Home / Urban / ROCKY - Operation Vengeance / Chapter 8-Enough pretending
Chapter 8-Enough pretending
Author: D.twister
last update2025-03-15 22:12:02

A black Benz—parked across the Collins mansion.

Inside—

Freddy.

Silent.

Watching.

The mansion doors had barely shut before Alfred emerged.

Cool. Collected.

His stride—unhurried.

Purposeful.

He slipped into his car.

The engine purred.

Then—

He was gone.

Freddy’s fingers drummed against the wheel.

Interesting.

So he knew.

And if Alfred knew—

He was keeping it from Maverick.

Freddy exhaled.

A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips.

Then—

A sound.

Ping. His phone screen lit up.

A message.

Voice note.

He tapped.

A low voice crackled through the speakers.

“We found him, sir.”

Freddy’s gaze darkened.

His fingers flexed.

Then—

He swiped.

Pressed.

A reply.

His voice—calm. Smooth.

“Very good.”

A pause.

Then—

A whisper.

“Don’t lose him.”

His gaze flicked to the road ahead.

His smirk—widened.

“You know what to do.”

The message sent.

4 hours

Night.

Rain.

Falling—hard. Fast.

Footsteps.

Racing through the empty streets.

Rocky.

Breathing heavy.

Running.

His heartbeat—thunder in his ears.

Behind him—

Yelling.

Jerry’s men.

Closer.

He turned a corner—

An alleyway.

Dead end.

He spun.

Too late.

They were there.

Blocking the way.

“Nowhere to run.”

Rocky’s fists clenched.

His breath—fog in the cold air.

So this is it.

It all ends here.

Then—

Headlights.

A van—rolling in slow.

Two men stepped out.

Dark coats. Steady eyes.

Jerry’s men turned.

“Who the hell are you?”

The men—unbothered.

“We’ve come for Rocky.”

Their voices—familiar.

Rocky’s stomach twisted.

He knew them.

His kidnappers.

One of Jerry’s men sneered.

“Yeah? Too bad. Rocky’s our problem now. And our boss wants him dead.”

Tension thickened.

Then—

Engines.

Two black SUVs pulled up.

Doors swung open.

Twelve men.

Black suits. Black weapons.

Their faces—expressionless.

Jerry’s men tensed.

The kidnappers tensed.

One of them spoke.

“You with us?”

Silence.

Then—

The bodyguards drew their weapons.

Not with them.

Not with anyone.

Just death—wrapped in black.

Gunfire.

Chaos.

A bullet sliced past—

Rocky’s head.

Pain.

His vision—blurred.

A ringing—loud, sharp.

Then—

Visions.

Bodies.

Gunshots.

War.

The past—crashing into the present.

Somewhere—

A voice crackled through an earpiece.

“We got Rocky.”

A reply.

Cold. Commanding.

“Good. Kill him.”

The bodyguards advanced.

The others—arguing over who would do the killing.

It didn’t matter.

Death had already made its choice.

One of them stepped closer.

Gun raised.

Rocky—

On his knees.

Clutching his head.

Then—

A chuckle.

Low. Rough.

“Violence… violence…”

His voice—shaking with something dark.

“I try to avoid it.”

A smirk.

“But it just keeps coming.”

His fingers twitched.

“So I have no choice…

A gust of wind.

A screech from above.

Then—

The eagle.

Rushing down like vengeance.

Talons—digging into the bodyguard’s eyes.

A scream.

Blood.

The man dropped his gun—writhing in agony.

The eagle—perched on Rocky’s outstretched arm.

Its sharp gaze—piercing through the storm.

Rocky stood.

Eyes—burning.

He looked at the men.

Then—

A he spoke with seriousness

“What sleeps beneath fire, but wakes to flood the land with red?”

Silence.

Then—

The ground—Vibrating.

A deep, rolling tremor—spreading through the alley.

The walls—shuddered.

Then—

Crack.

Stone split.

Dust.

Then—

Collapse.

The wall behind Rocky—torn apart.

And through the rubble—

Steel Tankers.

Massive. Unyielding.

Their cannons—locked on the alley.

The men turned.

But above—

Rotors.

Wind howled as choppers hovered.

Floodlights Blinding.

Shadows descended.

Soldiers.

Boots slamming into the wet pavement.

Guns—raised.

Precision.

No wasted movement.

A perfect machine—built for one purpose.

Eradication.

Jerry’s men—silent.

The kidnappers—frozen.

The men in black—gripping their weapons.

But they knew.

They were outnumbered.

Trapped.

Rocky—stood still.

Unbothered.

The eagle on his arm—unmoving.

Watching.

Then—

His voice.

Calm. Unshaken.

“The answer to the riddle?”

He exhaled.

Then—

A whisper.

“War.”

SOMEWHERE ELSE—

Glass.

Shattered.

Beer—spilled across the table.

Jerry’s fingers—tight around the bottle’s neck.

His jaw—clenched.

Fury in his eyes.

“Where is he?”

His voice—thunder in the dimly lit room.

His gaze—fixed on Mickey.

Bleeding.

Face swollen.

Jerry’s men had beaten him—black and blue.

Beside him—

Melissa.

Bound to a chair.

Silent.

Watching.

The door—creaked.

Footsteps.

Jerry’s man returned.

His faces—drained.

Something was wrong. But he remembers sending like 8 men but only one is returning

Jerry leaned forward.

Expecting.

His tone—low. Dangerous.

“Why are you silent?”

A pause.

Then—

His voice—sharp.

“What’s the update on Rocky? Have they killed him?”

The man—hesitated.

His lips trembled.

Then—

A whisper.

“Sir… if you knew who he was…”

A deep breath.

“You wouldn’t be able to live in this world again.”

Jerry’s brow furrowed.

Confusion.

Then—

Annoyance.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He scoffed.

“Isn’t he just the loser everyone knows?”

A long silence.

Then—

The man’s voice—barely above a breath.

“He’s……….The Ace”

The room—frozen.

Mickey’s eyes—widened.

Melissa—stiffened.

The name— only is king of nightmares.

Jerry’s grip on the bottle loosened.

He frowned.

A chuckle—disbelieving.

“The Ace?”

Impossible.

The legendary warlord.

The ghost of the battlefield.

The man who single-handedly turned the tide of war.

Captured territories with only a handful of soldiers—against entire armies.

A myth.

A monster.

Jerry’s stomach twisted.

“No… no, that’s not possible…”

Then—

The door.

Opened.

Jerry’s men—silent.

Still.

Eyes—wide with terror.

Jerry turned.

And there—

He stood.

Rocky.

Drenched in rain.

Cold.

Motionless.

Jerry—

Couldn’t move.

His breath—caught.

A sharp chill—rushed through his veins.

Fear.

Pure.

Raw.

Then—

Jerry scrambled.

Hands shaking.

Grabbing a chair.

Placing it—before Rocky.

His legs—buckled.

Then—

He dropped to his knees.

Head bowed.

Voice trembling.

“Forgive me.”

Rocky’s gaze—

Shifted.

To Mickey.

Weak.

Barely holding on.

Then—

To Melissa.

His dear wife.

Rocky exhaled.

Then—

His voice.

Low. Steady.

“I’m only going to play nice.”

Jerry—flinched.

His breath—ragged.

His face—wet.

Tears.

Mixed with sweat.

Regret—dripping from every pore.

“Rocky… i mean my lord….I swear… I didn’t know—”

His voice—shaking.

“If I knew who you were… I never… I never would have—”

A pause.

Then—

A whisper.

“Touched your wife.”

Melissa’s fingers twitched.

Her jaw—tight.

Her hatred—silent.

But Rocky?

Still.

Unmoved.

Then—

A single nod.

Slow.

Controlled.

“Good.”

His voice—like steel.

“Then show me.”

Jerry’s head snapped up.

Confused.

Rocky’s gaze—cold.

“Where are those hands?”

A pause.

“Raise them.”

Jerry’s breath hitched.

His lips—quivering.

Slowly—

He lifted his left palm.

Trembling.

Shaking.

Rocky—

Nodded.

Good.

Then—

His eyes—shifted.

To his soldiers.

A command.

Sharp.

Unquestionable.

“Release my wife.”

The soldiers moved.

Swift. Efficient.

The ropes—cut.

Melissa—freed.

Her hands—rubbing her wrists.

But her eyes—

Still locked on Jerry.

Then—

Another command.

His hand—pointing.

Mickey.

“Bring him.”

The soldiers obeyed.

Lifting Mickey—careful.

Supporting him.

Guiding him toward Rocky.

Mickey—dazed.

Breathing heavy.

But alive.

Then—

Rocky’s gaze returned.

To Jerry.

Dark.

Final.

“And him…”

His voice—low.

Unshaken.

That single word—

A death sentence.

Jerry’s stomach—dropped.

Rocky’s eyes—on his hand.

Cold. Calculated.

“Cut off that hand.”

Jerry’s breath—stopped.

His heart—froze.

“No—”

A whisper.

Then—

A cry.

“NO! PLEASE!”

His body—shaking.

“I’LL DO ANYTHING—PLEASE!”

His voice—cracked.

Broken.

Desperate.

But Rocky?

Unmoved.

His soldiers—

Stepped forward.

Blades—gleaming.

Jerry’s screams—

Echoed.

Then—

Steel met flesh.

A single strike.

A wet thud.

Then—

Silence.

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