The next day felt like silence before a storm.
Zay didn't show up to school. Neither did Keys or Rico.
They weren't dodging class. They were planning war.
---
Inside their rented storage unit—bare concrete walls, one flickering bulb, and a table littered with phones, wires, maps, and wrappers—they laid it out.
"We don't match them on guns," Keys said, shoulder still wrapped. "Not yet. So we outthink them."
Zay nodded. "They came at us loud. We hit back quiet. Strategic."
Rico cracked his knuckles. "I know where two of their runners hang. They move mid-level product near Granger Park, back benches. No guards. Just attitude."
"Perfect," Zay said. "We ain't looking to kill."
"Then what?"
Zay's eyes gleamed.
"We humiliate."
---
They moved that same night.
Zay and Rico approached the benches while Keys worked the nearby street cams, jamming signals through a looped Wi-Fi spike. No digital evidence.
The two Blackhorn runners were right where Rico said—leaning back, smoking, laughing too hard like they owned the city.
Zay walked up, hood low. Calm. Controlled.
"You boys ever hear of the Cinder Crew?"
They paused.
"What?"
Then—
BAM.
Rico dropped the first one with a clean jab to the jaw. Zay stomped the second in the chest before he could pull anything. No guns. Just fists and speed.
They tied them to the bench with zip ties, stripped their jackets, spray-painted a flame on the back, and took a selfie with them unconscious.
The caption?
"Wrong park. Wrong night."
They didn't post it public. They sent it straight to one Blackhorn contact using an anonymous number.
The message was clear:
You swing, we burn.
---
By morning, every corner store kid and bike courier was whispering the same thing:
"Yo, did you hear what Cinder Crew did?"
"They tagged Blackhorns like street art!"
"They ain't scared of nothin'."
The crew's name was spreading. But so was the pressure.
"You know they'll retaliate," Keys said, sitting on the school roof later that day.
"They already did," Zay replied. "We're still breathing. That's the win."
Rico looked out at the street below, where dealers and crews moved like chess pieces.
"How far you tryna take this, Zay?"
Zay didn't answer at first.
Then, without blinking:
"Until we run this city. One block at a time."
---