already begun to flood the streets. The gutters were overflowing. People were starting to drown in the rising tide. And that's when it hit Damon:
The city was as vulnerable as it had ever been. They just had to be the ones to take it.
"Alright," Damon said after a long pause. "We're going after the biggest target."
The room fell silent as the weight of his words sank in.
---
They didn't waste time.
By dusk, Damon and his crew were already moving. The city was a maze of flooded streets, dimly lit alleys, and crumbling ruins. The suits thought they had control, but Damon saw the cracks. He saw the opportunity.
The target was an old manufacturing facility in the heart of the district, owned by one of the wealthiest corporate families in the city. It was one of those places that had been there for decades, built on the backs of the people who'd bled to make it run. The suits used it for laundering money, moving goods that couldn't be tracked, and keeping the local officials in their pockets.
A fortress of greed. A heart of corruption.
It was the perfect place to send a message.
---
They infiltrated under the cover of the storm, using the flooding as a perfect distraction. The rain hammered down on them, soaking them to the bone, but they didn't stop. The water helped them move unseen through the crumbling city streets.
Adrian led the charge, moving like a shadow. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, as he disabled security systems and unlocked doors. He was the one who'd learned to adapt to the chaos, turning every piece of junk into a tool of survival.
They moved through the facility's corridors like ghosts, their footsteps barely a whisper on the slick concrete floors. Callie was in the front, eyes sharp, always looking for the next threat. She knew they couldn't afford to be careless now.
"Stick to the plan," Damon ordered, voice low. "Get in, get what we need, and get out."
But nothing ever went according to plan.
---
They made it to the heart of the facility in less than an hour, but the second they breached the vault room, it all fell apart.
The doors had been booby-trapped. They were locked tighter than expected. And they had no time to waste.
"Shit!" Marcus cursed, smashing his fist against the door. "We need a way in. Now."
Adrian pulled a small device from his bag, hooking it up to the control panel. He worked fast, fingers flying over the keys, sweat running down his forehead.
The alarms started blaring.
"Get ready!" Damon shouted.
The vault doors swung open with a low groan, revealing stacks of cash, weapons, and documents that could bring down the most powerful families in the city.
It was a gold mine.
But before anyone could grab a single thing, the sound of boots echoed down the hallway.
They were too late.
---
Suits flooded the room, guns raised, their faces hidden behind masks of smug confidence.
Damon's heart pounded. The world narrowed to the cold, calculating eyes of the enemy.
But this time, Damon wasn't afraid. Not anymore.
"Move!" he shouted, pushing Callie toward the back of the room. The others scattered, finding cover.
Gunfire erupted in the cramped space, shattering windows, knocking over metal shelves. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, sweat, and blood.
Damon grabbed the first weapon he could find — a discarded shotgun — and fired into the crowd of enforcers. One of them fell, the others scattering.
Marcus swung a metal pipe, knocking another man to the ground, while Savannah's voice rang out with a shrill battle cry. The odds were stacked against them, but the fire in their veins burned hotter than any fear.
Adrian was a blur, darting in and out of cover, his eyes sharp and deadly. He had become more than just the quiet boy they had taken in — he was a force now.
Callie wasn't far behind, throwing knives with deadly accuracy, her aim impeccable as ever. Each throw was a message, each slice a warning. She'd been here before.
And they weren't leaving without something to show for it.
---
The firefight raged for what felt like an eternity, but eventually, the suits retreated. They couldn't take down the ragtag group that had come for their gold.
Damon stood in the middle of the battlefield, chest heaving, blood staining his clothes. He didn't care about the bodies. He didn't care about the mess.
He cared about what they'd just stolen.
---
They didn't stay long after that.
By the time the last of the suits had retreated, Damon and his crew had disappeared back into the shadows. The city outside had swallowed them whole again. But this time, they didn't feel so small.
They didn't feel so helpless.
---
The storm didn't stop, but Damon could see it now — the horizon wasn't as far away as it had been before.
They'd taken a piece.
And they weren't going to let it go.
---
As dawn broke and the storm finally began to ease, Damon stood in the middle of the street, staring at the wreckage of the facility they'd just torn apart. There was a faint glimmer of orange in the sky — the first sign of the sun rising through the dark clouds.
The city was broken, he thought.
But so were they.
And together, they'd break it wide open.
---