? Divided We Fall ?
It was early morning, yet the hideout hummed with life. In the abandoned subway station, voices bounced off the walls, dice clattered on crates, and bursts of laughter sliced through the stale air.
In one corner, the Red Corner gang—new blood in the Wolves—lounged on threadbare blankets, rough banter spilling over each other as if competing to be heard. They’d carved the space into their own kingdom.
Vito, a fresh feather earring swaying from his ear, held court with sweeping gestures. Beside him, Jax lounged, half-lidded eyes on the scene.
“Yeah. He was fifteen or sixteen,” Vito said, grinning. “Handed me his wallet, his shoes too—didn’t say a thing!”
“It was so funny,” Jax added, his voice lazy. “Even his dad looked scared… but we can’t risk a grown-up.”
“Next time,” Vito shrugged, tossing his chin. “Let’s try it.”
Laughter flared. A few others chimed in—boasting, posturing, drunk on the smell of power.
Across the way, Lino, Tonno, and Pinch watched in silence. Pinch’s shoulders rose and fell; Tonno flexed his fingers once, then stilled; Lino’s stare never left the gang.
The noise wavered. Mira had arrived.
Her boots struck the floor in sharp, deliberate beats. The brim of her flat cap shadowed her eyes. A few younger kids quieted. Vito’s voice rose louder, trying to fill the room.
“Yo, Mira! All the slums are ours! Every coin they make, we get a cut. Next stop, the plaza!”
She stopped, tilted her head, and turned.
“Wow,” she said dryly. “Very impressive, your majesty.”
Vito grinned, puffing out his chest. “Too bad you, Tonno, Lino, and Pinch don’t tag along.”
“No need. You’re enough, and that thing in your ear.”
“Ah, the earring? You want one?” he teased, tugging it for show.
“Only if I want to look lame.”
A few snorted. Jax laughed outright. Vito tried to laugh too, but it landed thinly.
“You got a problem, Mira?” he asked, voice sharpening.
“I got a lot,” she said evenly. “We felt like real wolves. Now we’re just jackals. Proud of shaking down a scared kid?”
“We’re building strength. You got a problem with that?” Vito shot back.
“I’ve got a problem with weakness dressed as power.”
“Weakness? I almost beat you.” He leaned forward, fists clenching.
“You’ll never defeat me,” she said flatly. “Always stuck in almost.”
Jax cracked a crooked smile. “Vito, you embarrassed yourself enough last time. I think—”
“Shut up,” Mira cut in, her gaze pinning Jax like a blade. “Don’t interrupt me again.”
“My bad, ma’am,” Jax said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Tonno and Lino stepped in closer, shoulders stiff.
“Your pretty face will be ruined,” Vito sneered.
“Try me.” Mira’s tone was ice.
The room shifted. Kids formed a loose ring, drawn by the smell of a challenge.
“Enough. Both of you.” Zack’s voice dropped like an axe. He entered, silent but final, his presence bending the air.
“Hey, don’t interrupt this match, Zack!” one of the kids called.
He didn’t get to finish. Zack’s hand shot out; his throat was caught briefly, enough to make his feet shift. “Be quiet. Let me talk.”
“You swing at her, you answer to me.” His voice was final as he glared at Vito, but the latter's jaw held firm.
Tonno muttered, low and uneasy, “Not intimidated. Not by Zack. Not by Mira.”
“These two… Jax and Vito… bad news,” Lino added darkly.
“What’s going on here?” Zack asked, scanning the faces.
Mira’s gaze stayed locked on Vito.
“She doesn’t like our new policies,” Jax said lazily, stretching out his words. "Not into democracy one bit."
Zack frowned. “Mira… I don’t like what’s gotten into you.”
Mira’s breath caught, then burst out sharp. Her eyes widened with disbelief, and a flush of anger rose to her cheeks. She snapped, her voice trembling with heat. “What has gotten into me? You changed, Zack! Not me.”
The girl turned on him, shoulders stiff, as though holding herself back from striking the words into him.
“You're stuck in the past,” he replied evenly, his eyes steady. “I’m moving forward.”
“By turning us into bullies?! We earned our fights before. Respected. Feared—for the right reasons. Not on scared kids. And you say I’ve changed?!”
Zack studied her coldly, his expression carved in stone. “You’re too concerned about outsiders, not me and the gang.”
“No! It’s you I’m concerned about most!”
“She’s right,” Lino said.
“This is getting out of hand,” Tonno urged.
“I don’t like them!” Pinch yelled suddenly, eyes fixed on the Red Corner boys. "I don't like these new kids at all !"
Tonno and Lino moved between Pinch and the others, steadying him.
Mira turned to Zack. “You can end it. This”—she gestured sharply to the Red Corner boys—“will never work.”
Then she faced them squarely. “I’m barely holding myself back from breaking their bones.”
The Red Corner kids flinched, bravado thinning.
A heavy silence took over the hideout as everyone waited for Zack's response.
The boy exhaled, quiet and hard. Then he turned away. “Let’s go. Anyone wanting to grow the gang, follow me.”
“Zack!” Mira called, furious.
He didn’t look back. “Come find us when you change your mind, Mira.”
Vito whooped, triumphant. “Yay!”
Jax followed coolly. Others trailed, some eager, some hesitating.
Only four stayed: Mira, Pinch, Tonno, Lino.
Mira turned slowly. The silence behind her was a balm.
“I’m with you, Mira. No matter what,” Tonno said softly.
“Yeah!” Pinch chimed proudly.
“Damn Zack… he’s getting out of control,” Lino muttered. Then he grinned, patting her gently on the back. “But hey. You’re the boss, Mira.”
Mira tried a weak smile. Her gaze dropped. Shoulders slumped. Maybe it was all her fault.
At noon, the bell above the door tinkled softly as Alex returned from the back room, his sandwich wrapped in brown paper, still warm in his hands. The scent of bread and salted meat lingered in the little shop, mixing with the usual smells of wax, paper, and pipe tobacco.
Mr. Harris glanced up from his counter, where he was polishing a brass scale with the corner of his apron. His brows rose with a kind of mock surprise.
“Hey, kid. You’re much better today,” he said, the ghost of a smile tugging at his grizzled face. “You got your shining smile back.”
Alex grinned around a bite of bread, then swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Mr Harris. I’ll be helping out a doctor on Sundays.”
Harris tilted his head, squinting. “That why you’re happy?”
Alex nodded again, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.
“What? Is the pay not good for you?” Harris asked, more curious than critical.
“No, I’m not getting paid. I’m just volunteering, trying to not forget what my father taught me, and learn more.” He hesitated for a second. “I never told you this, but… my father is a doctor.”
Harris chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn kid. So you’re working every day now, and Sundays?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Yes, but I promise you—I won’t slack or anything here.”
Harris waved a hand. “Alright, that’s enough for today, brat. Go rest.”
“But it’s noon, Mr Harris.”
“You need your rest! Go play or something!”
Alex frowned slightly. “Are you going to be okay alone?”
Without warning, Harris reached out and smacked the back of Alex’s head—not hard, but firm enough to get his attention.
“Stop talking like you’ve been here forever! This old man ran the shop for years alone!”
“Ouch… you didn’t have to hit me though,” Alex muttered, rubbing his scalp with a mock scowl.
“I’m serious,” Harris said, already turning away to rummage behind the counter. He came back with a small cloth pouch and handed it over. “Go rest or play. Here’s your earn for today.”
Alex opened the pouch, expecting the modest weight of a half-day’s coin. But it was heavier—full.
“Thank—”
“You’re welcome!” Harris barked, and before Alex could finish, the old man gave him a swift kick on the backside—not cruel, just gruff. A little harder than usual.
Alex stumbled forward, surprised. He was used to grumbles and muttering, the occasional light scolding—but not that.
When he turned back, he saw Harris quickly turning away, wiping at his face with the back of his sleeve. His shoulders were stiff, as if bracing against something.
Alex didn’t speak. He didn’t push.
Instead, he smiled—soft, knowing. He wasn’t the only one glad to have the job back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, boss!”
Harris didn’t turn. He only muttered under his breath, low and full of feeling.
“I’m so glad he’s back.”
No sooner had Alex left Mr. Harris’s shop than a sudden hand landed on his shoulder, spinning him around with a sharp jolt.
“What?!” Alex exclaimed, heart pounding—surprise quickly folding into nervous caution as he searched for the source of the unexpected contact.
“Who is it? Who ?!” his mind raced.
A familiar grin broke through as Dante crept into view, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Wow! You scared me, Dante!” Alex said, exhaling in relief.
Dante nudged him playfully. “So, what’re you doing out here so early?”
“Mr Harris let me out early today,” Alex replied.
“Pretty boy’s lucky as always,” Dante said with a smirk.
“How’s the pay treating you?” Alex asked, genuine concern in his tone.
“Eh, not bad. Cleaning shoes is not exactly the best. Today was better than most—might call it a day early,” Dante shrugged.
Alex considered for a moment, then grinned. “Hey, how about we go hang out? Do something different.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“All we ever do is the missions, right? Let’s do something else.”
“Like a date?” Dante teased.
"I'm way out of your league."
Dante dropped to the cobblestones laughing heartily before pushing himself back up. “Good idea, buddy. You got something in mind?”
“Yes. Noor, the violinist near the fountain of the plaza. I told you about her.”
Dante’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah... come to think of it, she is pretty. I saw her from a distance, but never got the chance to talk to her. I’d love to charm her, show her the Dante side, you know?”
Alex smiled softly, eyes closing for a moment as he thought to himself, Poor Dante, she’s too wise for either of us.
“Yeah, I think she’ll like you,” Alex said with a teasing grin.
“Of course she will!” Dante boasted.
“Then let’s go find her.”
The vicious Wolves gang faction moved like a slow, dark tide through the slums—Zack at the head, flanked by Vito and Jax, and the rest of the Red Corner kids trailing behind. The streets gave way before them. Even grown men made way, lowering their eyes. There was something in the way the boys walked: not hurried, but certain. Loud and impossible to ignore.
Zack said nothing for a long while, gaze fixed ahead as they approached the plaza. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—meant only for the two nearest him.
“She wouldn’t be talkin’ like that,” he muttered, hands deep in his coat pockets, “wouldn’t be sittin’ on the other side… if it wasn’t for that day.”
Jax turned his head, curious. “What day?”
Zack’s eyes didn’t move. His tone was flat. “The day she lost.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Vito, who had been stretching his knuckles absently, raised an eyebrow.
“Mira? Lost?” he asked, with honest surprise. “You serious?”
“She got outsmarted. Didn’t even take a hit. Just… outclassed in the very end.”
Vito’s interest sharpened. “Huh. That’s something. Who was the kid?”
Zack said nothing at first. His gaze remained cold, unreadable. Vito chuckled.
“You think he’s still around? Might be fun to knock some honor outta him too.”
Jax smirked. “Vito versus mystery champ. I’d pay to see that.”
Vito leaned in, almost eagerly. “You know where he lives, Zack?”
Zack shook his head once. “No. But he’ll show up someday. Let’s head to the plaza for now.”
Vito gave a low whistle.
“Hey, I love the idea—it’s the center of the city, its heart. But, you know… some cops might be there.”
Jax, undeterred, tilted his head.
“We can try something. To make them shut up.”
Zack glanced over, amused.
“Like what? You threatening cops now? You’re just a kid.”
Jax gave a crooked smile.
“No… but there has to be another way.”
Zack’s lips curled slightly.
“Let me try something.”
They passed into the wide openness of the plaza, sunlight catching the edges of rooftops and chimneys above. In the middle distance, three constables had already spotted them—watching the boys' approach with narrowed eyes.
One was young, twenty something.
Second—in his late thirties—had a burn scar on his eye.
Third—oldest—was fat, bald, had a mustache.
“Is this the King’s army?” the oldest quipped under his breath, loud enough for his companions to hear.
Zack didn’t stop. When he reached them, he pulled a small pouch from his coat and held it out.
“Take it,” he said. “In the meantime, let us play around here for a while.”
The older of the three looked inside, then sneered.
“This is nothing, brat.”
“Just to let us enjoy the plaza for a bit. No trouble. Simple exchange. For your... hard work.”
The younger officer out of the three frowned, visibly uncomfortable. But his superior took the pouch without further protest.
“That’s alright,” the older officer said, jingling the coins in his palm. “Let ‘em roam. They’re just kids. I can buy a flower bouquet for my girl with these.”
The younger constable said nothing. He looked at Zack with something like quiet warning, but he didn’t fight the decision.
Zack turned, walking on. The gang followed, unbothered, emboldened.
"Come on now... We're taking bribes from kids now?" The younger one asked.
"Of course I'm not serious, son. If they do something, we step in. Furthermore, Captain hates reports involving minors. Last time we dragged kids in, their parents made it hell."
"But—"
“See my scar here?” the scarred one finally said, turning to the younger constable. He slid his hand into the pouch and took his share. "I got it when I was your age saving a family from a fire. My first year. I thought I'd get a compensation or at least the money to pay for the treatment. I paid for the whole thing myself in the end. Nothing wrong with saving up given our poor salaries, fresh one."
Finally away from earshot, Vito laughed, almost breathless.
“Damn, Zack. You really bribed a cop.”
Jax grinned.
“You know what? I was thinking this whole empire thing was just a joke. But now… I see it becoming real.”
Zack didn’t smile.
“Screw those corrupted cops. They are the ones who are supposed to stand up for the weak. But look at them, taking a petty bribe from me."
"The only way to survive here is through terror.”
"Whatever the show, let's not overdo it. Or else they will step in." Jax said, glancing over his shoulder at the constables.
Vito rolled his neck, eyes scanning the plaza.
“Alright. What now?”
“There.” Zack pointed toward the fountain.
An unusually large crowd had gathered—people who finally noticed, who finally chose to watch the beautiful, quiet girl playing with delicate precision, as if she were in another world. They stood side by side, curious, listening. The song reached them, but more than that—the aura, the focus, the posture, the beauty. The weather helped, too. Warm and sunny. People were surprisingly in a good mood, and the world, today, rewarded the violin girl, Noor, with more than a few glances. She played a sad melody that touched those gathered, her bow tracing a memory from when she was five—each note a fragile shard of the past brought to life.
Seven years ago.
The light in the apartment always seemed touched with grey, even on days when the sun poured generously over the city.
Noor, still six years old, stood barefoot upon the worn boards, her hands clasped behind her back. Beside her, the carpet lay threadbare but clean, its edges curling like tired paper. At the kitchen table, her mother sat with a cup of tea gone cold, eyes fixed upon a ledger whose contents she never troubled to explain.
“Mom?” Noor’s voice was soft but carried a flicker of excitement.
Aylin, her mother, turned a page with slow precision. “Yes?”
“May I go on the roof?”
Aylin looked up at that—just slightly, as though adjusting her gaze to the light. “What for?”
Noor took a small breath, the words tumbling quickly. “I want to draw something. I saw the town hall tower yesterday. It looked… soft, in the fog. Like it was sleeping. I think it would be good to try.”
For a moment she imagined it: the paper spread out before her, the pencil lines catching the pale sky.
Her mother took a sip of her cold tea, her lips barely parting. “No, Noor.”
“I wouldn’t fall,” Noor murmured, her shoulders lifting a little.
“It’s not about falling. The man in the bakery window watches the roof sometimes. You’re not to be seen.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“He doesn’t have to.”
Noor looked down. The wood beneath her feet was cold enough to bite.
“Would you come if I drew you?” she asked, almost in a whisper, glancing up just enough to search her mother’s face.
Aylin closed the ledger, folding her hands upon it. “I’m already here.”
But... was she?
It was neither cruel nor warm. It was the stating of a fact, like pointing out that the tea was cold or the sky was blue.
Noor didn’t cry. She only nodded, though the nod felt heavier than her head. She walked back to the sitting room, found her pencil stub and a square of old wrapping paper.
She did not draw her mother. Instead, with steady hands and careful strokes, she brought the town hall tower to life.
Each line deliberate, every shadow soft but precise. The fog seemed to swirl gently around the spire on the paper, capturing the quiet beauty Noor had seen the day before.
When at last the drawing was complete, she folded the paper twice with delicate care, smoothing the creases as if preserving a fragile secret, and slipped it behind the radiator.
Three days later, buried and forgotten, that quiet masterpiece would remain hidden from the world.
But Noor’s thoughts were broken by a sudden stirring—the crowd around her began to thin, whispers rising like a slow, uneasy tide.
“Let’s go.”
“Mom! I’m scared!”
“It’s those kids from the slums.”
One by one, her spectators began to melt away, faces turning pale, bodies retreating in quiet haste. The lively gathering dissolved into scattered groups moving steadily away, as if pulled by some invisible current.
Zack, flanked by his followers, strode purposefully toward the space near the fountain where Noor played.
Thank you for reading :)
?? Join the Community!
chat about the story, share theories, or help build a friendly, no-pressure community, you’re welcome to join my Discord:
-
Free to join, no profit or ads — just a place for fans and curious minds.
-
don’t have a RoyalRoad account, you can join and participate.
-