On a dark and stormy afternoon in Brisbane, thunder crashed across the sky, and lightning flashed, casting shadows on the city streets below. In an abandoned building, George Lee Lewis, a 36-year-old Foxhound, and Johny Manson, a 35-year-old Beagle, were deep in conversation. Both were seasoned criminals with a reputation that spread across Australia. They'd amassed a vast arsenal of stolen weapons from around the world, including powerful firearms and heavy weaponry from manufacturers like H&K, Pindad, Bazalt, Remington, Colt, and even Kalashnikov.
These weapons were carefully guarded by "The Savage," their organization of hardened criminals. The Savage was well-organized, and both George and Johny were ruthless in pursuit of their goals. George, the group's leader, was known for his cunning plans, while Johny, his loyal partner, had an easygoing demeanor despite his criminal tendencies. As lightning illuminated the room, they finalized their plan for their next big heist.
"Is there any idea for our next move?" Johny asked, glancing at the rain pouring outside.
George leaned forward, eyes sharp. "We'll take action at the WET Deck," he said. "Level 4, 81 North Quay. It's in the heart of Brisbane. We'll start a hostage situation just before midnight on New Year's Eve."
Johny grinned, nodding in approval. "Good," he replied. "We'll make this one big. Been a while since we've had a score like this."
At that moment, a 28-year-old Basenji named Karen Alyssa joined them. A key operative in their organization, Karen had a reputation for getting things done efficiently. "Hey, guys," she greeted them, a smirk on her face.
"Ah, Karen, our best support operative," Johny said with a grin.
"Karen," George said, "you know the drill. You'll have the same role as usual. Make sure we have all the backup we need in case anything goes south."
She nodded, smirking confidently. "You got it," she replied.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, creating the perfect cover for the criminal group's movements. Their crew, around 40 strong, prepared themselves with all the stolen weaponry. They were dressed in dark clothing, ready to blend into the night as they made their way to their target.
With the clock ticking down to New Year's Eve, George and Johny climbed onto the bus they'd stolen just days prior. Disguised as a Brisbane Transport bus, it was painted white with yellow at the front and rear and a blue stripe along the bottom. Perfectly ordinary to anyone who saw it driving through the city.
"Alright, everyone," George commanded, his voice loud over the rain pattering on the roof. "This is the big one. Stay sharp. And remember – no mistakes."
The bus pulled out, merging into the evening traffic, its passengers armed and ready. Brisbane was oblivious to the danger coming its way, and with the thunder echoing ominously overhead, The Savage was on the move.
As the rain continued to fall over Brisbane, Bandit and his family drove through the wet streets in his orange Mitsubishi Pajero. Chilli sat in the passenger seat while Bluey and Bingo were in the back, excitedly chattering about the New Year's Eve party they were on their way to at the WET Deck.
"We're going to the New Year's Eve party!" Bluey cheered, her tail wagging.
"Yeah! New Year's party!" Bingo echoed, bouncing in her seat.
"That's right, mate!" Bandit grinned as he steered through the city streets, splashing through puddles. "We're going to celebrate with joy!"
Following behind them was Stripe and his family in his sleek black Audi Q7. Inside, Stripe and Trixie were in high spirits, chatting about the upcoming celebration while Muffin and Socks sat eagerly in the back.
"So, we're celebrating New Year's, aren't we?" Trixie said with a smile.
"Yep," Stripe replied, keeping his eyes on the road. "And I promise there won't be any, uh, mishaps like at Radley and Frisky's wedding." He grimaced a little, remembering how he'd gotten a bit too excited and ended up a bit, well, tipsy.
Muffin, listening from the back, raised an eyebrow. "We're watching you, Dad," she said sternly, making Stripe chuckle nervously.
"Right… thanks, Muffy," he said. Trixie couldn't help but smile, glancing back at Muffin.
"It looks like Muffin's growing up fast," Trixie remarked.
"Yeah, four years old already," Stripe replied with pride in his voice.
By the time they pulled up to the WET Deck, the rain had started to ease, and the sky was still gray and overcast. Bandit parked his Pajero, and as he stepped out, he spotted something odd—a Brisbane Transport bus parked nearby. The bus was empty, and something about it just didn't sit right with him.
"Huh… Why's there a public bus parked over here?" he muttered, glancing around suspiciously.
Stripe, who parked his car closest to the bus, had also noticed. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, catching a glimpse of the oddly parked vehicle and the shadowy figures moving inside.
"What's wrong?" Trixie asked, picking up on his concern.
"Oh, uh… nothing, honey," Stripe replied, shaking off his unease. "Come on; it's already 6:30. We're late and missing the fun!"
As Bandit, Stripe, and their families gathered and began heading toward the WET Deck entrance, Bandit couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was off. He noticed a few other bystanders glancing toward the parked bus as well, murmuring in confusion. Inside the bus, George and Johny sat with their henchmen, watching the building and waiting for the right moment to put their plan in motion. They hadn't expected so many people to be gathering so soon.
"What's the plan?" Johny asked, peering through the bus window, his eyes narrowing as he watched families and partygoers heading inside.
"Patience," George replied, gripping his weapon tightly. "We wait until the crowd thickens. Then we make our move."
Unaware of the danger lurking nearby, Bandit and Stripe's families made their way inside, their laughter echoing as they prepared to ring in the new year together. But Bandit kept one eye on the entrance, his instincts on high alert, sensing that tonight's celebration might not go exactly as planned.
Inside the bustling WET Deck, Bandit, Stripe, and their families mingled with the other partygoers, taking in the festive atmosphere. Bluey and Bingo laughed as they watched the city lights from the deck, while Muffin and Socks were already bouncing with excitement, eager for the New Year's countdown.
Meanwhile, outside, George, Johny, and the rest of The Savage crew disembarked the stolen Brisbane Transport bus. The rain had finally stopped, leaving a chill in the evening air as the group moved purposefully toward the WET Deck entrance. At first glance, they blended in seamlessly with the crowd, casually strolling into the building, some even cracking a few smiles to avoid suspicion.
Inside the deck, George signaled Johny with a slight nod as they surveyed the crowd, taking stock of their surroundings and potential obstacles. George, ever the tactician, sauntered over to the bar and ordered a drink, keeping his movements calm and unhurried. Johny's sharp eyes scanned the room, looking for any signs of security or individuals who might interfere with their plan.
In her hiding spot outside, Karen kept a steady voice over the radio. "Ready in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Go!" she announced.
The timing was perfect. George gave an approving glance at his crew, who began to quietly spread out across the deck, positioning themselves strategically around the crowd. From his place at the bar, George kept his voice low as he checked in with Karen over the radio.
"Waiting on your go," he murmured.
"Alright, George, it's 19:00. Time to move. Hit the button. Now!" Karen's voice came through clearly in his earpiece, her tone cold and professional.
Without hesitation, George gave a quick hand signal to his crew. Immediately, one of The Savage members—a tall, imposing figure holding a Pindad SS2 rifle under his coat—slipped his weapon out and, in one swift motion, fired a shot. The blast echoed through the room, and the bullet struck a 47-year-old Blue Heeler woman standing near the edge of the deck. She fell to the ground, and the cheerful atmosphere turned to chaos in seconds.
Screams erupted as guests scrambled, some trying to flee, others ducking for cover. Bandit instinctively pulled his family close, his heart racing as he shielded Bluey and Bingo. Chilli's eyes were wide with fear, but she remained steady, holding onto her daughters. Across the deck, Stripe did the same, quickly pulling Trixie, Muffin, and Socks behind a table as the scene turned frantic.
George, calm and composed, grabbed a microphone from the bar's PA system, his voice booming over the cries and panicked murmurs. "Listen up, everyone!" he commanded. "You're all part of our New Year's celebration now. Do as you're told, and no one else gets hurt."
Bandit shot a quick glance at Stripe, who met his eyes across the room. They both understood that escape was impossible with the exits blocked and The Savage's heavily armed members spread out across the deck. Bandit's mind raced as he thought of a way to protect his family, his senses on high alert. He knew they would need to stay calm, observe, and wait for any possible opportunity to get their families to safety.
As George continued to assert his control, Johny moved among the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who looked like they might cause trouble. The Savage members held their weapons openly now, surrounding the crowd and corralling them into the center of the room.
Under the tense silence, Bandit and Stripe waited, hoping for a chance to act, knowing that their top priority was keeping their families safe amidst the danger surrounding them.
Inside the WET Deck, the tension had reached a breaking point. Bandit and Stripe, with their families close, kept their heads low, desperately trying to keep calm as George's armed henchmen continued to control the room. The crowd, now completely subdued, huddled together under the watchful eyes of The Savage's crew. Each moment felt heavier than the last as they witnessed another henchman ruthlessly fire his Desert Eagle, killing six innocent partygoers in cold blood.
Chilli clutched Bluey and Bingo tightly, whispering for them to stay quiet. Across the room, Trixie shielded Muffin and Socks, her heart pounding as she kept them as close as possible. Stripe's eyes met Bandit's once more; they shared a silent look of resolve, determined to protect their loved ones at all costs.
In the midst of the chaos, one brave party guest, a 39-year-old Jack Russell Terrier named Kyle Johnson, quietly dialed 000 from under a table, praying he wouldn't be heard.
"000 Emergency?" a calm male voice answered on the other end.
"Sir, we have a dangerous situation," Kyle whispered frantically. "They're shooting… people are dead… Please, we need help!" he cried.
But his luck ran out as one of George's henchmen overheard his voice and fired his M16 into the air, silencing the crowd with a deafening blast. Kyle froze, terrified.
"Someone's firing shots!" he cried, trembling into the phone. "Please, send police, SERT, military—anyone!"
"Stay calm, sir. We're dispatching all units to your location," the operator assured him.
Even as Kyle made the desperate call, Brisbane Police had already begun assembling outside the WET Deck, setting up a perimeter around the building. Police sirens echoed through the streets, and within minutes, helicopters were hovering above. The Special Emergency Response Team (SERT) was on the scene, and word quickly spread to the Australian Army, who joined forces to handle the escalating crisis.
Inside the WET Deck, George noticed the growing presence outside and felt a flicker of panic. "They're here already!" he shouted. "Lock the doors! We can't let them in!"
His crew sprang into action, barricading every entrance and moving to strategic positions around the room. As they fortified their hold on the building, the thumping of helicopter rotors grew louder outside.
One of George's most ruthless henchmen, Franklin Anderson, a Siberian Husky with cold, calculating eyes, grabbed his RPG-7, aiming it directly at the approaching police helicopter.
"RPG incoming!" the helicopter's pilot, a 37-year-old Pomeranian, shouted in panic as he saw the rocket lock onto their position.
"Watch out! Watch out!" the 25-year-old Chihuahua copilot screamed, trying to maneuver the aircraft, but it was too late. The RPG struck the tail of the helicopter with a fiery explosion, sending it spiraling out of control.
The wreckage fell from the sky, crashing down with a thunderous impact, silencing everyone within and outside the WET Deck. Inside, Franklin laughed, raising his fist in victory. "That's what you get, MOTHERFUCKER!" he yelled triumphantly.
For the families and the remaining hostages, the gravity of the situation sank in further. Bandit held Chilli's hand tightly, his mind racing as he thought about his next move. This was no longer a simple hostage situation; it was war.
Outside, the police and SERT forces regrouped, radios buzzing with urgent commands as they prepared for an intense standoff with The Savage. The streets were cordoned off, and every available unit was deployed to the WET Deck. The battle for Brisbane had begun, and no one knew what the night would bring.
As the SERT team approached the WET Deck, Sergeant Cole Morgan, a chocolate Kelpie, found himself crawling through the tight confines of the ventilation system. He had to act quickly. Peering down through a grate, he spotted George and his henchmen in the main area, weapons drawn and chaos reigning.
With a swift motion, Sgt. Morgan drew his Heckler & Koch USP, taking aim at George just as he charged toward the barricaded entrance. At the same moment, two other members of the SERT team—an agile Border Collie and a sturdy German Shepherd—entered the scene, both brandishing their M4 carbines. They quickly assessed the situation and began working with Morgan to clear the barricade of chairs and tables that had been hastily stacked by George's crew.
"On my count!" Sgt. Morgan called out, signaling the two SERT members to take their positions.
Meanwhile, Bandit crouched low, eyes scanning for an opportunity amidst the chaos. He noticed one of George's henchmen distracted, his MP5 hanging loosely in its holster. With a swift, stealthy motion, Bandit reached out, grabbing the weapon and aiming it at the nearest henchman just as the entrance door burst open.
The moment was electric. The SERT team and the army flooded into the WET Deck, weapons drawn, all eyes fixed on The Savage's crew. It was a Mexican standoff, tension thick in the air.
"You're under arrest, asshole!" shouted General Arthur, a high-ranking officer from the Australian Army, his voice booming over the chaos.
"You have no idea what you're facing, do you?" George retorted, a dangerous glint in his eye as he readied his AR-15. He glanced at his henchmen, signaling them to prepare for action.
In a heart-stopping moment, George commanded one of his crew to shoot a hostage, a grim signal that shattered the fragile standoff. A young male Basenji, just 18, pulled out his Colt M1911 and, with a sickening crack, fired at Bluey Christine Heeler, hitting her heavily.
"Noo!" Chilli screamed, her voice filled with anguish. Bluey fell to the floor, the life draining from her eyes.
"EAT THIS, MOTHERFUCKER!" Bandit yelled, his heart racing with fury and desperation. He pulled the trigger of his MP5, a hailstorm of bullets tearing through George's henchmen. In a matter of seconds, he had taken down ten of them.
But just as victory seemed within reach, a shot rang out. Johny, one of George's most vicious accomplices, fired his Remington 870, the blast catching Bandit squarely and sending him to the ground.
"Dad!" Bluey cried, horror overtaking her as she watched Bandit fall.
In the chaos, Socks, who had been held by a Kintamani henchman, bit down hard on the male's arm. In a reflexive motion, he threw her away from him, her small body crashing to the ground.
"NOOOOOO!" the cries echoed through the room as Socks' scream rang out, the sound piercing the hearts of everyone present.
With adrenaline coursing through him, the Kintamani turned his AR-15 on the remaining hostages, mercilessly shooting down Bingo, Chilli, Stripe, Trixie, Muffin, and the others, including Kyle Johnson, all caught in the crossfire.
The gunfight erupted into a hellish cacophony of gunfire and chaos. George and Johny fought desperately, taking down SERT members one by one, but their reign of terror ended abruptly as the remaining members of The Savage fell in the crossfire, including George and Johny themselves.
In the aftermath, the room was left in silence, save for the sound of sirens wailing outside. The cost was heavy; 12 SERT members and 10 soldiers lay dead, a grim reminder of the night's violent turn.
As the dust settled, the surviving SERT team members began assessing the situation, grief-stricken yet resolute. They would ensure that justice was served for the lives lost that night, a promise echoed in the hearts of every officer who had risked everything to save the innocent.
The night had been a battle, but the fight for a safer Brisbane was far from over.
The news of the tragic events at the WET Deck sent shockwaves across Australia. The country was stunned and heartbroken as the story unfolded, detailing how the Heeler and Cattle families—so well-loved in their community—had been lost in such an unthinkable manner. People from all corners of the nation mourned the loss, unable to believe that Bandit, Chilli, Stripe, Trixie, Bluey, Bingo, Muffin, and Socks were gone.
At Bluey's school, Calypso gathered her students, trying to find words that could ease the sorrow. Her heart broke as she watched Jack, Rusty, Honey, and all of Bluey's friends struggle to process what had happened to their beloved friend. Rusty clenched his fists, fighting back tears, while Mackenzie sat silently, his face pale and numb. It seemed unthinkable that Bluey, with her endless energy and kindness, wouldn't be returning to the school grounds.
At the Kindy, Mrs. Retriever's usual warm, comforting voice cracked as she shared the news with Bingo's friends. Lila clutched her toy tightly, unable to stop crying, while Juniper and Buddy sat in silence, the reality settling heavily over them. Missy and Jasper G. tried to console each other, but the weight of loss hung heavily in the room. Bingo's gentle laughter and spirit had filled their days, and now, a quiet sadness loomed over the Kindy.
In their neighborhood, friends and family gathered in silence. Pat, Janelle, Lucky, Chucky, Wendy, Judo, and Doreen mourned together, each dealing with their grief in their own way. The usually cheerful block felt eerily still, as the friends and neighbors who once shared laughter and joy with the Heeler and Cattle families now felt the void left behind.
The pain reached the far corners of their family tree. Bob and Chris, Bandit's parents, clung to each other, inconsolable at the loss of their son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. Mort and Brandy mourned Chilli and her beautiful family; Chilli had been Mort's pride and joy, his youngest daughter, full of life and warmth. Frisky and Radley, who had always admired the Heeler family, felt the impact deeply, extending their support to Mort and the rest of the family.
When the day of the funeral arrived, a somber crowd gathered to bid farewell. Dark clouds hovered above, and the steady rain felt like nature's tears falling for those lost. Under gray skies, six caskets stood, each representing the lives of the beloved families.
Bandit and Stripe were laid out in sharp tuxedos, their faces peaceful, as if caught in a restful sleep. Chilli and Trixie, dressed in beautiful white gowns, looked like brides in their eternal slumber, holding hands over their hearts. In shared caskets, Bluey in a blue dress and Bingo in pink lay side by side, like two inseparable sisters finding comfort in each other even now. Muffin, in her purple dress, and Socks in red, lay close together, a quiet image of two cousins who had played and laughed together now resting in peace.
Family and friends placed flowers on the caskets, their final gestures of love and respect. Bob and Chris, along with Mort and Brandy, kissed each casket in farewell, their pain overwhelming. Radley and Frisky knelt by Bluey and Bingo's casket, tears streaming as they whispered final goodbyes.
As the rain pattered against the caskets, each was closed, and the family members watched, heartbreak in their eyes, as the coffins were lowered into the earth. The markers on the graves stood as reminders of two families who had brought light, laughter, and love to everyone around them, now resting together in peace.
The crowd dispersed in silence, leaving the gravesites under the cloudy skies. The rain continued to fall, as if sharing in the sorrow, a final tribute to the cherished families who had touched the hearts of everyone they knew.
Days after the funeral, a heavy silence loomed in Radley and Frisky's home. They sat in their living room, both visibly drained from the emotional toll of the loss. Radley clenched his fists, struggling to contain his grief as he recalled the horrifying events of New Year's Eve.
"I still can't believe it…42 of those Savage members caused all this," Radley said, his voice breaking. "They took Bandit, Stripe, Chilli, Trixie, and the kids. All gone, just like that. Even Socks…thrown from the building. And they didn't stop there—they took out 22 officers and soldiers who tried to save them. It feels like…like there's no justice in any of this." Radley's voice faltered, and he wiped at his eyes as his grief spilled over.
Frisky reached out, placing a comforting hand on Radley's shoulder. "Rad, it's hard to even comprehend what happened. But…they paid the price. Every one of those 42 Savage members is gone, taken down by SERT and the army. And they just arrested Karen Alyssa. She was the one coordinating all this horror from the outside—she's not escaping justice."
"Justice? She deserves more than arrest," Radley muttered bitterly, his expression darkening. "She's as much to blame for this as the rest of them. My nieces, my brother, my sisters-in-law…" His voice grew louder, filled with an aching anger.
Frisky tightened her grip on his shoulder, sensing his frustration building into something dangerous. "Radley, please. Don't let this eat at you. It's what Bandit and Stripe would have told you, you know that. They'd want us to take care of each other, not to go down a path of revenge."
Radley took a long breath, his face still tense with pain. "I can't just sit here, Frisky. I can't sit here and do nothing while the memory of what they went through haunts me. Someone has to pay. And if it's not George or Johny, then it's her. Karen deserves it."
"Rad, listen to me," Frisky said, her voice gentle but firm. "You don't want to carry that weight. It's the police's job, and they're handling it now. You'd be risking everything—everything Bandit and Chilli would have wanted for you."
Radley took a shaky breath, struggling with the tension between his grief and Frisky's plea. He looked at her, the agony in his eyes softening slightly as her words settled in. He knew she was right, deep down. Bandit and Stripe wouldn't want him to lose himself to revenge.
"Just promise me you'll stay close by," Frisky continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "If not for yourself, then for the memory of them. Because they'd want you to carry on for them, not in bitterness, but in love."
With a final, shaky nod, Radley swallowed back his anger. "Alright, Frisky," he whispered. "For them…for the family. I'll hold on. But it doesn't make it any easier."
"No, it doesn't," Frisky said, resting her head on his shoulder. "But we'll get through this. Together."
Radley stood by his wife's blue Renault Twingo, the memories of that terrible New Year's Eve still fresh and aching. Frisky's words lingered in his mind—her plea for him to let go of revenge and focus on healing. But as he watched the morning news on his phone, showing Karen Alyssa's image on the screen, anger roared back through his veins. The Brisbane Women's Correctional Center was just across the city, housing Karen, the last of the Savage members involved in the horrific attack. Radley's heart raced with a singular, dark purpose.
"Face your fate, motherfucking bitch," he muttered under his breath, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination. He had his pistol, an FNX-45 Tactical with a silencer, tucked securely inside his jacket. He wasn't sure he'd use it, but he wanted it there—just in case.
As he sped through the morning traffic toward the correctional center, Frisky's pleas echoed in his mind. He knew she'd been hoping he'd let it go, find some way to keep living with the memory of his lost family. But in that moment, the ache of loss was all he could feel, blinding him to everything else.
Just as Radley neared the correctional center, his phone rang. He looked down to see Frisky's name on the screen, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it. But something in him paused, and with a sigh, he answered.
"Radley?" Frisky's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "Please, just…tell me where you are."
He hesitated, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. "I'm just…out, Frisky. I needed some air."
"Don't do this, Radley," she pleaded, her voice wavering. "Please come back home. This isn't what they'd want. It's not what Bandit would want."
Radley felt his grip on the steering wheel loosen slightly, her words cutting through the anger. "I can't just sit there, Frisky. It's like I'm haunted by all of them. Bandit, Stripe…Bluey and Bingo. All of them. They deserve justice."
Frisky was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "Justice isn't something you take into your own hands, Rad. If you do this, you'll lose yourself. And I can't lose you too. Please…come home."
Radley let out a long, trembling breath, glancing out at the entrance of the correctional center. His anger began to drain, leaving only the ache of grief. He felt the weight of his pistol against his chest and knew Frisky was right. This wasn't what Bandit or Stripe would have wanted for him—to fall apart in the name of revenge.
"Alright," he whispered finally, his voice choked with emotion. "I'll come back. For you…for them."
Frisky's sigh of relief on the other end was palpable. "Thank you, Radley. Come home. We'll get through this. Together."
With one last look at the correctional center, Radley pulled his car away from the curb and started the drive back home, the shadow of grief still heavy but softened by Frisky's love. He knew the pain wouldn't disappear overnight, but he'd take it one day at a time—with Frisky's support, for the sake of the family he'd lost and the memories he'd honor by carrying on.
As Radley stepped back into the correctional center, determination replaced his earlier hesitance. He approached the guard on duty, Alan Schwartz, a tall, no-nonsense German Shepherd with graying fur at his temples. Radley slipped a few bills into his hand, his voice low and firm. "Sir, is there a prisoner named Karen Alyssa?"
Alan eyed Radley skeptically, but the cash in his hand loosened his stance. With a nod, he gestured for Radley to follow, leading him down dimly lit hallways to a secure wing of the prison. The silence was thick, broken only by the occasional distant echo of voices down the corridors. Alan finally stopped outside a narrow cell, pointed inside, and muttered, "There she is. Make it quick." Then, without a second glance, he walked away, leaving Radley alone.
Radley's gaze fell on Karen Alyssa, the woman responsible for coordinating the attack that had taken everything from him. She was slouched against the wall, her expression distant, but she looked up with dull recognition as he approached. For a moment, Radley hesitated, the weight of his pistol heavy in his hand as he considered what he was about to do.
As Alan's footsteps faded, Radley drew his pistol from his jacket, his finger resting on the trigger. The suppressor gleamed in the dim light as he lifted it, aiming at her head.
Karen's eyes widened slightly, as though she finally understood her situation. She opened her mouth, maybe to beg or to mock him—he'd never know. In that moment, all Radley could see were the faces of his lost family, the futures they would never have, and the hole left in his life.
With a deep breath, he steadied his hand and pulled the trigger. The soft, muffled sound echoed in the small cell, and Karen slumped to the ground.
As Radley strolled out of the prison, he projected an air of calm, nodding politely to Alan as he passed. "Thanks for the time, mate. Have a nice day," he said, his voice steady. He walked to the blue Renault Twingo, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine, letting a sigh of relief escape as he left the correctional center in his rearview mirror.
Meanwhile, within the prison, the faint commotion grew as murmurs turned into shouts. One prisoner who had overheard the muffled shot was pounding on his cell bars, calling for the guards. Paul Armstrong, a Red Heeler guard, rushed over, his face pale as he processed the news. "Oh shit, man, I'm… I'm fucked up," he muttered, realizing the gravity of the situation.
"What's wrong, mate?" asked Ryan Henderson, a seasoned Black and Tan Kelpie guard, noticing Paul's shaken demeanor.
Paul struggled for words before blurting out, "Our prisoner—Karen Alyssa… She's dead."
Ryan's eyes widened in shock. "What the fuck? Tell the warden, now!" he barked, the gravity of a prisoner's death in custody hitting hard. Paul immediately took off, racing down the corridor to inform the warden as Ryan attempted to keep the area secured.
Meanwhile, Radley drove back home, the radio suddenly crackling to life with a breaking news bulletin. "Reports are coming in from Brisbane Women's Correctional Center of a prisoner death in custody," the anchor announced. Radley's grip tightened on the wheel, but his face remained impassive. He listened closely as the news continued, framing Karen's death as an alleged assault by a prison guard. He allowed himself a silent exhale, thankful that no suspicion pointed his way.
When he finally pulled into the driveway and walked inside, he found Frisky staring at the TV, her face a mix of shock and uncertainty. The footage on-screen showed exterior shots of the correctional center, as speculation filled the airwaves. Radley saw himself in a brief background shot walking toward the exit. He shot Frisky a reassuring smile, trying to downplay the situation.
"Frisky, honey, looks like a prison guard brutally killed a prisoner," he said, feigning a casual tone to ease her concerns.
Frisky stayed silent, her eyes still on the screen, taking in the gravity of the news. Her gaze shifted to Radley, who maintained a calm, controlled expression. Something in her eyes told him she wasn't fully convinced, but for now, she chose to let it be.