Prologue – 13 years ago
New York City Police Department, Chief's Office
For a split second before dialing the phone, Chief Sterns actually felt bad. As he slapped the juvenile file down on his desk, his eyes flitted to the two frames pictures perched precariously on the far right corner backlit by the sunlight streaming through the wide open windows on this hot summer day. The one of his wife was in an almost gaudy golden frame with vines and leaves etched in the metal. She was young and fierce in the photo with her chin length black hair spiky and windswept, framing her large light brown eyes and joyous smile. The picture of his son now showed a strong teenager, as he had layered pictures into the same simple frame year after year. His son's wide, open smile matched his happy green eyes, the same shade as his own – a light green, almost grey hue. The boy's shaggy dark brown hair was tussled.
With a huff, the Chief sat heavily into his chair, feeling the arms pinch his ever expanding love handles. He'd taken on the role of chief five years ago and it had been a rough transition from running around on the streets to attending endless meetings with equally endless doughnuts, eclairs and cheap coffee. Earlier in the morning he had verbally sparred with the red headed reporter, and had basically come to the conclusion that she was another sworn enemy to add to his growing list. He ran his large hand down his face, stripping off the thin layer of sweat that seemed to be perpetually tickling his face every day of the hot NYC summer.
He knew about the Foot Clan. He wasn't an idiot. He also knew that if the thousands of people of New York knew the truth- that an ancient clan of ninjas was taking over the underworld of the city and slowly recruiting half the teen boys into their violent life and was led by a psychopath that wore metal armor - there would be panic. Sheer, unfettered and palpable panic. No one would be safe. He had to find a way to destroy the Foot another way...without public knowledge.
He hated to admit how fiercely he was ready to protect the city and its people…even if that meant hiding all of this from them. He couldn't risk it, and he also hated the voice in his head that justified wrapping it all up tightly and silently below the public's view. Even though 9/11 had been years ago, it always felt like it just happened to him, and he knew thousands of other residents felt the same way. He couldn't risk another population, hell an entire borough, of his city being persecuted and hurt because the general public didn't listen to the whole story. They were ready for an enemy they could touch and hurt. He was still ready for an enemy, and he knew his police force was as well. So, he knew he couldn't risk approaching the Foot Clan in the same way his predecessors had approached mobs and gangs. He just couldn't, no matter the cost.
He would not allow his city and its people to tear itself apart.
He glanced down at the juvenile file and the picture of the teen boy's messy red hair and faint red freckles greeted him from under a pair of pale blue eyes. He had immediately recognized the name from having the news on mute on a small TV in the corner of his office day after day for years. The boy had been picked up for petty theft and, of all things, pick pocketing on the outskirts of Times Square. It was his first offense. Never one to miss an opportunity, Sterns smirked despite himself as he flicked the file open, ran his finger down the side of the page and stopped his trace at the home phone number. He reached over his desk to his phone, quickly dialing the number with his pinkie. As it rang crisply in his ear, he kicked back in the chair with a loud creak and propped his feet up on top of a pile of repeatedly ignored paperwork.
"Hello?"
"Charles Pennington?"
"Yes…uh yes. Who is this?"
"You got a son named Danny Charles?"