Striker of The Gods

“You’re late,” Caos said, his voice low, each syllable clipped like a blade being sharpened. He stepped forward, the gravel crunching under his boots, his gaze locked on Jack’s. The years hadn’t softened the edge in his eyes; if anything, they’d honed it.

Jack spread his hands, palms up, a gesture that might’ve passed for peace if not for the tension in his jaw. “Didn’t think you’d show, Caleb. Thought you’d be smarter than this by now.”

“Don’t call me that,” Caos snapped, his voice a whipcrack in the quiet. “Caleb died the day you sold him out. You think a new name makes you clean, Jack? You think I forgot?”

The air between them crackled, charged with the weight of a rivalry born in blood and betrayal. Ten years ago, they’d been brothers in all but name, running heists with a crew that trusted them implicitly. Caos had been the strategist, the one who saw three moves ahead; Matt had been the face, the one who could talk their way out of anything. But when a job went south, Maat had cut a deal with the feds, pinning the blame on Caos to save himself. Caos had spent three years in a cell, his trust shattered, his future stolen. Now, the sight of Jack stirred a fury in Caos that burned hotter than he’d expected, but beneath it, a flicker of something else—grief for the friend he’d lost.

Jack’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a crack in his armor. “I didn’t have a choice, Caos. You know how it was. They had me cornered—”

“Cornered?” Caos laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the warehouse walls. “You had a choice. You chose yourself. Always did.”

Jack took a step closer, his voice dropping to a raw whisper. “You think I wanted to? You think I sleep easy knowing what I did? I’ve been running from that day as long as you have.”

“Then why are you here?” Caos’s fingers curled into fists, his knuckles whitening. “To beg? To gloat? Or just to see if I’d put a bullet in you?”

Jack’s gaze didn’t waver, though his hand hovered near his pocket. “I’m here because we’re not done. Not with each other, not with what we started. There’s a job, Caos. One last score. Are you in, or are you going to keep chasing ghosts?”

Caos took a while to respond.  His thoughts were racing, balancing what Jack had spoken with their past.  Whatever the position was, it was an opportunity to entice him back into a world he had vowed to abandon.  Yet the stream of revenge was stronger, pulling him in the direction of a reckoning he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted.  His boots scraped the gravel as he took a step back, and the gap between them seemed insurmountable.  Not quite yet.

 At last, Caos muttered, ”Walk away, order,” in a calm but foreboding tone.  ”I won’t repeat myself next time.”