Meachum tore through the office like a man possessed.
Drawers slammed open, cabinets rattled, papers scattered across the floor as his hands shook uncontrollably. Panic had completely taken over, and the more he searched, the worse it got. His breathing turned erratic, his eyes darting wildly from one place to another as if the answer might suddenly appear if he just moved fast enough.
Not this brown bottle.
Not the blue one.
Not the black one either.
Each failure tightened the invisible noose around his neck. It felt like he was a grasshopper tied to a string, thrashing uselessly as fate dragged him toward the inevitable. The silent presence of the Shadow Legion only made it worse. They didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even seem to breathe, but their eyes were on him, and that was enough to make his skin crawl.
Just as the pressure threatened to break him completely, his hand brushed against something hidden beneath the cabinet.
The antidote.
Relief hit him so hard it almost made his legs give out. He grabbed the vial with trembling fingers and rushed back to Danny, his movements suddenly careful, almost reverent. The same man who had been spewing threats moments ago now handled him like something fragile, like a lover he couldn't afford to lose.
He tilted Danny's head back and fed him the antidote.
"Glug."
A few seconds passed, then Danny's eyelids fluttered.
Consciousness returned quickly. The first thing he saw was Meachum's face, smiling in a way that felt completely out of place after everything that had just happened. That contradiction alone was enough to trigger something deep inside him.
Before his thoughts could catch up, his body reacted.
His fist shot forward.
The punch landed clean.
Meachum's body flew backward like a ragdoll, crossing several meters before slamming hard against the ground. The impact echoed through the room, and his head struck with a sickening sound before he went completely still.
Danny stood up abruptly, his chest rising and falling as he tried to process what had just happened.
Then he noticed the room.
The Shadow Legion stood around him like silent sentinels, their presence suffocating and unnatural. At the center of it all sat a man in a chair, relaxed and composed, a demonic mask covering his face as if he had been there all along.
Danny's senses flared.
The pressure coming from that man was immense, a dense, overwhelming presence that far exceeded anything ordinary people could perceive. It wasn't just strength—it was something deeper, something refined and controlled to a terrifying degree.
"…Who are you?" Danny asked, his voice cautious.
He hesitated for a moment, then tilted his head slightly as recognition began to surface.
"The guy who treated me to dinner…?"
The masked man chuckled softly.
"You've got a good memory, my friend."
He reached up and removed the mask, revealing Locke's face.
Relief washed over Danny almost instantly. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled him into a firm embrace, gratitude evident in both his actions and his voice.
"You really came," he said. "Thank you."
For someone like Danny, who had spent years isolated in K'un-Lun and then returned to a world that no longer felt like home, moments like this carried weight. Betrayal had come quickly, trust had been shattered just as fast, and yet here was someone who had shown up when it mattered.
That meant something.
It meant a lot.
…
A sharp, rhythmic sound broke the moment.
"Beep. Beep. Beep."
Danny turned his head.
Meachum lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head, spreading across the carpet in a dark, unsettling stain. It took Danny a second to fully register what he was seeing, and when he did, his expression changed completely.
He rushed over, dropping to his knees as he lifted Meachum's body and checked him.
The longer he examined him, the colder his heart became.
No breathing.
No pulse.
Nothing.
Danny froze.
His mind struggled to accept it. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Yes, Meachum had betrayed him, had tried to drug him, had even threatened to destroy his life—but Danny had never intended to kill him.
That wasn't who he was.
For more than ten years, he had trained in K'un-Lun, following teachings that emphasized discipline, restraint, and the value of life. Killing indiscriminately was never part of that path. It went against everything he had been taught, everything he believed in.
And yet…
He had done it.
The realization hit him like a hammer.
His hands trembled slightly as he looked down at Meachum's lifeless body. Confusion, guilt, and disbelief tangled together in his chest, dragging him into a spiral of self-doubt.
Had he just broken his own code?
Was this what he had become?
Seeing this, Locke stepped forward.
He didn't rush, didn't raise his voice, didn't try to force anything. Instead, he spoke calmly, laying out the situation in a way that cut through the emotional fog.
Meachum had made the first move.
He had drugged Danny, intended to eliminate him, and escalated the situation from the start. Danny's response had been instinctive, a reflex born from training and survival, not malice.
And if Meachum couldn't survive a single punch—
Whose fault was that?
The logic was simple, almost blunt, but it was enough to make Danny pause. Still, his brows remained furrowed, his expression conflicted. The weight of his beliefs didn't disappear so easily. Like many who tried to live as heroes, he had placed chains on himself—rules, expectations, moral standards that grew heavier with every choice he made.
Every mistake became a burden.
Every failure turned into self-blame.
And unless something broke that cycle, it would only get worse.
Locke's gaze shifted toward the door.
"Looks like that moment just arrived," he said quietly.
"Bang!"
The door burst open.
A woman rushed in, her movements sharp and urgent. She was Meachum's sister, someone who had grown up alongside Danny, someone who had once shared the same childhood circle. After their father's supposed death, she had taken over the financial side of the company, managing its operations alongside her brother.
Now, she saw him lying in a pool of blood.
Her entire body tensed.
"What did you do to him?!" she demanded, her voice shaking with anger.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Locke and the Shadow Legion, but she didn't linger there. Instead, she focused on Danny. She was sharp enough to recognize the situation instantly—if she wanted answers, if she wanted leverage, she had to target the weakest point.
And right now, that was him.
Danny's expression shifted under her gaze. Guilt was already weighing on him, and her accusation only made it worse. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes directly.
That hesitation told her everything she needed to know.
Her confidence surged.
"I'll make you pay for this," she said viciously. "You'll answer for what you've done."
Locke laughed.
It wasn't loud, but it cut through the tension effortlessly.
Then he spoke.
He didn't argue. He didn't defend. He simply revealed the truth.
Their father, Harold, wasn't dead.
Years ago, he had orchestrated the plane crash that killed Danny's parents. When Danny's father had begged for help, Harold had stood by and done nothing, letting him die. As for Danny's mother, she had chosen death herself, unable to endure the loss.
The words landed like a bomb.
For a moment, the woman's arrogance vanished completely. Shock flickered across her face, but it didn't last long. Pride, denial, and desperation quickly filled the gap.
"That's a lie," she snapped. "My father is dead. Don't make up stories."
She couldn't accept it.
Couldn't accept that everything her family had built rested on betrayal and blood.
Even if it was true.
Even if they had taken everything from Danny's family—
So what?
If they hadn't, someone else would have. That was the logic she clung to, the justification that allowed her to keep standing.
"You're not my friend," she spat at Danny. "You're just a fraud pretending to be him."
Something inside Danny snapped.
His eyes turned red, the hesitation burning away as anger surged to the surface. When he looked at her again, there was no confusion left—only cold, focused intent.
"What he said," Danny asked, his voice low, "is it true?"
Locke didn't hesitate.
"I have my ways," he replied. "Nothing in this city stays hidden from me."
Danny's jaw tightened.
"That old bastard…"
He didn't let her speak again.
His hand moved, and the slap landed hard across her face, sending her to the ground instantly. The impact left her stunned, her earlier arrogance completely shattered as she lay there, unable to respond.
The room fell silent.
Danny stood over her, his expression dark, the last traces of hesitation gone.
"Next," he said, his voice steady and filled with cold resolve, "I'm going to make Harold pay for everything he's done."
.....
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